Crown of Death

by Keary Taylor

  Eli’s breathing is ragged. He leans forward, his fingers curling around the arms of the chair. His knuckles turn white.

  “I said move back in with your parents,” he says. I’ve never heard his voice sound like that. So low. So utterly dangerous. “I should have taken immediate action. Now all these years may be for nothing.”

  My heart beats as a dull thud in my chest. The rest of me is as numb and dead as the bodies on my table as I try to make sense of his words.

  The man in the corner suddenly stands ramrod straight, every muscle in his body pulled tight. He presses the phone a little harder to his ear, listening.

  “No,” Eli growls once more. “She is no one. She is nothing to the Court. Let her go!”

  The man is quiet for a beat longer. And then he slowly turns back toward us, his eyes locking straight on Eli’s.

  “He says to ask you how many years it has been since a measly Bitten beat him to killing Henry,” the man says. “Rath?”

  And a purely animal roar bellows from Eli as he jerks forward. The bolts securing the chair to the concrete floor groan, threatening to snap.

  And now I know I don’t imagine it. For just a moment, there is a ripple of yellow that washes through Eli’s eyes.

  The man chuckles. “Oh, it’s him.”

  He listens again, and the man’s eyes snap over to my face. “I’m certain. She has to be.”

  I can hardly breathe. Darkness flickers all around the edges of my vision. I’m breathing too fast. There’s too much panic and adrenaline surging through my veins.

  I’m going to pass out.

  I’m going to faint.

  “I understand,” the man says. “We shall see you in twelve hours.”

  Another unearthly roar rips from Eli.

  The man ends the call, sliding the phone into his back pocket. Eli bellows and roars like a tied, starved lion, fighting against his bonds. I hear one of the bolts snap.

  “This is about to get very, very interesting,” the man says. And from his pocket, he produces something. Before I can identify it, he jabs it into the side of Eli’s neck. He immediately slumps still.

  A scream rips from my lungs and I try to lunge to him, only I just rattle my chains.

  “I promise you he is not dead,” the man says, tossing the syringe into a corner. I hear glass shatter. “But he had to be contained before he caused me a problem. He’ll wake near morning.”

  He’ll wake. Meaning this man doesn’t plan to kill him before then.

  “Who are you?” my voice quakes, but comes out clear and strong. “Why are you doing this?”

  I jump at the sound of metal scraping concrete. He drags a metal chair across the floor. He sets it just in front of me and sits, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “My name is Edmond Valdez,” he says, his voice beautiful and luring. “I am one of the heirs to the House of Valdez.” He studies me once more, but instead of the smirk and scheming in his eyes, I just see searching. “I’m doing this because you look exactly like your mother, and that makes you very, very interesting to the Court.”

  “My…my mother?” I question, confused at the turn this has taken. “I…I don’t look anything like her. I’m…I’m adopted.”

  Understanding dawns in his eyes, and a little smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Ah. That makes sense, then.”

  I shake my head, blinking three times fast. “No. None…none of this makes sense.”

  He smiles sympathetically. “It will soon. All of this is because you look so very much like your birth mother. I’d question if I’m just seeing things. But his presence,” he nods his head at Eli, “just confirms it.”

  “My birth mother?” I question. “You…how could you possibly know who she is? It was a closed adoption. My parents don’t even know her name.”

  Edmond smiles, and I think that really is genuine pity in his eyes. “Because I’ve met the woman, on more than one occasion. She was at my House just two years ago. You have her same nose, lips, brow. Your eyes, though, I suspect you got those from your father. Whomever he may be.”

  My head is spinning. Faster than I can keep up with.

  Too much.

  Every single bit of this night is just too much.

  Monsters. These people are monsters.

  Ripping off heads. With glowing red eyes.

  I’ve been abducted by monsters.

  “She’s spiraling,” the woman says, who has been so very quiet this whole time that I forget she’s even here. “We need to do something about it.”

  “Hmm,” Edmond says, looking at me.

  My vision is getting dark. I’m breathing too fast.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Fine,” he says.

  Suddenly, there’s a sharp prick in my neck.

  And then nothing but black.

  Chapter 5

  “Wake up.”

  The voice pierces through the fog like a laser beam straight to my eye.

  “You should wake up.”

  Even though my brain has snapped to consciousness, it still takes a monumental amount of effort to drag my eyelids open.

  Everything is a dull yellow blur. Fuzzy shapes that move around. And a searing pain in my neck. Blinking rapidly, my vision slowly comes into focus. Pain stabs through my neck as I straighten it, raising my head.

  Through the darkness last night, I couldn’t see that there are four long windows high up on the back wall. But now dull morning light creeps in through them.

  Morning.

  I’ve been here, tied to this chair, all night long.

  My head whips to the side. Slumped in it, still chained and bound, is Eli. I watch him, and finally see his chest slowly rise and fall.

  I look around, and there’s the woman, pacing the room. She fidgets, unsure what to do with her hands, so she twirls the stake she confiscated from Eli. There’s no sign of Edmond.

  “They’ll be back any minute,” she says, though she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes remain trained on that steel door, even as she paces back and forth. “I thought you might want to be awake and aware when they get here.”

  “They?” I ask. My voice is scratchy, rough. I realize my tongue is incredibly dry. My throat feels uncomfortable.

  “Edmond, and…him,” she says. “And anyone else he chooses to travel with.”

  Tiredness sweeps through me and my eyelids sag closed. My body feels sluggish and heavy.

  What did they drug me with?

  “They’re almost here,” she says, and I hear something in her voice that sets me on alert, waking me up: fear. She shuffles, unsure of where to stand. She goes behind me, then seems to think better of it and goes to stand just before the door. “Wake up. You want to be fully aware for this.”

  “What…” I begin to question. But I hear tires on gravel. And then the sound of three car doors closing.

  The woman takes a quick intake of breath and I can feel the terror rolling off of her.

  A cold, wet vice creeps up my chest. Up my throat. Around my arms.

  Anxiety spills into every vein I have.

  The breath catches in my throat.

  Because there is suddenly this…presence.

  Of darkness.

  Of…

  The door opens, and that last emotion becomes crystal clear.

  Power.

  Every cell in my body has stopped replicating. Every hair has stopped growing. Every bit of oxygen has stopped flowing through my body.

  I am utterly still. Utterly frozen, as the door slides open, and a figure is revealed.

  I hardly even dare call him a man, the person who stands there.

  Black slacks hug toned legs. Cinch around a trim waist. A perfectly tailored suit jacket stretches over obviously strong shoulders and lean forearms. A black shirt is buttoned up to the neck, and he wears a blood red tie.

  A perfectly sculpted jaw is covered by a short dusting of dark facial hair. He boasts a slightly too-full upper lip. A prou
d, straight nose. Incredibly thick, nearly black hair is styled modern and to precision.

  But it’s his eyes that pierce me down to my core.

  Dark eyes, that I realize are a dark, forest green, pin me.

  He swears. He says it in something I think might be German, but somehow I know that he swears.

  “Hello, Logan Pierce.”

  His voice sends an echo reverberating throughout my entire body.

  It snatches me around the chest and draws me close.

  My entire body trembles. And I can’t even breathe, much less say a word.

  “You did well in calling me, Edmond of the House of Valdez.” The man steps inside, slowly, one controlled step at a time, across the concrete floor. “She does look just like her.”

  Who? I mentally say. Who is it you think that I am?

  The man’s eyes flick over to Eli and a little smile curls on his lips. “Oh, that clever little whore. Thinking she can send her father’s man-servant to hide and protect her child for all these years.” He looks over to Edmond, who steps into the space. “How much longer until Rath awakens?”

  Edmond looks down at his watch. “Any moment now, your Majesty.”

  Majesty?

  My head is spinning again. My heart seems to have taken up residence outside of my body. Like it sits in this man’s hand, as he slowly, so very slowly, paces around the room, looking me over.

  Finally, he comes to a stop, standing directly in front of me. His dark eyes bore into me with such intensity that I’m pretty sure I’m just a bare, bone white skeleton now, shackled to this chair.

  “Is it true that you have no idea who Alivia Ryan Conrath is?” he asks.

  His lips. Oh, lord, why can’t I look away from his lips as he speaks?

  “No,” the word squeaks from my lungs as I finally look up to his eyes. “Though I’ve heard that word—name—Conrath, said several times since I was…brought here.”

  The man continues to study me and my breath catches again.

  Power. Dominance. Fear. It radiates off of him in waves.

  “I was told you were adopted,” he says. “How old are you, my love?”

  A shiver crackles its way down my core at his last two words. I try to speak; only the words catch in my throat. This is bullshit. All of it. Last night. This space. These people. I lick my lips, holding his eyes warily. “I just turned twenty a few weeks ago.”

  His only reaction to that is that his eyes narrow slightly. I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

  Whatever this is, he’s piecing it together as well.

  But my eyes fall downward. And I see his fingers curl into fists.

  “Release her,” he commands, and that’s exactly what it is. A command.

  Edmond scrambles forward. With a key, he releases me from the chains. I rub my wrists and stretch through the soreness in my entire body from sitting in one position all night. I remain sitting, though.

  “What of your birth father?” he asks. His voice is low. Intimate. Words meant for only the two of us.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. My parents never knew anything at all about either of my birth parents. I was placed with them when I was three days old.”

  His eyes narrow again, trying to puzzle this, whatever this is, together. “And what of him?” the man says, nodding his head toward Eli. “I assume Rath has been watching over you in some form or another since you were…” He pauses, mentally calculating something. “Four years old?”

  I blink three times. “Four? I…I didn’t meet Eli until I was fourteen.”

  The man looks over at Edmond. “You’re sure your contact at the House of Conrath said sixteen years?”

  Edmond nods. “That’s what she said.”

  “Why do you keep calling him Rath?” I ask, looking from Edmond, to the man staring at me.

  “What is it you call him?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Eli?”

  I nod. “Cornelius,” I say. “Cornelius Rath. Eli for short. Why would you call him by his last name?”

  There’s a slight sparkle in the man’s eye and an amused smile begins curling in the corner of his mouth. “Cornelius. I don’t think even Henry knew his real name, if Eli is telling you the truth.”

  Henry. There is another one of those names I know has meaning, but don’t understand the history of.

  I’m beginning to realize that maybe I don’t know very much about my life.

  A tiny moan pulls my attention to Eli, who still sits slumped over, his eyes closed.

  “Right,” the man says. “I suppose we ought to get the entire purpose of this trip over with before Cornelius wakes and makes things much more difficult.”

  He offers a hand to me. Looking up into his eyes, I see that there is no other option than to take it. I place my hand in his, and there’s a vibration that surges through my entire body at the connection. Ice. Fire. Time.

  My eyes widen as I look up at his and I stand. His widen just slightly, staring at my hand. And I wonder if he felt it, too.

  “It will be over in just a moment,” his voice comes out wispy, full of anticipation.

  And suddenly, he raises my wrist. Sharp fangs lengthen and sink into my flesh.

  Searing pain rips through my body, but the next moment, I find myself falling instantly still. The man’s arms wrap around me, holding me upright. And a thick fog sweeps through me, numbing my body, numbing my brain.

  I hear him make a little sound. An excited moan. Another, harder, more insistent.

  And then he releases me. My brain only begins to register my surroundings when I see him lick over the puncture wounds in my wrist, and they immediately close up.

  “She’s Royal,” the man breathes. I blink, finding myself face to face with this man and his black-green eyes. “Through both sides. Mother and father. A descendant of Dorian and Malachi.”

  My head rolls, my muscles weak and tired. I blink, slow.

  Wake up.

  Open your eyes.

  So I do. I force them open.

  And stare into this man’s eyes.

  “Two Royal bloodlines,” he breathes, warming my face. My skin tingles. “There has not been word of a female Royal Born in over ten years. Not since Aster Dawes.”

  And I see things in his expression now that were not there just moments ago. Reverence. And something that looks inexplicably like hope.

  “She still has so much life ahead of her.”

  My head whips to the side to see Eli’s head rising, his dark eyes watching us.

  “It doesn’t have to happen yet,” he says. There’s defeat in his eyes. Agony. Failure. “Please give her a little more time.”

  “Did you know?” the man says accusingly. He still gently cradles me against his chest, supporting me while the strength returns to my legs. “Did you know that both her bloodlines were Royal?”

  Eli’s eyes just stare darkly at the man. His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenched tight.

  “Do you know who her father is? Her blood is both of Dorian and Malachi. Alivia is a descendant of Dorian, so he must be of Malachi.” His tone grows more frantic. More desperate.

  “Alivia never told me who the man was,” Eli—Rath says. “Only that she knew he was a Royal.”

  But instead of being angry, this man’s breathing only grows harder in excitement. I feel it sparking off of him in waves. A tidal wave that could take both of us under.

  “Please,” I breathe, finally finding myself again. “I don’t understand. Who are you? Who is it you think I am?”

  The man’s eyes once more come to mine, and that excitement does not diminish. “Who you may be is why you must die.”

  Once more, his fangs lengthen. His eyes ignite brilliant, blood red.

  “No!” The word rips from Eli as he surges forward, his restraints groaning.

  And a scream cuts from my throat. I throw my hands up, shoving back against his chest.

  But he does not look deterred. His hol
d around me does not loosen.

  “No, please,” I beg. “You don’t need to kill me.”

  “Yes,” he breathes. His gaze is misty, excited. “I actually do. And I pray, I pray a thousand and one prayers that you will understand why in a few days’ time.”

  Staring into his brilliant glowing red eyes, I fear. But I’m also ready to fight.

  “You can’t kill me,” I say, my voice turning hard and even. “I don’t even know your name.”

  The look in his eyes softens, but there is also something sad in them. “Oh, my love, I pray that soon you will remember that, too.”

  “Let her go, Cyrus,” Eli barks, as if he can order this man around.

  A hiss blows over his lips and he turns to bare his teeth at Eli.

  A terrified storm calms in me.

  Cyrus.

  Cyrus.

  “Cyrus,” I say softly. And like a calming wave washes over him, he looks back at me. His eyes widen. His mouth hangs slightly slack. And I don’t know what brave, idiotic instinct in me makes me do it, but I raise my hand to rest it against his cheek. “You want to kill me, but you don’t even know me. How is that fair?”

  He blinks once, slow. “I’m afraid in our world, the word fair applies very little.”

  Our world.

  “I say you must die so that you can awake in four days’ time and be like myself,” he says quietly. “So you may learn the truth of your world, your birthright. The truth of your vampire heritage.”

  Vampire.

  The word echoes through me over and over, banging against the back of my brain. Against the hollow places in my lungs. Down over the bones in my legs.

  Vampire.

  Not real. Not real, my brain wants to scream.

  But it’s there right in front of me.

  A set of gleaming fangs. A pair of glowing red eyes.

  “You must die so that we can know who you truly are,” Cyrus says.

  I blink. His body is pressed against mine, and I suddenly have to ask myself why I haven’t been recoiling from this stranger who is telling me that I must die.

  “No one tells you no, do they?” I breathe. Because I see that it’s true. His eyes, the expressions of everyone else in this room, confirm it. “If there is no other option, I have a demand.”