by Emily Shore
If I was to become Queen after her, Caroline’s wisdom would have been a welcome and powerful ally during my introduction. Her friendship would have proved a comfort as much as it was for my mother, who did not hide her tears. I did. Even if I could summon them, they would simply sizzle and turn to smoke drops. All I could feel was hatred for the Rose Killer. Someone who could overthrow the most powerful precog Le Couvènte had seen since its founding days. Rest assured, I would not be merciful whether I was queen or not.
Organ music sliced through the cacophony inside my brain, muddling all my thoughts. I pushed them into a clump at the back of my mind and gave the service my full attention. I listened as family, Council members, and a priest tried to cram the ripe fullness of Caroline’s life into one service. Her past was one of rebelliousness. A strong will that echoed of queenship. But she had tempered it. Would I ever? My gluttonous thoughts feasted on the memories she and I had shared. The most prominent: our walk through the woods when she strengthened my desire, my resolve to take my rightful place as queen after her. And her last words: your humanity is your greatest strength.
This bacterium known as Grief would never fully disappear. It was a disorder I had to live with. If not, I imagined this scar would fester and grow: an epidemic to haunt my blood until I discovered his identity. Or tonight would solve that.
After the service, I stayed at home first. But I could wallow in my room or I could do this. It was the first time I was able to slip my family and the Guardians. Research and practice on my own had enabled me to blend into the environment around me. Both sight and smell. Not full invisibility but enough.
As I stepped onto the training field, spinning around in wait, a rush of adrenaline shot through me. I owed it to Caroline to find her killer. To defeat him. The Council had failed her. They chose me over her. That was something I had to live with.
No, I shook out my head, reminding myself the clan and pack who attacked me were ultimately responsible. The filing of my blood claim did not warrant their violence or entitlement. I denied self-pity. No backward glances. Everyone makes their own choices. They made theirs. I made impossible ones.
I would make new ones. Tonight.
“Where are you?” I cried out for the Rose Killer, the hollow training field sucking my voice away. “Where the hell are you?” I screamed this time, bracing my fists and launching a fireball toward one of the training targets.
Whoever the killer was, they wouldn’t stop with Caroline’s body. It was a targeted hit. Something else was at play. The Rose Killer wanted Caroline out of the way so she couldn’t determine his identity. Was I a pawn the whole time? I dared the Rose Killer to tell me.
The target continued to burn. I turned around again, ready for anything. He didn’t come. They did instead.
I huffed, my adrenaline depleting as Skip persuaded the fire to ebb, then restored the target. Raoul cupped my shoulder instead, fingers traveling down my arm to temper the silver lines in my hand. Neither of them said a word to me. They didn’t need to. They knew why I was here. My pathetic attempt at invisibility hadn’t fooled them.
“What can we do, Reina?” Raoul broke the silence, and I picked up on the hidden meaning.
“Help me find the bastard who murdered the Queen so I can incinerate him myself.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Masque
Heath’s fingers were delicate as he applied the eye mask he’d specially designed for my masquerade ensemble. His artistry was unrivaled. Decorated in silver filigree that twisted and curled, the purple eye mask also boasted of rows of diamonds and small purple roses: silk he’d handwoven. It was everything I desired and complimented the gloves I’d found at the fair last week. Black lace. Fingerless with a floral design at the wrist and leaves curling up my arm on one side. I loved how the floral lace journeyed up to the base of my fingers on the other hand. The silver pendant, a teardrop amethyst, was a gift from my mother. The silver details emphasized my resplendent purple eyes, but I wished the blue in Heath’s wasn't so wistful.
“I'm sorry, Heath.”
“Be sorry for Raoul. You realize this will cut deep.”
“It was going to cut deep no matter who I chose. This wasn't about who could recover more. This was my choice, and I hope you can accept it.”
“I have accepted it. But it doesn't mean you can't lend some closure, if you know what I mean. He cares for you. You can never go back to being “just friends”.”
Nodding, I didn't stray from the mirror. “I understand that. I was prepared. And I will speak with him.”
“I have a feeling he won't remain in Le Couvènte. Perhaps someday he'll return. After he gets some…distance.”
It was what I feared most from Raoul tonight. If he’d leave forever. I wouldn’t blame him. He could respect my choice, but we couldn’t be friends after this. I didn’t have time to ponder.
Skip was waiting…
His mask put mine to shame. An intricate gold filigree Venetian mask, imported from Europe, hand-crafted to fit one side of his face just as the Phantom. Skip’s eyes feasted on me even as I inwardly gushed at the traditional Victorian black tailcoat he wore over a silver, decorative-pattern vest, white wing-tip shirt, and black silk tie. As the mask completed my ensemble, so did the striking, scarlet cape fastened around his neck, pooling to the ground behind him like a lake of blood. I didn’t need telepathy to read Skip’s mind. His hands cupping my bare neck, lips imprinting on mine like poetry and gold frost hair wisping across my cheek was all the confirmation I needed.
“Heart-stopping, Reina Caraway,” he whispered low after circling me, weaving his arm through mine, securing my hand on top of his to escort me to the Masque.
Together, we descended the grand staircase leading to the dance hall in the conservatory of the school beneath a domed glass ceiling. Skip's cape and my dress cascaded to the floor behind us ― rubies devouring amethysts. With his hand holding mine aloft, we faced the crowd as everyone turned in our direction. Despite our masks, there was no doubt as to who we were. All eyes culminated on us. Their united thoughts practically smothered the air ― the future Queen Reina and her chosen King, Stefan White.
Everything would happen tonight, and Skip would stand at my side in three hours. United, we would witness the prophecy fulfilled.
As soon as we reached the bottom step, the masqueraded students made a path for us. Just as Imogen predicted, vampires and werewolves both inhaled, nostrils flaring to breathe in my scent. But with Skip’s possessive hand leading me beyond the crowded circle and onto the dance floor, I knew no one could ever hope to compete with him. He lowered a hand to my corseted waist, and I molded my other into his as we prepared to dance.
As soon as he took the first step, the music began. A familiar melody. I smirked at the irony.
Skip leaned over to murmur in my ear, “I thought it was fitting.” As we danced to the song, he urged my form into a twirl before tugging me back to him, hand creeping up to one side of my face. “What desire…what seduction lies in store for us?”
This time, when Skip urged my body from his in another twirl, he caught me from behind, hands lurking on my waist, lingering there. “When will the blaze consume us, Your Highness?”
I didn’t sing one note of the beautiful yet scathing melody. I closed my eyes and listened to every word Skip spoke. Even as the powerful chords and lyrics ruptured the air around us.
Skip stole his lips across my shoulder and whispered into my ear. “I love you.”
A possessiveness overtook him, and his wings unleashed. Slow, so they didn’t rip through his cape and shirt but eased past them. Thanks to my gown and its lower backline, I could mimic him with my wings so we were both flying, hovering just beneath the glass dome far above the crowd. The memory of the first time he’d gathered me into his arms, wings sheltering me returned. The night he’d healed them, repaired the tattered muscle and skin. The night he’d healed my mother. How could I choose anyon
e else?
Far above the observing eyes, we danced to the climax of the song within the reflective starlight of the transparent ceiling. Beneath us the entire school froze, their eyes not daring to leave the flying couple above them. I braced one hand against Skip’s chest while his other coiled around my waist, dipping me back, curls spilling to the air. Together, we sang the final words, and they impregnated my very blood like ghosts in my cells. I’d crossed the bridge the moment I’d descended the staircase with him. Nothing left but cinders and ashes.
Beyond the applause of the audience, Skip’s words laced into my heart ― a permanent poison that seemed more like wine. “I will never leave you.” He kissed the edge of my collarbone, mouth both ice and fire with the strands of his hair collapsing on my shoulders. Bits of his own splendorous crown.
Once we reached the ground, another song erupted, and Skip led me away from the dance floor before observing how I exhaled, long and deep. “I’ll get you a glass of champagne.” He motioned to the refreshment table.
I couldn’t deny how well they’d themed the Masque this year. Curtains of roses canvassed the walls while the tables boasted of skull vases housing floating candles. Dozens of eerie candelabras flickered from random areas of the dance hall along with hundreds of suspended twinkle lights. Rose petals strewn along the tables. A white Phantom mask and red rose for favors. Champagne and red wine fountains streamed on each side of the main refreshment table, but I didn’t fault Skip for delaying with my glass. Several figures surrounded him, practically fawning over him. Yes, he would make a perfect king.
It was only toward the end of the night that he came.
“Reina.”
His voice would not have been necessary to alert me to his presence. I’d come to recognize his caressing touch. Hands of black velvet and silk. “You will be Queen soon. I have no doubt of it,” he uttered, words of simplicity. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Something he’d believed thirteen years ago when he first saved a little human girl after she’d tumbled off a cliff.
But it was his next words that proved Heath wrong. That crumbled every assumption to bone powder. Raoul was more masochist than Heath believed. “I am a patient man, Reina.” He lowered his fingers down to my hand. “I’ve lived more than one lifetime already. I would gladly spend more than one lifetime waiting for you.”
“Raoul…” I touched his open palm. “Please don’t make this any harder.”
Just then, Skip entered our circle, his intense eyes like wildfire in a jungle boring into Raoul’s nebulous ones. “She made her choice, Kelley. Respect her wishes and leave. Now.”
“Would you die for her?” Raoul asked, his hand refusing to stray from mine.
“I would do more than that, Kelley!” Threatened Skip, his hair flicking forward onto his chest like a silver inferno. “Now back off!”
He would. He would live for me. He would fight for me. He would rule with me.
Raoul looked at the ground for one moment and bravely requested, “One dance. Please…”
Skip gazed back at me, waiting for my reaction. After a moment’s hesitation, I agreed, hoping this could lend some closure. As Raoul guided me to the dance floor, I paused once to glance back at Skip, who nodded to me, half his face still garbed in gold filigree. Unlike Skip, Raoul’s mask was much humbler, competition the furthest thing from his mind. The leather eye mask molded to Raoul’s features. Gray as driftwood, accenting the swirling copper pools of his eyes.
“I would have died to make you happy. But I…understand, Reina.”
Yes, closure. I couldn’t respond. All I could think to do was smooth my hand along his arm and up to his shoulder, leaning in till his leather mask brushed across my skin. He murmured the lyrics of the song: “Your Guardian Angel”. His breath like frozen wisps along my cheek.
He sang the words to me. About me. For me. To stir the emotion in my heart, asking, pleading, praying for one last chance before the end. My arms coiled around his neck. In the haven of his arms, I was safe. His hands interlaced with mine, lowering them to his chest where his heart never beat with the song. We were in a silky cocoon. So delicate that one word could sever it. Raoul’s thin desperation held us together. Still, he tried, pressing his fingers into my hand as the song grew, notes mounting one another, soaring to a new height. Drums and cymbals crashed, but Raoul and I remained in the center of the crowd, closer than wax around a candle spine. Suddenly, he ripped the mask from his face, cupped both my cheeks, thumbs rubbing the skin as he sang, humiliating the lead singer’s voice, every note like a seraph.
His fingertips traveled up to touch the shadows just beneath my eyes before capturing a couple loose curls of my hair. “To think that I could lose you…Choose me,” he finished in a whisper. One final plea.
Upon the last notes of the song, Skip appeared, hand on Raoul’s chest to drive him back.
“I won't stop waiting for her,” Raoul declared even as the younger vampire turned aside to approach me.
“Then, you will spend eternity waiting.”
Skip extended his hand to me, and I accepted it, ready for another dance. Softening my eyes, I opened my mouth to address Raoul, but it was not my words that came out but Heath’s.
“Stefan White!”
Heath’s lungs were a powerhouse when he shouted the words, driving through the bodies of the crowd, whose conversation fled. A mere hush as my brother advanced toward us, throwing his mask to the ground. It was the first time I'd ever seen Heath’s eyes howling bluer than many waters.
“Get your filthy, bloodied hands off my sister, you murderous bastard! I’ve seen the truth from your own polluted mind! You’re the Rose Killer!”
Before I could react, before anyone could move closer to me — not Raoul, not Heath, not Brian — Skip seized me by the waist, one arm snaking around my bodice and the other cupping my throat to arrest me in an unshakable, persuasion-saturated hold.
Stopping dead in his tracks, Heath waited, knowing Skip could break me just as easily as pinching a snowflake. But his hand lingered on my throat, fingers caressing my skin. A low growl emanated from his throat just before his mouth rubbed the side of my neck. Closing my eyes, trying not to wince, I listened as he whispered beautifully in my ear:
“It was all for you.”
The hairs on my neck curled and froze as Skip raised his voice to my brother, “Bravo, Master Caraway! You must think highly of yourself. You finally penetrated my mask, but you're too late as always.”
Skip words were loud enough so everyone could hear, but all I could see was the fury wreathing in Raoul's bronze eyes — how much he controlled himself to keep from attacking. To keep the risk of hurting me in the crossfire at bay.
Slowly, Skip twisted me to face him. There was something different now. Something in his eyes. Never leaving my waist, his fingers dug into my skirts, pressing hard against my hips.
“From the day, I saw you, I planned it out.” He went on, his eyes revelatory jewels across my own. “I waited for you patiently until senior year.” Skip crept one hand around the back of my neck, forcing me close to him while the other hand captured my chin, twisting my eyes to see his, pupils aflame like sunlit rubies. “All these years spent planning the revenge of my father’s death. Revenge against the man responsible and revenge against the Council who failed him. Two birds with one stone.”
I was frozen. I couldn’t even recoil when he touched me. Skip gritted his teeth, his words dripped loathing. “However, there was one thing I didn’t count on. You.”
Tender and possessive, the backs of his knuckles caressed my cheek. “And now, plans have changed.” Not one word could claw up my throat to speak as his eyes blistered onto mine.
“He orchestrated the Queen’s murder.” Heath’s voice was the dagger, the slicing pain I needed.
A giant fist disintegrated the shocked dam inside me. Now, my fire reared up like thousands of spooked horses.
Caroline.
&nb
sp; He had deceived me just like he’d deceived everyone. He had planned everything down to the very last thread. Just like the Phantom. Rage bled from my heart, but I didn’t have time to reflect longer. Intending to take Skip by force, Raoul and my brothers began to close in. In one moment, pure and instant, Skip drove a hand around my waist and changed swifter than any other vampire alive possibly could. His black wings wrenched out of his back, the sound of their release echoing throughout the hall before he unleashed his ghostly fangs. Paralyzed, I held my breath as Skip's fangs raked across my neck, just grazing the skin, and he whispered in my ear like the perfect lover. “Soon, Rin.”
Skip hissed one command to our pursuers. “Don't follow us.”
With that, Skip gripped my waist and raised us both into the air. My scream penetrated the night as we broke through the glass ceiling. Skip covered my fragile body with his invincible one. Thousands of starry glass fragments shattered to the floor. Heath’s terror-stricken face was the last thing I saw before Skip flew us into the darkness. I knew Raoul could still hear my scream slashing the wind.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Battle
After the initial, few-seconds shock, the rain shed the remaining glittery glass smithereens off my dress so I could beckon my silver blood. I tried to drive my wings from my shoulder blades, but Skip tightened his grip and crammed waves of persuasion to force my wings back down. Stronger than anything I’d ever felt during our training. Rendering me nearly paralyzed. That’s when I realized how much he’d held back. I gritted my teeth, seething fury.
“Now, now, Rin,” he purred low in my ear. “You think I didn’t memorize all your cues during all those months of training? All your weaknesses?” His nose knocked against my cheek, causing me to flinch.