by Keary Taylor
And the very man. The man responsible for my being in my current state. Henry Conrath. The recluse. The man who wished to reject his state of being. The man who wrote me a letter before his death, begging me not to get involved with the King or this world.
My father may have been a great man, but he was also an ignorant man. He never could have kept me from this.
I imagine my life, if my mother never would have told Henry about my existence. I would have stayed in Colorado. I would have kept working in the bakery, making little more than minimum wage. I would have stayed in my tiny, worn-down apartment. I would have stayed poor and human for a long time.
Maybe I would have found someone to love eventually. Maybe I would have gotten married, had children. I would have taken them to school and gone to piano lessons or soccer, or any of those other things moms do. I would have had a normal life.
Until something eventually caught up to me. Some illness. Some accident. Old age. My family would have buried me, only for me to resurrect four days later.
Maybe I might have been like Jasmine. I might have searched after the ones I love most when I woke, only to be unable to control my thirst. I might have attacked my husband, too. Or worse, my child. Drained them until they died.
Maybe my mother saved me from an eternal lifetime of heartache by doing what she did. Maybe the life I’m idealizing, the one I’m currently feeling robbed of, never really existed in the happy bubble I’m blowing.
I’m learning that now. There are no true happy endings. Just happy moments, with the ominous to be continued.
There is no black and white.
I live in a world of gray.
“Give me strength,” I whisper to my parents as I climb to my feet again.
I walk back toward the house. Cyrus sits in one of the white rocking chairs on the veranda, a pile of snow pushed out of his way. “Are you alright?” he asks. His eyes study me. I see mixed emotions. Frustration. Pity. Uncertainty.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. Internally, I build the fortress of Alivia-brand-strength around me once again. I’m done being the girl out of control. I am back to being a queen and a ruler.
Just like that.
Because I said so.
“There’s a bit of a problem in this town that I’d like your help dealing with,” I say. I push the snow off the chair next to the King and sink into it. Instantly, the snow begins melting into my clothes. How unpleasant.
“Yes,” Cyrus says, a light igniting in his eyes. “Please, do share.”
“I have an enemy here,” I begin. I feel that black snake of anticipation rising up inside of me once more. “And she’s been trying to take me down for some time now. She’s created…an army of Bitten.”
“Bitten?” Cyrus repeats. He rubs two fingers over his bottom lip in thought. “How many people?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. At least a dozen. And she’s been taking people from Silent Bend. It’s ruining our town.”
“The creation of Bitten is an annoyance at best,” he says. “An unexpected side effect of our kind’s thirst and the lack of self-control. If someone thinks they will take a House with an army of Bitten, they are sorely mistaken.”
“She’s holed them all up in the mayor’s house,” I tell him. “She’s keeping him as hostage. She’s terrorized this town long enough. I’m tired of it.”
“Well, my dear,” Cyrus says as he leans forward with a coy smile on his face. “It seems we have a visit to make come nightfall.”
THE MAYOR’S HOUSE IS A splendid thing. Towering white columns support an overhang. Pure white siding that’s been well taken care of. It’s classic and historical. The plaque by the road marks it as the oldest house in all of Silent Bend.
Darkness blankets the town, but I see perfectly clear. See the snow-covered drive that leads up to the house. See the landscaping that I’m sure is meticulously maintained. See the swirling skies that circle above us.
“They’re inside,” I state. I can sense them. Thirteen bodies that smell just…off. Not dead, but not alive. The Bitten. I can sense those who have indeed died. Four immortal Born. And one very delicious-smelling human.
“Indeed,” Cyrus says as we calmly walk up the drive. We are dressed in our finest. Cyrus is in a leather jacket that stretches down to his knees. It’s laced with intricate stitching. He wears knee-high black boots and a sash across his chest. A golden crown sits atop his head. Sharp spikes stretch tall, deadly and dangerous as its wearer.
I wear black leather boots, a severe and regal black blouse with a high, royal neck. My own crown sits upon my head.
We look terrifying. We are royalty. And we will bring justice.
I knock on the door when we reach the porch. Silently, we stand side by side. I can feel the King’s excitement growing by the minute. This night will end in a game and bloodshed—the King’s favorite kind of festivities.
The door opens to reveal a woman with glowing yellow eyes. “What-”
But her words are cut off when Cyrus’ hand clamps around her throat. He stalks forward, pushing her backwards into the house, and she can barely keep on her feet with his speed.
With a satisfied smile, I follow my King into the house.
“I hear we have a genuine war and hostile takeover underway in the lovely town of Silent Bend!” Cyrus bellows as he pushes the woman through the entrance and into a narrow hallway.
The house is beautiful. Historic and preserved. A wooden set of stairs immediately rises inside the door, a hallway to the left, leading straight back and into a dining room. Hallways branch off here and there, leading to unknown places.
“I would very much like to discuss this matter with the…Born in charge.”
We enter the dining room to find five Bitten at the table. They scramble to their feet, eyes wide and bright yellow.
“Who are you?” an older man demands. “And what right do you have to barge into another’s home?”
“Oh, my good man,” Cyrus says as he shoves the woman away from him, sending her sailing across the room, where she buckles the plaster and collapses to the wooden floor. “I do not need rights. I create rights.”
“What the hell is going on?”
I turn to the voice behind me and find myself face-to-face with Micah Washington.
His face instantly pales and his expression goes slack. He instantly drops to one knee, his head bowed. “Your majesty.”
“Well, look at that,” Cyrus says as he looks over at me with an amused expression. “The traitors do have manners, after all.”
“It’s good to see you looking so well, Micah,” I say. I feel the black snake slithering through my veins quickly. I feel vengeance creeping up my spine. “Last I saw you, you all were running away from my newly acquired House with your tail between your legs.”
“I beg your forgiveness,” Micah says, his voice quaking.
“Where is she?” Cyrus says as four more Bitten join us in the dining room. “The one in charge of this humiliating disaster?”
A pair of heels click over wood, and slowly, I hear her descend the stairs. With forced calm, she rounds the railing and comes into full view.
“Hello, Jasmine,” I say. The smile upon my lips won’t be denied.
Her face is stark, drained of blood. Her eyes are glazed, fear controlling every held breath in her body. Her eyes only graze over me for a moment before settling on the King.
“Jasmine Voltera,” Cyrus says as he takes a step forward, his hands crossed in front of him. “It seems it’s been only the blink of an eye since we last met.”
“Almost sixteen years,” she says, but the words stick in her throat.
“Yes,” he says. He stops just five feet in front of her. “We had a lot of fun that week, didn’t we?”
I’m reminded again of the coldness Cyrus brings with him. He came to investigate why Silent Bend no longer had a Royal leader, Elijah having been killed, my father unwilling to claim the throne. Samuel and Ch
ristian Kask’s father had been leading for over a century. So, Cyrus called a game. If he could survive a battle against two dozen armed humans, Cyrus would instate him as a full-fledged Royal.
The Kask father did not survive.
And Jasmine took over leadership.
“Now, I’ve been hearing some interesting stories from not just Lady Conrath, but her House members, as well.” Cyrus takes another step forward, and Jasmine takes an identical one back. “Stories of heart-breaking manipulation. Stories of death and love. Stories of betrayal.”
The look in his eyes darkens. I can feel the disdain rolling off him in almost touchable waves. I feel my own fear and anticipation double.
Another vampire enters the room and I turn to find Trinity watching the scene with little more than disinterest.
Maybe the girl doesn’t have a soul.
“Are they true?” Cyrus says to Jasmine. His voice is low, almost hurt.
“My King,” she says, and the desperation that climbs out of her is almost humorous. “I was only trying to maintain what I had worked so hard to create.”
“What you created?” he challenges, the annoyance in his voice mixing with the humor. “See, because I thought that I had created this race? I thought that I had exiled those who betrayed me, and their descendants. I thought I had created this House system and maintained who would rule the world.”
He takes another step forward. As he does, Micah climbs to his feet again, poised and ready.
He will do anything for Jasmine.
And it will get him killed.
“See, I thought it was Elijah Conrath, a Born Royal, who created the House of Silent Bend. I thought it was he who built those houses and gained loyalty. He who controlled this area, aided in keeping our kind hidden.” Cyrus produces a blade from inside his jacket. He holds it before him, teasing Jasmine’s eyes as they follow it back and forth. “I thought it was he who led this area rightfully until he was killed.”
He brings the blade up, brushing the tip of it along Jasmine’s lower ribcage. Micah’s breath hitches and he takes another two steps forward.
“And I thought it was Alivia who had Royal blood flowing through her veins, giving her the birthright to take her proper place.” Cyrus leans in close, his nose tracking Jasmine’s neck as he breathes in her scent. “Because you, my misinformed miscreant, do not carry an ounce of Royal blood in your body.”
Cyrus’ fangs sink into Jasmine’s neck, and not a second later, Micah bounds forward, fangs extended, eyes red. But with the flick of his wrist, Cyrus throws his blade.
It buries itself into Micah’s chest, into his heart.
Micah hits the ground. Blood rushes from the wound. And instantly, his skin turns ashen.
Cyrus releases Jasmine’s neck and she’s instantly at Micah’s side with a scream.
“No!” Her hands hover over his body, looking for something, anything she can do to take back the last few moments. But it’s too late. He’s already dead. This time, forever. “No!” she screams again.
“From what I understand, this is the second lover you’ve been the cause of death of.” Cyrus smiles at Jasmine with her own blood running down his face. “You really should protect the ones you love, no matter the cost.”
Jasmine’s entire body shakes. The hatred and anger builds and builds, and I can feel it rolling off of her. She looks over her shoulder, back at Cyrus. “What do you want from me?”
Cyrus smiles, and it’s a terrifying thing with all that blood on his face. Because he cares not that all her Bitten with a heavy Debt have gathered round. They look at their King with malice in their eyes, ready to protect their creator with one word. But he doesn’t even see them.
“I think an apology to my poor Alivia would be a good starting point.” He squats before Jasmine. He wipes a finger through the blood on his chin, and sucks it off. “You’ve been quite the pain in her ass, from what I’ve heard.”
I come to stand beside Cyrus, my hands folded very calmly before me. Jasmine’s eyes flick to meet mine, and all the hatred and competition and betrayal of the past six months is in her gaze.
Slowly, she rises to her feet, never once looking away from me. Finally, she bows her head to me. “My deepest apologies, Lady Conrath.”
Coming from Jasmine’s lips, it feels like a sarcastic stab.
“Hmm,” Cyrus mulls. “For some reason, I do not believe you. What about you, Alivia? Do you believe her?”
“No,” I say. Fear keeps trying to creep its way up my spine. There are alarm bells going off in my head, saying something really, really bad is coming. But I can no longer be that girl who listens to them.
I just can’t. She’s too weak. Too sad. Too fragile.
“I don’t.”
“Now, that is a problem,” Cyrus says. He steps away, and slowly begins to circle around us. “Because in my very long life, I’ve learned that sincerity is most important in three occasions: love, revenge, and apologies.” He finishes his loop around Jasmine and Micah’s body. “And you have failed to show it, Mrs. Voltera.”
Fear saturates Jasmine’s expression once again. Her eyes grow wide, I smell the sweat on her palms. The weight of her situation is finally hitting her.
Cyrus turns from Jasmine dramatically to face the thirteen Bitten gathered around us. When I look at them, I find faces I recognize. One of the contractors I hired to work on my low-income housing development. Tony, who I’ve never actually met, but looks a lot like his cousin, who I have interacted with once.
She did this to them. Jasmine took away their freewill and choice.
Cyrus takes a step, and another, pacing slowly before them. “Do you all know who I am?” he says, commanding attention.
No one answers right away, not for a few weighted moments of silence. “You’re wearing a crown. So, are you supposed to be a King?” It’s a young boy who says it, probably no more than thirteen years old.
“Very good,” Cyrus says, smiling at the child. “I rule our kind. I rule your kind.” He continues to stalk back and forth, very much looking the part of a panther toying with its prey. “So when I ask you to do something, you know you should do it.”
Cyrus turns back to Jasmine, his eyes flashing brighter. “Since their Debt is to you, I request and suggest for your momentary safety, you do as I say. Or I will kill you.”
She presses her lips into a tight line and wipes the sweat from her palms. She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t refuse.
“More of the Born will be arriving in this town shortly. Many of them,” Cyrus continues, this time to the Bitten. “We will need a place to house them, and thankfully, there is already one available. One that rightfully belongs to a former Royal. And it’s just across town.”
The breath catches in Jasmine’s throat and her brows furrow. I flash her a warning stare and she’s instantly silent.
“Unfortunately, it is in a sad state,” Cyrus says, nodding his head, indeed looking mournful at its condition. “It is your job to make it ready for the Born who will arrive in two weeks. We have resources. We have money. Now, we need bodies.” He claps his hands together and says this last part with a smile. He looks back over his shoulder at Jasmine. “Now, tell them to get to work.”
The conflict is there in her eyes. This was her home, her House. And the King has just announced that he’s going to expand my House into it for the Born who will be under my leadership. She doesn’t want to give it up without a fight.
But the King has informed her that if she does not cooperate, he will kill her.
“Do as he says,” Jasmine says to her slaves.
Without hesitation, every one of them files toward the front door.
“You’re going to kill them when they’re done, aren’t you?” Trinity says. Her voice is flat, but there’s a hint of bite to it.
Cyrus turns to her. He observes her for a moment, taking in her greasy hair, the nose ring. The general unkempt look to her and her all-black clothes. “You’r
e a young one, aren’t you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says with the shake of her head. “I’ve been dead for over forty years.”
“It still makes you a young one, love,” Cyrus says with a laugh. “And yes, I will kill them when this is over.”
Jasmine’s expression tells me it is not them she fears for, not one bit.
“Alivia!” a voice yells from upstairs.
Cameron.
I’m upstairs the next instant. I break down a door at the end of a hall. It leads into a bedroom and, tied to the bed, spread eagle, is Cameron.
“Holy shit, I’m happy to see you!” he laughs, but it’s filled with pain. Because, carved into the flesh of his chest, is the word TRAITOR.
“Cameron,” I breathe in horror. I claw at the chains that have him bound to the bedposts. It takes me two good tugs before I break the first. When he’s freed, I wrap my arms around him in a hug.
“She had three of her Bitten nab me during your party,” he says. His entire frame trembles, and I wonder what kind of poison they immobilized him with. I’ve seen no evidence of Elle’s toxin anywhere around. “It’s been a damn long two days.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I squeeze him harder. The thought of anyone hurting Cameron makes me want to break things. He’s become like a little brother to me. “She’ll pay for this. I promise.”
“Just get me the hell out of his place,” he says as he lets me go. With shaking legs, he stands and starts for the door without a shirt. “And it’s good the King got them out of here before they all killed him.”
“Killed who?” I ask as we make our way down the hall.
“Mayor Jackson,” Cameron says.
I hear him, his breathing labored and harsh. Down at the very end of the hall. I start toward it. I place my hand on the door.
“Please, just leave.” An unsteady voice calls from behind the door. “Just…” a struggled breath rattles in his chest. “Take them and leave.”
I let go of the doorknob. I take a step back.
I did my best to get everyone out of Silent Bend. The curse storm had that unexpected benefit. But I couldn’t protect them all. I couldn’t save everyone.