The Reign of Darkness

by Britney Jackson

Kara looked down, her eyes darkening with hunger, as she watched the blood flow from Alana’s hand, sliding down her wrist in a steady, crimson stream.

  With a shriek of rage, Alana gripped the largest shard of glass and swung it at Kara. Kara caught her wrist easily. “Careful, love,” she said, ripping the shard of glass from Alana’s hand. “We wouldn’t want you to scar your pretty hands.”

  Alana jerked her wrist from Kara’s grasp. “You lied to me!” she growled.

  Kara took a step backward, a cocky smirk tilting at the edges of her lips. “It’s what I do,” she said, spreading out her arms. “Try not to act so surprised.”

  She spun on her heels and headed toward the door, feeling quite proud of herself, to be honest. But as she placed her hand on the doorknob, she heard a sound that made her heart stop: Alana. Not the shrieking, rage-filled Alana she’d faced a moment before. No, she sounded calm now. Amused, even. Manipulative.

  “But it’s more fun when I act.”

  Kara froze, a cold rush of dread pouring over her. She turned, watching as Alana cleaned the blood from her hand with a cloth. “What are you saying?”

  Alana smiled. “It’s oddly satisfying to trick a trickster, don’t you think?”

  “You knew,” Kara realized, her brows furrowing, “that I was using you.”

  Alana giggled, “I’ve been with you for a thousand years.” She took a step closer to Kara. “You didn’t think I’d learned nothing in all of that time, did you?”

  Kara sighed irritably, “If you knew, why would you tell me the truth?”

  “Did you think this was the first time you’ve gotten close to the truth?” Alana scoffed. When she noticed Kara’s worried frown, her smile widened. “Oh, you did,” she giggled. Her dark blue eyes sparkled. “That’s kind of sweet, actually.”

  Kara wanted to run—to get out of reach before Alana came any closer to her—but a pulsing, painful fog had already begun to spread through her mind.

  “When you talk to Aaron, you won’t remember any of this,” Alana said.

  Kara pressed her hand against her face, as if she could push away the fog, as if she could stop the mind-control. Her hair fell around her face, and her head spun violently. She almost fell, but Alana caught her. “Please, stop,” Kara gasped.

  Alana pushed Kara’s hair out of her face, so that Kara could see the smile on Alana’s face. “And hundreds of years from now, you’ll play right into his plan.”

  Everything suddenly stopped spinning. Kara straightened—the dizziness and pain gone. She looked down at Alana, her brows furrowing. “Whose plan?”

  “See?” Alana said with a laugh. “You’ve already forgotten.” When Kara’s frown deepened, Alana smiled. “It’s you who is being used this time, darling.”

  Kara stared at the glass in the floor, trying to remember what happened.

  “Come make love to me,” Alana called, as she headed to the bedroom.

  Kara glanced toward their bedroom, her eyebrows lifting, as she noticed Alana’s dress already in the floor. She knew she must’ve been going somewhere, but it suddenly didn’t feel so important. She stepped away from the door. “Okay.”

  —

  For the first time in several months, Kara woke up alone. It was the first thing she noticed—the coldness of waking up alone, the absence of Rose’s touch.

  Kara’s eyes began to burn, as the warm, salty tears welled up inside them.

  She froze, as she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder. It couldn’t be—but she knew that touch. She would never forget it. A flood of relief washed over her, as she realized it must have been a dream. Everything that happened to Rose—it must’ve been a nightmare. If Rose was here, then… Then, everything was okay.

  Kara smiled and rolled over, expecting to find Rose beside her. “Rose?”

  Instead, she made eye-contact with two shadow-filled eyes. “Not quite.”

  Kara sat up, her heart racing. She glanced around the room, disappointed to find that they were still in that abandoned building that they’d taken shelter in, before sunrise. Erik slept in the corner, on the other side of the room, completely unaware of the intruder. Thunder rumbled outside, as she turned toward the dark creature. The creature sat beside Kara, just as Rose often did when she woke first.

  “How did you get in here,” Kara said coldly, “without anyone realizing?”

  “I’m Darkness,” the dark creature said. “I’m only seen when I want to be seen.” Then, as if to prove her point, the solid, tangible shape of her faded away, becoming nothing more than an unseeable shadow. She waited a moment—until Kara reached out toward the shadow. Then, she allowed herself to solidify again.

  Kara dropped her hand. “Just another thing that makes you unlike Rose.”

  Pain twisted at the creature’s face. “I know you’re upset—that you must hate me,” she said sadly, “but I sensed your distress. So, I came to check on you.”

  Kara narrowed her eyes. “Why? You’re not Rose. You’re nothing to me.”

  Darkness flinched at that. “But I am. I’m part of Rose. She’s part of me.”

  Kara looked away, not sure what to think of that. She wanted all of Rose. Not the fragmented goddess who’d taken control of her. “I want Rose. My Rose.”

  “I saw your nightmare,” Darkness said, suddenly. “Or…memory, really.”

  Kara turned toward the creature. “You,” she said with a frown, “saw it?”

  “I see them all,” Darkness confirmed. “Nightmares. Fear is part of me.”

  “Is that the reason,” Kara asked, “that Rose had so many nightmares?”

  “Her trauma was the main cause of her nightmares,” Darkness explained, “but my power—or…her power—even untapped, probably didn’t help matters.”

  Kara closed her eyes. She didn’t like talking about Rose in the past tense.

  “I can restore the memory, if you’d like,” Darkness offered. She watched Kara with a sympathetic frown. “The one Alana took from you. You remembered it briefly, while you were asleep. If you want to remember, I’ll restore it for you.”

  “I don’t,” Kara said, her gaze fixated on the wall. “I don’t care about it.”

  Darkness sighed, her chest heavy. “What about the night of your fever?”

  Kara frowned at that. “I’m a vampire. Vampires don’t suffer from fever.”

  “You weren’t a vampire,” Darkness said. She reached out with her eerie, shadowy fingers and touched Kara’s side, where an axe wound had once festered.

  Kara closed her eyes, soothed by the familiar touch—even though it was much colder than usual. Her eyes opened, and she turned, gazing at the goddess.

  “You do, don’t you?” Darkness murmured softly. “You remember me.”

  “I thought,” Kara trailed off, breathless at the memory. “That was real?”

  “Yes,” Darkness said. “Most people are terrified of me, but you weren’t.”

  Kara’s gaze drifted down, lingering on those familiar, soft lips. They were Rose’s lips—the ones she’d savored so often—but they were also the lips she had kissed the night of her fever. Part of her wanted to kiss them again, but the other part of her knew that it would hurt to kiss them—when she knew it wasn’t Rose.

  Kara reached out toward the creature’s shadowy hair, fascinated by how it seemed to move, by how it seemed intangible and tangible, all at once. Darkness recoiled, at first, as Kara tried to touch it, but then, she softened and leaned closer.

  Kara gasped, as her fingers passed through the cold, soft-as-silk shadows.

  The creature’s dark, shadow-filled eyes fluttered closed, as if she’d felt it.

  “Your high priestess,” Kara said, sneering at the religious title, “told me your shadows kill everything they touch.” Kara frowned, as those same shadows swirled around her fingers, clinging to her skin. “So, why haven’t they killed me?”

  Darkness opened her eyes. “Destroy. They destroy all they touch. They’d erase your
very existence,” she corrected. “If I only want to kill—if I want people to remember—I use more conventional means. Like when I killed the Assassins.”

  Kara stared at her, stunned by the thought. “Why don’t they erase mine?”

  “I’d never let them do that,” Darkness told her. “It takes conscious effort to protect you from them, but I do. I’ll always protect you—because I love you.”

  Kara dropped her hand. “Don’t say that,” she said. “You’re not Rose.”

  Darkness leaned back, her brows creased with pain. “Kara, I know I…”

  “You don’t know anything,” Kara said. She shifted away from Darkness, shoulders high, posture rigid. “Don’t you have a world to destroy or something?”

  Darkness sighed, “There’s a building, near the closest army base. They’d planned to bomb you, but I destroyed their weapons.” She paused for a moment, her chest tight. “If you need me before the end of the world, you’ll find me there.”

  Kara glanced at her, surprised. “You know I could use that against you.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” the goddess said. She stood up. “Goodbye, Kara.”

  “Kara?” called a familiar voice—one with a heavy, French accent. Elise sat up, blinking across the room. She’d slept on the other side of the room, near Colina and the princess. She squinted at Kara. “Were you talking to someone?”

  Kara glanced at Darkness—only to find no one there. She’d vanished, as if she’d never been there at all. “No,” Kara lied. “Just talking in my sleep, I guess.”

  Elise tilted her head to the side, disheveled, blonde curls falling over her shoulder. “Kara, are you all right? Truly? I can come to you, if you need…to talk.”

  “I’m fine,” Kara lied. “I need to rest. The others will be here tomorrow.”

  Elise let out a sad sigh. “They’ll want to kill Rose. You know that, right?”

  Kara lay down in the floor, rolling over to face the wall. “She’s not Rose.”

  —

  The storms only worsened, as the night went on. By midnight, the storms had grown so loud and violent that they’d begun to wonder if the others had even survived them. To travel in this kind of weather was suicidal, but to sit still in the middle of a world war wasn’t much better. But considering the world was ending, anyway, Kara didn’t see the point in doing anything—except waiting for it to end.

  An apocalypse sounded like mercy—in comparison to the pain Kara felt.

  The last time she’d felt like this, she hacked someone to pieces and nearly poisoned herself. Princess Myrinne hadn’t let her kill anyone yet, so she was a little behind schedule. Kara narrowed her eyes at the princess, watching as she braided her hair. She wasn’t sure why the princess was suddenly on her ass, all of the time.

  Until last night, Princess Myrinne hadn’t given a shit about Kara.

  Last night.

  Kara’s chest ached at the thought.

  She’d wanted, so badly, for it to all be a dream.

  She’d wanted, so badly, to wake up next to Rose.

  Not Darkness.

  Rose.

  The door swung open, crashing against the wall.

  Kara barely had time to brace herself before a vampire slammed into her. His hand gripped her throat hard enough to tear through it, but rather than shove her dagger into him, she dropped it on the floor. When he heard the clang of her dagger against the floor, he glanced down at it, frowning. Another mistake, on his part—one that Kara would have delighted in taking advantage of, any other night.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, she just stared at him, her icy blue eyes flashing defiantly, as she waited for him to kill her. Again, he hesitated, confused by her sudden apathy.

  “Aaron!” Talulah said, as soon as she caught up with him. “Let her go.”

  “She betrayed me,” Aaron said with a cold glare. “Punishment is death.”

  Talulah’s dark gaze shifted toward Kara. Her brows furrowed, and a long, black braid fell over her shoulder. For a moment, there was softness in her gaze, softness that Kara hadn’t seen in Talulah, since before Kara betrayed her, and she honestly wasn’t sure she’d seen it, then. “Why aren’t you fighting?” Talulah asked.

  With a sad, bitter laugh, Kara spread out her arms. “Don’t care enough.”

  Talulah frowned worriedly at that, and a few other vampires whispered.

  The vampire leaders were slowly starting to realize that Rose was missing.

  “Son of Lilith,” Princess Myrinne said. “Release Kara Unnarsdóttir.”

  Aaron froze. His gaze flickered to the left, where Princess Myrinne stood. “I don’t know who you are…or where you heard that name, but stay out of this.”

  “You’ll find out who I am,” the princess said, “if you don’t let her go.”

  He scoffed, dismissing her threat, and tightened his grip on Kara’s throat.

  With a roll of her eyes, Princess Myrinne grabbed him by the back of his neck and tore him away from Kara, tossing him across the basement, as if he were weightless. As he slid across the floor, Princess Myrinne unfastened her cloak and tossed it aside, freeing her arms of the weight, in case she needed to fight. Aaron pushed himself up onto his hands, gaping at her. She shrugged. “I warned you.”

  Elise and Tom rushed to Kara’s side—to make sure she was all right.

  The vampire commanders stared at the princess, their mouths ajar.

  “I thought…” Talulah stammered. “You said you were Rose’s advisor.”

  “I am,” Princess Myrinne told her. “I’m also ten thousand years old.”

  “Impossible,” Aaron snarled. He tried to stand up—only to find a sword against his throat. He froze, looking up at the tall, armor-clad vampire beside him.

  “I apologize for the delay, princess,” Ligeia told her, “but I’m here now.”

  Princess Myrinne shrugged. “It’s all right. I can handle him on my own.”

  Aaron growled at that and tried to stand—freezing, again, when Ligeia’s sword pressed into his throat. “Who do you think you are?” he snarled at them.

  “Oh, that’s just the thing,” Princess Myrinne told him. “I know who I am. Unlike you—who spent thousands of years, assuming he was the oldest one left.”

  “I am,” Aaron said, between clenched teeth. “I killed everyone else.”

  “You killed everyone else you found,” Princess Myrinne said. “You never found us.” A smile curved at her lips. “I take it Lilith didn’t warn you about us?”

  Aaron’s brown eyes narrowed at that name. “What do you know of her?”

  “I know she thought very highly of herself,” the princess said, “like you.”

  Aaron let out a dangerous growl. “I am nothing like her.”

  “She was a bit dramatic,” Princess Myrinne said. “She liked to mess with the humans—hence all of the stories.” She laughed. “She never mentioned us?”

  His eyes narrowed—at the warrior, then at the princess. “Who are you?”

  Ligeia pressed her sword closer to his throat. “She is Princess Myrinne,” she told Aaron, “and she’s ruled the Kingdom of Skotalia for ten thousand years.”

  Benedict, who stood near the door, scoffed at that. “Never heard of it.”

  Another vampire leader agreed. “It doesn’t even sound like a real place.”

  Princess Myrinne lifted an eyebrow at that remark. “You don’t think so?”

  “If you’re the ruler,” Talulah said, “why are you Princess—and not Queen?”

  “Because she has Mommy Issues,” Kara said, still hoarse from the attack.

  Princess Myrinne turned toward Kara, pinning her with an annoyed look.

  Kara managed to flash a taunting smile, despite her thinly veiled sadness.

  Aaron tried to wrench the sword from Ligeia’s hand, only to end up flat on his back, with the tip of her sword nearly piercing his throat. His eyes widened.

  “I wouldn’t try that
again, if I were you,” Ligeia warned him. “I’m older, stronger, faster, and I’ve trained for ten thousand years. You’re not going to win.”

  Talulah watched them with wide eyes. Her dark gaze shifted back toward Princess Myrinne. “Are you saying that you have a kingdom of ancient vampires?”

  Princess Myrinne’s pale eyebrows lifted. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Explains why Rose’s army was better than mine,” Talulah muttered. She frowned at the ancient princess. “But if you’re the ruler, why is Rose in charge?”

  “Because Rose is more than a ruler,” Princess Myrinne told her. Her pale blue gaze flickered toward Kara, as she corrected herself, “Was more than a ruler.”

  With a pained expression, Elise muttered, “Now, she’s more than Rose.”

  Kara spun toward Elise. “No, she’s not,” she snarled. “She’s not…more.”

  Elise took a step back, wary of Kara’s anger. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Kara looked away, as guilt twisted at her chest. “If anything, she’s less.”

  Talulah’s dark gaze followed them, as they spoke—her brows furrowing, as she struggled to make sense of what they were saying. “Where is Rose, now?”

  No one answered. Instead, they all watched Kara, wary of her reaction.

  “Rose is gone,” Zosime said, as she joined them. She cringed a little, as Kara’s icy blue gaze shifted her way. “Ligeia,” she said, before Kara could attack.

  Ligeia stepped in front of Zosime, holding her sword out in front of her, blocking Kara’s path. “Calm down, warrior,” she told Kara. “It’s not her fault.”

  Kara lifted her chin and stepped back, each movement fluid and natural, brilliantly deceptive. Then, as soon as Ligeia let down her guard and lowered her sword, Kara swept forward and took it, disarming her so quickly she didn’t realize what was happening, until it was too late. Kara flipped the sword and pressed the tip of the blade against Ligeia’s throat. “Get out of my way,” she snarled at Ligeia.

  “You know I’m stronger and faster,” Ligeia sighed. “Do you want to die?”

  Princess Myrinne stepped between them, her back to Kara. “You’re not fighting Kara Unnarsdóttir,” she told Ligeia. “I won’t let her hurt Zosime. Don’t worry about that. But you’re not fighting.” She straightened. “I won’t allow it.”