by Rye Brewer
He surprised me then by clutching me to him, hugging me hard enough to hurt. Tears sprang to my eyes because I knew what a hug like this meant.
“If this goes well,” he murmured into my ear, “you will not see me again.”
A lump formed in my throat as I saw the truth of his words. The ruler of the shades could not come and go as Allonic did. He would need to stay with his people, back in ShadesRealm. And there was no trespassing there.
I would lose him, but the fae would gain so much. My father and his kingdom would remain as they were. That mattered, too. Perhaps more than the love I had for my brother.
When he let me go, I took his face in my hands. There was no speaking over the tears threatening to choke me. I could only nod as tears dampened my cheeks, trying as best I could to smile in reassurance.
I wanted him to remember me smiling.
10
Jonah
There was no need to use the main hall for such a small meeting.
This time, the other six leaders met with me in an antechamber Lucian had used as an office during his reign over the League. I’d had it cleared out long since, one of the first tasks I gave the guards. I wanted nothing of him left behind, no reminders of his cruelty, his heartlessness.
Only a round table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by chairs. At each chair sat the representative from one of our clans. Minor clans, for the most part, except for mine and two others.
There were the Carvers, for one. Instead of Marcus, I greeted his son, Will. “How are things faring with the clan?” I asked in an attempt to keep whatever makeshift peace existed between us. Tenuous at best, seeing as how I held his father captive.
“About as well as one would expect, given the circumstances,” he murmured, eyeing me in a way which reminded me of his father. He was very much like him in other ways—physically, they could have been brothers. Even twins.
Except for the eyes set just above the long, thin nose. Will’s eyes held intelligence and empathy, wisdom to temper his shrewdness. Unlike his father’s eyes. Marcus’s shrewdness and lust for power had blinded him to so much that might have helped him avoid his fate.
Landon was there, too. Lucian’s eldest son. He reminded me a lot of Vance, with his dark hair and strong features—including a jaw which he set in a hard line when he overheard someone murmur his brother’s name. Vance remained on the run, naturally, still wanted for the murder of their father.
I wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the one to set him or anyone else straight on exactly how Lucian had come to die.
“Thank you for returning so soon after the last meeting,” I said as I looked around the table. “I felt it best we discuss this in closer quarters, with fewer voices to dissent or raise questions. I’ve had an idea for how we might best move the League forward after all of the chaos we appear to have descended into as of late.”
“You call your reign chaotic?” Will asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow. He had his father’s wit, which was not a mark in his favor.
“It is not a reign,” I was quick to remind him. “I’m merely the interim leader while we work out a long-term plan for moving forward. One that doesn’t involve doing things the same way. I hope to begin working that plan out here. Now.”
“What did you have in mind?” Landon asked, leaning back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. As though he was waiting to be entertained.
I cleared my throat. “With all due respect to your father, whose leadership led the League and the clans beneath it through generations of prosperity, I believe the time has come to move away from a single leader at the head of the League. This is not a monarchy, after all. More than one voice must be taken into account.”
“What did you have in mind?” Landon prompted.
“A triumvirate. Three voices, each with the chance to vote on League business.”
The six of them glanced back and forth, weighing the reactions of the others. I didn’t expect instant acceptance of my idea, naturally. I wasn’t that naïve.
I had more. “I also move that we invite other supernatural beings to work with us. That we grant two non-voting seats in the League to two types of creatures.”
“What? Impossible!” Will looked prepared to explode.
“Why not?” I challenged. “The fact is, we can no longer live in a vacuum. The other realms, the other worlds affect ours. The war between the shades and the fae is proof of this. Anything happening between those groups will in some way leak into our lives. Why not work together, proactively, for the betterment of us all?”
“Do you have ideas as to who we should include?” Landon, at least, seemed calmer than Will. None of the others had said a word.
“I was thinking witches and fae.”
“Why just the two of them? Why not the shades, the shifters? Why not others?” he countered.
“Can you name a trustworthy member of any other group? I can’t. Which is why I cannot recommend bringing any of them onboard at this time.”
Landon fell silent while the other leaders muttered among themselves. I waited with all the patience I could muster and only hoped none of them felt like fighting me over it.
Especially Will, who was fuming. I could only imagine the indoctrination his father had subjected him to. Anissa had told me more than I’d ever need to know about Marcus. He hadn’t lifted a finger in defense of her or Sara when the clan had shunned them, and all because their mother had consorted with Gregor. A member of the fae. And had a child by him. A half-blood. One that I was in love with. One that I planned to make my wife.
Marcus was just as intolerant and bigoted as anyone. Perhaps more so. How much of that had he passed onto his son?
I was in no mood for fighting and could predict things wouldn’t end well.
Will looked around the table. “I believe we need a little time to think this through. Making such a decision on the spur of the moment is almost never the right course of action.”
I had expected this. “Understood.”
“I believe forty-eight hours would be enough time?” Landon glanced around and received nods of agreement.
“We’ll meet back here in two days, then,” I confirmed. “And thank you for agreeing to take the time and think it through. That alone speaks volumes for how committed all of us are to moving the League as we go forward. And remember, inclusion can only serve us, especially if we’re dragged into a war such as the one between the shades and the fae.”
Now, if they could only leave centuries of prejudice and closely-guarded grudges behind them, we would be off to a good start. I didn’t have high hopes.
“I understand there is further business which we need to discuss,” I continued, knowing full well what the topic would be.
“Where is my father?” Will asked, never one to waste time. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since you had him imprisoned.”
I was careful to keep my voice low, measured. “He is in a safe place.”
One of the Bourke safehouses was far more secure than the dungeons, though I at least knew how Vance had escaped. But the meeting of the clans was no time for either of my remaining prisoners to be down in the dungeons—I had feared an attempt at freeing them, hence having them moved prior to the arrival of the clans.
I’d feared other things, too.
“What about Genevieve?” Landon asked.
“They are together,” I explained. “Both of them safe and as well as can be, given the circumstances.”
“Why did you move them from the dungeons?” Will looked ready to challenge me to a duel, as though we’d gone back two centuries.
I held up my hands. “I was unsure whether they would be safe in the dungeons during the big meeting. What if someone wished to retaliate for Lucian’s murder? Moving them was my way of protecting them.”
Will scoffed. “Neither of them would be locked away if you hadn’t been the one to order it. They haven’t been found guilty of any wrongdoing! There hasn’
t even been a trial.”
I bit back a sharp retort—it was wrong of him to reference wrongdoing as opposed to murder, since both of them had been guilty of wrongdoing for decades, if not more—and merely said, “This is not the human world, where courts prevail in situations such as these. The League is the ruling body, and it is the League who will decide what’s to be done with them.”
The six leaders whispered among themselves, leaning in, their voices overlapping to the point where it was impossible for me to tell one of their opinions from the other. I waited to see what they would determine—so long as it was anything short of freeing them, which I would never agree to do, we would be all right.
“We want them brought back to headquarters,” Will announced when he turned away from the others. “With additional guards to ensure their safety.”
I did what I could to conceal my surprise at getting off so easy.
“Fair enough,” I replied.
11
Anissa
There was nothing for me to do once Allonic and Jonah left. Nothing but waiting. And waiting. And more waiting.
Which happened to be one of my least favorite things to do, hands down.
I remembered arguing with Jonah over Fane’s inability to sit still for too long. How had I so easily identified with that? Because I had the same problem. I didn’t like staying in one place for very long, either, even when I should have been grateful for the chance to catch my breath.
An eerie silence filled the penthouse. I was all alone here. Philippa was off somewhere, as was Gage. Scott had left to find himself, or whatever it was he thought he was going to accomplish.
Every creak, every groan, every little noise was amplified by the still space. Creepy, really, though I didn’t dare turn on music to fill the silence for fear of waking the baby below. Even visiting downstairs had to be done judiciously, since there was a fine line between being helpful and being annoying. The last thing I wanted was for Sirene to become tired of seeing my face.
As it turned out, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
A knock resounded from the door—sharp, frantic. “Anissa? Jonah?” came the whispered plea.
I went to the door to find Branwen in the hall, wringing her hands. “What is it?” I motioned for her to come inside.
“No, you have to come with me.” Tears coursed down her cheeks.
I had never seen her so undone, even when Sirene was near death. Even then, she had seemed in perfect control of herself.
“I think… I think the baby might be dying.”
Everything stopped. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “What did you say?”
“Come, please! I can’t tell Sirene, I don’t want to upset her, but… I don’t know what’s to be done!”
She took my hand, stirring me from my frozen panic. I ran behind her down the stairs and through the door to the apartment beneath the penthouse.
My lungs burned; panic tightened my chest. Elena. Dying. It wasn’t possible, not after everything we’d gone through to bring her into the world. She had fought so hard, had come so far, was the most beautiful little baby and I loved her. She couldn’t leave us.
Branwen was quick to wipe away her tears on the sleeve of her robe. “Sirene doesn’t know,” she whispered, leaning in close to my ear when we reached the door to the bedroom. “She’s resting now.”
I nodded, dreading what we were about to find.
Sirene was in bed, as expected, with Elena swaddled beside her. I tiptoed beside Branwen, eyes glued to the baby. Sure enough, she was pale. Far paler than I had ever seen her. Her breathing was shallow, her little chest hardly rising and falling at all.
My heart clenched. We were going to lose her if we didn’t do something. And Jonah was so far away! What would happen if he came back to find out I had let the baby die?
Branwen turned to me. “What do we do?” she mouthed.
Elena opened her eyes, as though she could sense our presence. They were dim, somehow, with none of their usual clarity and brightness. Instead of glancing around with the curiosity she normally showed, she only stared up at me. Blinking slowly.
She was dying. It was plain. I wanted to scream, to tear the room apart. What was I supposed to do to help her?
Sirene stirred then, smiled when she saw me. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she whispered before looking at Elena. “Oh, she’s awake.” She frowned. “She normally coos when she wakes.”
She wasn’t cooing. She was completely silent. She didn’t even turn her head at the sound of her mother’s voice.
And Sirene noticed this. “What’s wrong with her?” She hovered over the baby, examining her.
“I was worried,” Branwen admitted, “and I went to fetch Anissa.”
“Jonah is at headquarters,” I felt the need to explain.
“She seems listless, doesn’t she?” Branwen asked. “As though she’s weakened somehow, but I cannot imagine why. Nothing has changed in the routine we’ve set for her.”
“I don’t understand this.” There was a tremble in Sirene’s voice. She placed a hand on Elena’s little chest. “You cannot leave me. I cannot lose you.”
Tears blurred my vision. I knuckled them away as I leaned closer.
It was clear the poor baby didn’t enjoy being fussed over. She opened her mouth, ready to give a long, unhappy wail.
And I gasped at what I saw. I leaned in closer and sure enough, there they were.
The tiniest little fangs I had ever seen.
She was part vampire. Did that mean…?
I pulled Branwen aside, since it didn’t seem as though she’d seen the fangs. She would have reacted to them.
“She has fangs,” I murmured.
Branwen’s eyes widened.
When Sirene noticed, she said, “No. Don’t whisper about this behind my back. What is happening?”
So she hadn’t seen the fangs, either. She picked up the baby, held her close, stroking her fine, red hair.
Branwen glanced at me before going to Sirene. She was gentle in pulling back Elena’s lips to show the tiny, pointed teeth.
“Oh, no,” Sirene whispered, shaking her head. “No. It can’t be. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—what if the mix of our blood is toxic to her? What if a witch/vampire hybrid isn’t meant to live? What if that’s the reason why we were never supposed to mix our species?”
“What if she’s starving?” I whispered.
Both Sirene and Branwen gaped at me.
“She nurses beautifully,” Sirene replied, shaking her head. “And you’ve given her bottles. She’s a good eater.”
“Yes…” Branwen murmured. “But is that enough? Perhaps she needs blood, too!”
“There’s a small supply in the kitchen.” I bent over the baby, trying to comfort both her and her mother while Branwen made a ruckus down the hall, searching the refrigerator. She was back in an instant, almost throwing herself across the room in her haste to try and save Elena.
The three of us leaned in over the pale, almost lifeless baby. Tears dripped from Sirene’s chin as Branwen uncapped the bag and squeezed a drop of blood onto her fingertip.
“Here, sweet one,” she whispered, offering her finger to Elena.
I held my breath as Elena pursed her lips to suck the blood clean. Branwen presented her with another drop, then another.
“Her color is returning,” Sirene breathed, awed. “Get a bottle!”
It was my turn to tear through the place, running for the kitchen where the bottles I’d recently sterilized waited to be used. I uncapped it as I hurried back, allowing Branwen to empty the bag into it.
Sirene guided the nipple to the baby’s mouth—and she latched on and began drinking as though she’d never fed before.
“I can’t believe it,” I whispered, glancing from one witch to the other. “This is… unexpected.” To think, Jonah had been very nearly right when he’d tried to give the baby a bottle of blood. He would be so pleased to know that
was the right instinct.
Elena sucked down half the bottle in one go before closing her eyes and losing interest. She looked like her old self again—rosy cheeks and all.
Sirene held the half-full bottle in one hand, Elena napping in the other arm. “I’ve never heard of anything like this,” she whispered, no longer tearful.
“Neither have I,” I admitted, “though I’m a hybrid, myself. I wish we could…” I wished we could ask someone who knew about these things. Like my mother.
Sirene offered a sad smile. “Even so, you were not half-witch. There is a marked difference.”
“It is difficult to say, since such cases are so rare. Elena is still the only natural-born witch/vampire hybrid I’ve ever heard of who survived,” Branwen admitted.
“Do either of you know of anyone we could take this to?” I asked, even though I understood what a ridiculous question it was. Poor Sirene would have died in childbirth, banished and alone, if it hadn’t been for Jonah and me. Branwen was the only witch who would come to her aid.
The two of them stared at each other. “I truly don’t think so,” Branwen replied, frowning.
“Anyone who might have answers might also wish to see the baby.” Sirene’s arms tightened protectively. “I couldn’t allow that.”
“None of us would,” I assured her, understanding her fear and sharing it. There was no telling what a witch might want to do with a hybrid like Elena. The poor little thing.
The three of us continued our hushed conversation as Elena napped. It was a relief, at least, to know she was better than she’d been when I first arrived. No wonder Branwen had been beside herself—I was, too. It was lucky she’d checked on the baby while Sirene slept, or there was no telling what might have happened if more time had passed.
I shuddered to think.
Elena began to stir after an hour or so, and the three of us were quick to fuss over her.
“Is it just me,” I ventured, “or has she grown?”