“Never,” Bex denied. “I’m asking you to stand with me.” She stepped forward and touched the hard, unyielding plane of his cheek. The muscle there jumped and twitched as he clenched his jaw against her touch.
“I can’t do that,” he said, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and stiffened his posture against whatever debilitating emotion was weighing it down. “But you know, after a decade apart, that neither can I stand against you.”
Bex let her hand drop to her side. “Where does that leave us, then?”
The Chancellor shook his head and gazed upon the miracles surrounding him—at the humans saving the Damned, the Damned successfully transforming back into night bloods, and me, the Day Reaper who had entranced them all—as if in search of the elusive answer to that question. Suddenly, Lord High Chancellor Henry Lynell Horrace DeWhitt, Master vampire of London and Lord of all vampires, threw back his head and laughed. From the very deepest depths of his stomach to the highest rafter of the honeycombs, the peals of his laughter echoed.
When his amusement subsided, Henry reached out to Bex and stroked a thumb across her cheek, mimicking her touch from a moment before.
“Really, Beatrix,” he murmured, sweeping his hand to me and then to the great hall behind him. “Where does this leave any of us?”
The Damned were being transformed. Some were still hemorrhaging, others still thrashing and seizing, resisting the change—because most change, even good, is embraced at some level unwillingly—but a few were already returned to their night blood form. Gone were their impenetrable scales, flared nostrils, pointed ears, massive bodies, and thickened foreheads. In their place were brothers, wives, cousins, daughters, and best friends. Their bleeding loved ones clutched them, each and every one of them crying over their unconscious forms and smiling through their tears.
“Sevris!”
Mackenzie was running across the great hall, her arms outstretched and her face radiant despite the blood pouring liberally from a ragged wound at her neck.
“Mackenzie?” Sevris’s eyes nearly dropped from his head. I could hear the little pops of his strained capillaries as he refused to blink. “Fucking Christ, your neck.”
Mackenzie jumped over the body of a re-transformed night blood and collided with Sevris midair. The soul-deep ache of his love constricted my throat as I watched him pull her into his embrace, and the bittersweetness of hers, like chocolate, wrapped around him along with her arms, needing to hold him as much as she wanted to strangle him. The fact that I knew such intimate details from a simple glance made me look away.
But countless precious, private moments surrounded us, and I couldn’t look anywhere that wouldn’t intrude. Rowens was dipping Dr. Chunn into a searing kiss. Keagan and Jeremy were fist-pumping and grunting like apes. Ronnie was squeezing Logan’s and Theresa’s hands, and Logan—my God, Logan was smiling.
I could feel my lips trembling as I smiled along with him, my throat constricting tighter, nearly completely closing, clogged with everyone else’s overwhelming emotions as much as my own.
Meredith and Greta were standing across the great hall, taking in this moment, as was I. Our gazes locked with the fruits of our sweat and blood and sacrifice between us, and I felt the hot slide of my own tears flood down my cheeks. A fierce, triumphant lion’s roar burst from my body, unheard by Meredith and Greta, but I knew they shared my emotion because I could feel their pride and relief and surging, incredible joy roaring from them as loudly and boisterously as mine.
For the first time in weeks, the future was beaming down on us with warmth and hope. High Lord Henry, Walker, Bex, and a few others who hadn’t had an anchor grounding them in the storm might feel adrift now that the gale-force winds had died and the clouds had parted, but I knew exactly where the storm had left me: a place I’d never known existed, that I’d fought to find and that I’d fight to keep for the rest of my—hopefully—very long, extended existence.
Excerpt from Vampires Bite Back, Save the Big Apple
Cassidy DiRocco, Reporter
Vampires are intimidating creatures, their fangs lethal, their talons deadly. Their strength, power, and ability to heal after injury makes them nearly indestructible. They are creatures that human society has little knowledge of, and, more often than not, should fear. However, as the proverb goes, you shouldn’t judge people until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes; I am living proof that vampires are not everything they appear.
I was once a night blood, a human with the potential to transform into a vampire, and tenacious woman that I am, I couldn’t allow potential to go untapped. A few drops of blood, and suddenly I had fangs and talons, strength, power, and abilities I could never have imagined having. But despite the many physical differences between my current and former self, I am still very much me. My friends can attest to the fact that I’m the same loyal, sarcastic, short-tempered, tenacious woman I was before I transformed into a vampire. My diet is altered and my senses are enhanced, but otherwise, I still want to expose the truth, help serve justice, and see good triumph over evil. And good certainly did triumph this time, finally, but only because all the many people who were good—humans, night bloods, vampires, and Day Reapers alike—came together for one united purpose: to win back our city.
The coming together was, admittedly, almost as dangerous and nearly just as difficult as fighting to win back the city, and it’s easy to see why. Trust is a fragile thing, rarely given and easily broken, and to give it to people who have broken it before is nearly impossible. Imbecilic, even. A person can’t distinguish between good and evil by sight alone; we never could, not even when the only monsters out there were other humans. The only thing a person can use to truly judge the intent of another person are their actions.
The past actions of the many vampires in my acquaintance were suspect: they fed on human blood without consent and then entranced their victims to forget. And they survived, like clever ticks living off our blood, for eons. Until today. After centuries of tyranny, the vampires broke free from the laws of their Council, the Day Reapers, which forced them to exist in secret, and their first action upon having attained that freedom was to join forces with the humans and night bloods to free us from the Damned. They could have left New York City. They could have fed. They could have rejoiced in their newfound freedom and bathed in our blood. If they had been so inclined, they could have inflicted more physical and mental harm on us than we could possibly imagine. But the majority of them are not so inclined. Although people who do terrible things are just as terrible after the transformation, loyal, courageous, wonderful people who are transformed into vampires remain just as loyal, courageous, and wonderful as vampires, too.
I don’t need to believe in the paranormal to believe in monsters; they existed long before I ever discovered the existence of vampires—men strangling wives, women stabbing lovers, children shooting children. Violence and death seemed to surround me my entire life: my parents’ early and unexpected deaths, the crimes I covered as a journalist, my transformation into a vampire. So imagine my surprise in discovering the good in something so inherently bad: a being that survived on drinking our blood. The truth of their innate humanity wasn’t something I could easily accept or readily trust.
Until I saw it in myself.
I can look into a mirror (yes, that’s a myth) at the features that once inspired such fear and hate—fangs and claws and unimaginable strength—and instead, see the people we protected, the friends and family and loved ones we saved, and the city we helped restore.
Claws and fangs alone don’t make a monster, and neither do a few drops of blood.
Chapter 34
I stood on the rooftop of my old apartment, overlooking the city and watching the sunrise over the skyline. I wasn’t the only one. People were emerging from their safehouses, peeking out from basements, unlocking themselves and their children from their guest-bedroom cl
osets, and venturing from their back-alley hiding places. Tonight was the first night in over a week in which the Damned hadn’t descended over the city and hunted. Carter had printed and distributed my article just before sunset, a paper version for the citizens of New York City and a digital version submitted to the World Press, but for once the public had exercised caution over elation; they’d waited out the night.
And now that they were emerging, it wasn’t in celebration. They tipped their faces up to the warmth of the sun, their eyes closed and tears streaming down their cheeks. I remembered emerging from Dominic’s coven after he had kidnapped me that first time; I’d spent the night, just one, caged underground before Walker had helped me escape. And that first breath of fresh air and those first warm rays of sun lighting my cheeks had brought an exquisite ache of relief and bitter joy.
After a night of peace, my article had proven true in at least one regard, really the most important one: the Damned had been defeated. Being witness to their awe, disbelief, and bitter joy of realizing, if not quite believing, that they’d survived—emotions that I understood all too well—was almost too precious to bear.
I had freed New York City from her cage. I’d reunited families. I’d watched monsters transform back into sisters and husbands and loved ones. Time would only tell how the coven would heal from being torn asunder under Jillian’s rule, how New York City would rise in the coming weeks, and how we would all carry on in light of this new dawn, but the beauty of today was that we had time: time enough to write more articles and host press conferences to convince the public of our (relatively) peaceful coexistence; time for Dominic to regain the favor of his coven; time for Dr. Chunn to continue her research to help Nathan and all the other recently re-transformed night bloods who would now crave human hearts to curb their appetites, no matter how much Dominic insisted that her research was a wasted effort. Jillian had been killed before their transformation and therefore, according to his logic—folklore, Dr. Chunn insisted—the re-transformed night bloods were doomed to make do with their new diet. Certainly, we had time enough to debate folklore versus fact, and better yet, discover the truth together.
Even with the memories of yesterday’s victory so vivid in my mind and the hope for all our futures so bright, I couldn’t quite enjoy the solitude of my rooftop like I used to. The quiet peace I usually experienced was replaced by loneliness, and I was afraid I knew exactly why. While everyone else was emerging from their cage, I was slinking back to hide inside mine.
After everyone we’d saved and everything we’d accomplished, I’d failed the one person I feared meant the most to me: I’d stolen Dominic’s power from Jillian, and unless he killed me—which I wasn’t sure he was physically capable of at this point—I’d forever stripped him of his rightful place as the one and only Master of New York City.
I couldn’t bear to face him. I’d slipped from the great hall and the coven while everyone else celebrated. I’d submitted my article to Carter, skipped dinner, and fled here, to the one place I’d taken great pains to make safe: my apartment.
But I wasn’t safe, not even here, from my memories. My hammock, which had always been a comfort, reminded me of Dominic entrancing me beside him, of him kissing me senseless and me, unable to resist kissing him back. The city lights and skyline, previously a reminder of my roots and everything I stood for and believed in, was now the view I remembered from Dominic’s embrace. Memories of Dominic were everywhere inside, too—the couch, the rug, the kitchen counter, the bed, the recliner—oh God, that recliner. Hell, even the shattered window and glass scattered over the living room floor reminded me of Dominic coming to my rescue. I couldn’t escape him or my feelings for him any more than I could escape myself.
“I thought I’d find you here,” he said.
I whirled around, startled but hardly surprised by his presence. Considering our indelible metaphysical connection, he could probably hear the sound of me dying inside.
He stepped out from the shade of the trap door.
“Dominic, no! Stop!” I shouted, holding my hand up even as he stepped forward into sunlight. “Don’t risk it.”
“I’d risk everything for you,” he said, grinning like the idiot he was. “I’d walk through fire for you.”
I snorted. “You’d become fire for me, you mean.”
“An even more apt analogy for my devotion,” he conceded.
I rolled my eyes, but when I felt my own skin begin to smolder, I lunged forward and shoved him out of the sun. I joined him in the shade, so he wouldn’t be tempted to join me where he’d burst into flames.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why all the fuss? You’ve protected me from sunlight before.”
“And I had entranced the Damned before. We saw how well that turned out,” I grumbled.
“Yes, we did,” he said slowly, patiently, as if speaking to the mentally deranged. “We won.”
“But it took us forever to figure it out. I’m still learning my new body, and I’m not accustomed to all its new powers and strength,” I insisted. “There’s no reason to…well, play with fire,” I finished, grinning in spite of myself.
He grinned back, his scar pulling his bottom lip lopsided. His fangs were so straight, his icy eyes so blue, and his expression so dear that I couldn’t help myself. All the fear and guilt and overwhelming love erupted at once inside me.
“I’m sorry!” I blurted, my words a wail followed by a geyser of tears.
Dominic jerked back, my misery like a physical slap. “Cassidy, what—”
“I never wanted this. I never would have—” stolen the coven from you, I finished in my mind, but my mouth couldn’t form the words. Just the thought made me die inside.
He shook his head, looking perplexed. “Never would have what?” he asked.
And he was perplexed, I realized. I could smell the cinnamon of his proximity to me, his desire and need and desperate want that was never far from the surface. I could hear the sound of his confusion, like a dull, droning hum, and I could feel his helpless panic at the sight of my tears.
I’d been aching with guilt and bone-chilling fear, had actually considered whether he might attempt to kill me to steal back the power, but with him in front of me now and his confusion obvious, maybe—just maybe—I’d been wrong. And hoping to be wrong had never felt so sweet.
His utter confusion gave me the courage to say it out loud as his reassurances never could have. “I killed Jillian, and I stole your Master’s power from her.”
“To save me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I’m not,” Dominic said, his voice firm and certain. “I love you, and I can’t imagine sharing this coven with anyone else.” He took my hands in his, but my brain had stopped and stuttered on the words “I love you.” It took me a moment to realize that he was still speaking. “—learned from my experience with Jillian is that I can’t do this alone anymore. I must listen to my co-Master and consider her advice, or the coven will fall into ruin. Again,” he added warily. “The coven accepted your power over them before you had even accepted the Master’s power. There’s no stopping you.” He grinned. “There’s no stopping us.”
“You love me?” I whispered.
He raised a haughty eyebrow. “Who else would I allow to share the coven with me? What is mine is yours: my coven, my power, my life. Everything, Cassidy. Don’t you know that by now?”
I shook my head, not necessarily in answer to his question, but just in general. “I love you, too,” I murmured.
Dominic smiled. “I know.”
I scoffed, a rough, rude noise from the back of my throat. “But I don’t know anything about being a vampire, let alone leading a coven of vampires. I don’t know anything about being a Master,” I said, my words tumbling from my lips. “I can’t do this.”
“I have some experience, don’t worry,” Dominic
said flatly, “but I no longer have their trust. You, my dear, sweet Cassidy DiRocco, have earned their trust.” He let go of my hands and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. “As you have earned mine.”
His head dipped down and then his lips sealed over my lips, fervent and fevered, and I kissed him back with equal passion. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to either of us, but ironically, it was the one thing Dominic had earned from me while he’d lost it from his coven. After nearly six years in the news industry, interviewing witnesses, reporting the grizzliest of crimes, and helping Greta clean the underbelly of Brooklyn, I’d come face-to-face with people who were more monster than man. Hearing more-often-than-not remorseless confessions had hardened me in ways I hadn’t even realized until I’d come face-to-face with a real monster.
Dominic had been my worst nightmare when we’d first met, but time and again, he’d defied my initial judgment of his character. He’d saved my life, mended my broken heart, and returned something precious to me that I hadn’t even realized I’d lost: hope. My future was suddenly bright—startlingly exquisite, if overwhelming—simply because he was in it. In that clarity, I saw more than just my future; I saw past Dominic’s frightening exterior to the man beneath the monster.
I’d witnessed the worst humanity had to offer—I reported murders, rapes, assaults, and robberies every day—but after discovering Dominic in that back alley six long weeks ago and finally seeing the world, myself, and Dominic with clear eyes, I saw redemption now, too.
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