by Keary Taylor
The city of Boston has a huge population of around 700,000. The Greater Boston area is home to more than four million.
Two days until my delivery, and Cyrus shows up at my door.
“I thought you might like to see the facility in which we shall welcome this child into the world,” he says. There’s mischief in his eyes. He knows the ruse, but he knows there is always the possibility of spying ears overhearing.
“That sounds great,” I say. I look back into my apartment, meeting Michael’s eyes for a moment. There’s a dark look in them. But I don’t take the time to analyze it. I walk out, and close the door as quickly as I can.
Cyrus is certainly aware that my uncle Michael is around, and that he knows way more than he should, but that doesn’t mean I want Cyrus asking any questions if it can be avoided.
It’s late. Late enough I should be in bed. But Cyrus is a vampire, and he does only go out when it’s dark.
We take the subway, toward the medical part of town. We hop off and head into a tall building. Once the elevator closes, he dares speak.
“The entire top floor is ours,” he says, keeping his voice low, just in case. “There are only two ways in, this elevator and the stairs. After you have arrived for the delivery, we will clue everyone in and have them arrive. There will be guards at both entry points, hidden. Once he’s in, he won’t be getting out.”
“I expect he’s probably following us right now,” I say hushed, before the doors ding and slide open once more.
Cyrus only nods and we step out.
Indeed, we find a long hallway branching off to the right and straight ahead of us. The floor is laid out in a square of hallways, with rooms branching off in every direction. But we follow the long hallway before us, and straight at the end is a staged surgical room.
I swallow hard, looking around at the terrifying equipment that reminds me so much of the ones that were used against me back in Vermont. I feel the color drain out of my face. My knees wobble just a little.
A strong arm wraps around my waist, holding me fast but gentle.
“I wish I could say that what has happened to you is a first case scenario,” he says. My eyes want to rise to his, but I can’t look away from all the equipment, listing off in my head how they were used to inseminate me. “But I can’t. Our system does much good, but it has its flaws and unfortunate victims. We will right this wrong in two days time, Elle. I swear it to you.”
And finally, I do look up at him.
King Cyrus is a violent, brutal, cunning, and dark man.
But as always, he’s never hurt me.
I don’t understand why he’s spared me of his brutality and games.
But I’m grateful.
“Thank you,” I say around a dry throat.
I shouldn’t be out.
To keep up with our lie, I should be at home, in bed, taking it easy. But I couldn’t stand sitting around anymore, feeling so helpless, feeling like I’m just waiting and waiting for things to go into action.
So with a big argument and a lot of persuasion, I head to Oleander Apothecary in the morning, the day before our plan goes into action.
The day is refreshingly cool. It feels good to stretch my legs. To actually use my body. I’ve been starting to feel like I’m getting useless.
A few regulars drop in, thrilled to see me. I’ve been quite absent these days. But I receive positive reports about Casey, everyone is quite fond of the quiet, shy girl, who they all say is a lot like me.
I stay busy. Creating concoctions that are running low. Dusting. Catching up on bookwork.
For a while, it feels normal. Like how my life was before Ian showed up and told me that Charles Allaway was finally ready to get his revenge.
Back when I was alone.
I call it little more than a miracle when I make it through the entire business day without someone bursting through the door, whipping me away to go hide. When I don’t get any frantic phone calls about hunting Charles or Jonathan down.
I should have hoped for word. Because we’re getting down to the wire, and we need to track the both of them down.
But I’m relieved for normalcy. A day to myself. To just be me.
I close the shop at five-fifteen. I lock the doors, looking up and down Charles Street, at the hustle and bustle of this enchanting part of Boston. Couples walking the street. Joggers going for an afternoon run in the heat. The sound of voices floating out from the boutique restaurants.
And I’m reminded of why I love this city so much. Because it has charming little areas like Beacon Hill, with so much history. With such enchanting beauty.
I smile as I watch a biker struggle to make his way up the hill, and finally turn right onto Phillips Street.
And that peaceful, happy moment I managed to grab hold of for a second goes out like a candle.
My feet are moving before my brain gives them permission to do so. I clutch my bag, digging through it to find the stake at the bottom of it. My fingers curl around its warm, rough surface.
Down Phillips Street I jog, blood pounding in my ears. I pray that I’m wrong. Pray that this isn’t what it suddenly looks like.
But this is the date, and very nearly the time.
I only have to go two blocks, before the cross street comes into view.
Anderson Street.
Phillips. Anderson. 5:30.
It wasn’t the name of someone Jonathan was meeting with on this day at 5:30 that Cyrus and Killian found, but a place.
As I walk as quickly as I can, scrambling for my phone, I see two people cross the street up ahead, and duck out of view. Finally, I clutch my phone. 5:23. People are gathering.
I dial Aleah and hold the phone to my ear.
“Phillips Anderson isn’t a person, it’s a place,” I blurt out the second she answers. “It’s about four blocks from the House. I think they’re about to start a demonstration.”
Aleah swears, loudly. “We were following a lead,” she says, and I hear her bark at someone. “We’re clear out in Mission Hill. You stay out of it, Elle. We’ll be there as quick as we can.”
She hangs up, and my feet slow.
I’m torn. I’m not sure what to do.
Looking back down at my phone, there are only five minutes until this demonstration begins. But all help is at least ten minutes away, even with their vampire speed.
Slowly, I begin walking forward again. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath.
I cross Anderson Street, and the voices guide me to where the crowd gathers.
There’s a little park tucked between buildings. A few benches sit at the front of it, and beyond that is a playground.
Gathered in the park, there are eight people. All of them look unsure about being there. They fuss with their hands. Their eyes are slightly too wide, darting around, looking for something.
No sign of Jonathan.
“Is this where we’re supposed to meet?” I ask the woman closest to me.
She looks at me with this startled expression, as if forgetting that there were other humans around. “This is the place I was told.” Her voice trembles.
I look around, waiting for something. Watching for familiar faces. “You don’t really believe what he’s telling people, do you?”
I’m careful with my tone. Not to be condescending or ridiculing. Just putting enough fear and doubt in my voice to try and get her to talk.
The woman nods her head. “I watched one of them kill my cousin last fall,” she says. “Those yellow eyes. The fangs. All the blood.”
I feel my face blanch.
This makes it real.
Hearing stories of loss and death.
It was easier before to believe these were nameless, faceless individuals who were just ignorant and stupid.
But these people are real.
Suddenly a truck parks on the street just outside the park and three men jump out of the back of it, hauling a struggling woman with them.
“No,” the word breathes out over my lips. I shake my head, taking a step forward.
My eyes wide, I take in the men who carry the woman. I don’t recognize any of them. None of them is Jonathan Harper.
The way the woman stumbles, there’s something wrong about it. Like she can’t fully stand, and as she’s dragged closer, I realize it is because her legs are severely broken. Jagged bone threatens to puncture through her skin as she tries to walk, but the men shove and pull her forward.
The crowd shies back as she’s dragged forward, a bag over her head. Collectively we hold our breath.
“You are all here because you suspect,” one of the men speaks up. “You’ve suffered some kind of loss. Maybe even survived an attack. You all know, all you need is confirmation. You need to be given one last reason to fight.”
He suddenly rips the bag away from the woman’s head. She screams in pain.
I see a flash of yellow eyes, and suddenly a strong set of hands grabs me from behind, dragging me backwards.
I try to swing, to fling my stake through a heart. But I’m only tripping backwards, seeing sky and then brick walls as my assailant tucks us into a little alcove between buildings.
“You’ve been working with them this whole time.”
I’m twisted around, and suddenly I’m nose to nose with Jonathan Harper.
There’s malice in his eyes. Anger. Betrayal.
“You need to stop this,” I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth. “You have no idea what you’re doing here. The lives you’re going to ruin. The death you’re about to meet.”
“We’re building, Elle Ward,” he says, taking a step forward and I take an equal one back, bumping into the brick wall. “Our numbers…we’re gaining supporters every single day. People want to know they are safe, and that won’t happen until we eliminate them all.”
I shake my head. “You’re so stupid,” I breathe. “There are so many more than you know. They are so much more powerful than any of you. And things have changed. There’s a new player in town, and he is determined to have your head. And he won’t stop until he gets it.”
Screams sound from the park next door, and there’s a sickening ripping, wet sound, followed by a thud.
“It’s too late to stop,” Jonathan says, shaking his head. “The movement is gaining traction.”
He takes a step forward, and his eyes darken, violent, stormy. “I thought you were on our side,” he says. I lean back as he invades my space, my head bumping against the bricks behind me. He places his hands on the wall to either side of my head, trapping me. “You misled me. I’ve seen you, Elle. Working with them. Married to one of them.”
I bring my stake up slowly, quietly. I hover it over his chest without him noticing, because he is a human now, after all.
But I hesitate. He is human now, after all.
I’ve never killed another human being.
“Leave them,” Jonathan says quiet and even, but with weight. “You have two days to walk away from them.”
“And if I don’t?” I test.
“Then you can become part of one of our demonstrations.” The words are said between clenched teeth.
He suddenly pushes away from the wall and turns to leave, walking back out to the sidewalk.
I grip the stake and fling it.
Apparently not all vampire instincts fade away when the Bitten are cured. He whips around, snatching my stake from the air, and flings it right back at me.
I turn just in time, narrowly avoiding being pierced in the eye. The tip of it scrapes my cheek and I feel it cut me open.
I drop to the ground, terrified, analyzing myself for injury that could harm the baby.
I’m fine, save for a small trickle of blood running down my cheek.
When I look up, Jonathan is gone.
As I climb to my feet, I hear voices yelling, coming up the road.
I step back out onto the sidewalk.
A man darts out into the street, taking off down the sidewalk, running.
But not half a second later, Killian lands on top of him, fangs bared, red eyes glowing behind his sun shades.
The woman I spoke to tries to sneak off down the road, but Cyrus is there, ripping out her throat.
“Save one of them for questioning,” Cyrus hisses, looking around at the chaos and the lives being ended.
The Bitten woman already lies dead in the middle of the park.
Down the road, I see a blur. And suddenly Lexington is at my side, his eyes red and wild with fear and adrenaline.
“Are you okay?” he huffs, searching me over, fussing over the scratch on my cheek.
My instincts tell me to nod yes. But I just watch in horror as Cyrus and Killian and the House of Martials slaughter all those people.
This is their world.
This will always be their world.
And for a moment, I understand why Jonathan is doing what he is. Because it’s never really going to end.
“Come on,” Lexington breathes into my hair, wrapping his arms around me. “Let’s get you home.”
“Are you scared?”
Lexington’s breath causes the little hairs on the back of my neck to ruffle. We lie in our bed that night, him tucked up close to my back, his nose barely touching the back of my neck. His arm wraps around me, his hand holding my stomach.
I take a slow breath, forcing my body to calm once again. I took a long, long hot shower after we got home, after the interrogation was over. And I tried to focus on what was to come in the morning.
Trapping Charles.
“It has all been thought through, but there’s just something in my gut that knows something is going to go wrong.”
He pulls me closer. He presses his lips to the back of my neck and then tucks his face in tight, telling me he knows that’s always a likely possibility as well.
“Are you scared?” I ask him in return.
He doesn’t respond immediately. But I feel it, growing and getting more solid.
“It’s hard, because I just don’t understand a huge aspect of this plan,” he confesses. “What Rose and the others can do…”
I shake my head. “Don’t try to understand it,” I say. “It’s better if we don’t try.”
He nods, but I can tell it doesn’t change the struggle for him.
I roll over, facing him. Gently I place a hand on his cheek, looking into his serious, concerned face.
“Marry me?” I whisper in the dark.
The dark look doesn’t immediately leave his eyes. Because nothing is how we want it to be in our lives. But he places his hand over mine, sliding it down to his lips. He rests my palm against his mouth, and gently kisses it, letting his eyes slide closed for a moment.
“Yes,” he says as he opens them again, studying me with those blue eyes of his.
He leans forward, kissing me. It’s a gift we have when we’re together. Forcing out the bad, making it all disappear until it’s just us.
He comes to his hands and knees over me, kissing me until everything bad fades away. Parting my lips, slipping his tongue into my mouth. In one gentle, swift movement, he removes the tank top I wear and I pull his shirt off.
My hands rise up his stomach, touching every hard muscle there. Over scars, and up the rising muscles of his chest. His skin shivers at my touch, his entire body tensing at my trailing fingertips.
I lace my fingers in his hair as his lips once more return to mine.
This is what I will fight for. This is what I will sit on the sidelines for if I have to. It’s what I will move heaven or shift hell for.
Lexington and I.
Throughout the next day, everyone treats me as if I’m made of glass.
I’m annoyed, because in reality, I’m perfectly fine, besides feeling very pregnant at thirty weeks, and everyone should be out there, tracking down Jonathan and keeping an eye out for Charles, but they all think they need to be with me, giving support.
It’s sweet, and I have to
play along.
They make me breakfast. Bring an abundance of gifts for the baby, even though they’ve all already given me multiple presents. They try to distract me with funny stories and lots of laughter.
Every now and then, Lexington squeezes my hand, reminding me that I’m supposed to be extremely concerned. Sad. Worried.
And every time I look at him, I forget that I am anything but.
He’s such a good actor. He forces these little smiles whenever someone cracks a joke. But they never reach his eyes. His lips are pressed into a thin line. His entire expression is grave. He looks ready to shatter at any moment.
He’s breaking my heart, and I’m the one who knows everything is okay.
But in just an hour, they’ll all be told the truth, and summoned to help.
At noon, I say goodbye to half of the House of Martials. They are going to get back to work, taking care of the problem of Jonathan, keeping an eye out for Charles, but I know exactly where Charles is going to be.
And half of the House prepares to leave, because they might be clueless as to what is really going on, but they know the likelihood of him coming after me, once this curse against his child is broken. They will follow after us, ten minutes later, so as to give Charles a false sense of safety.
Lexington and Cyrus don sun shades, because we have to keep up some lies to the King, and we ride in Lexington’s car, headed toward the building Fredrick arranged for us.
My heart races. There’s a lot on the line today. But there’s more than one secret I must keep.
Cyrus knows Charles is cursed against his own child until after the birth. But he thinks it just spontaneously happened, just like his own cursing. He has no idea that I know exactly who the curse came from.
I know what would happen to Rose, Tove, and Imogen if Cyrus were to find out. He’d take them. He’d use and manipulate them, force them to do his bidding. Because he would do anything to break his curse of suffering the death of his wife, over and over.
I might not like Rose very much, might feel incredibly uncomfortable in her presence, but I could never do that to her.
It would be the end of her.
So I have to trust her when she told me she could break the curse from outside the building. The three of them will be in hiding and will begin lifting it once I’m inside.