by Lizzy Ford
“You will not bring that curse into my house!” my grandmother states.
“Then we can talk here,” my mother says calmly. She takes my hand and smiles down at me. Somewhat reassured, I smile at my grandmother.
“I haven’t seen you since that Kingmaker chose you. Why did you wait so long to visit?” my grandmother demands of my mother.
“It’s complicated,” my mother replies. “There are a lot of rules involved. But, I wanted you to meet Leslie.”
“Why?”
My mother manages not to sigh or curse like I would. If anything, she’s a total pro at this. I definitely didn’t inherit my temperament from her.
“Because it’s important to me, Mama,” she replies. “Because I wanted you to meet your granddaughter. She’s the light of my life.”
“That thing took you away from me. She’s a monster.”
My grandmother’s a bitch. I feel my childlike emotions, the sense of being hurt and sad, along with my adult emotions. I’m too angry to feel hurt as an adult.
“She’s going to change the world.” My mother squeezes my hand and smiles at me again. “I know it. I feel it.”
God, I love my mother. A deep ache settles into me. She died when I was five, and life kind of went to shit after that.
My grandmother slams the door in our faces.
If my mother is upset, she doesn’t say anything. We turn away and walk down the driveway and onto the street once more.
“Why does she hate me?” I ask.
“She doesn’t hate you, sweetie,” my mother replies. “How about we get some ice cream?”
I nod eagerly, in a hurry to be away from this place.
Chapter Three
The distant lull of the ocean’s tides gently tugs me out of slumber and the dream. The sea breeze is chilly, the scent of pine in the air. My stomach no longer twists and my head is once more clear. I’m warm despite the sea air, with my cheek pressed against the bare chest of …
Who?
Someone’s arms are around me, and his strong, steady heartbeat thumps softly beneath my ear. Last night is a haze of darkness and distress, and I sift through the memories to determine what exactly happened. My dream remains vivid in my mind. It felt so real. Did I actually meet my zombie grandmother when I was young? I can’t remember. I don’t doubt my mother’s beauty or warmth, and the ache from losing her again settles deep inside me.
After her death, my life went to hell. My father fell into a depression he never really came out of. Her absence from our lives is one of the reasons he spent so much time with his books.
This time, I won’t forget her face like I did after so long without her.
My eyes open slowly. I don’t move and instead, I take in what I can see of my surroundings. We’re on a couch before a fireplace whose flames are almost out. The décor here is modern and classy, black and white with pops of brilliant color strategically placed, such as the dark fuchsia rug in front of the fire.
Oh, god. Please don’t tell me I caved and went to Myca’s.
If there’s one thing I recognize, it’s how my supernatural husband-of-the-week feels like home whenever I’m in his arms. I know where I am seconds before my emotions completely engage, and I start to freak out.
“Shit!” I climb off him, trip over my shoes, and then right myself. I unleash every curse word in the book before facing the vampire.
Myca reminds me of a lion at rest, his athletic form deceptively relaxed in his position stretched out on the couch. His striking blue eyes are on me, and I find myself exploring his exposed upper body with too much interest.
The urge to devour him sends my senses reeling. Am I hungry? Horny? What the hell is this compulsion I’m physically fighting so it doesn’t drag me to Myca’s feet and make me beg him to … what? How can I not know what I want but know I need it with every ounce of my being?
I craved Ben with physical need beyond any I’ve ever experienced, and I fell head over heels into Tristan’s soul and shared my innermost turmoil with him.
This isn’t fully physical. Or emotional. Or mental. A combination? None of the above?
Fuck magic and the trials. I’m done with both.
“I’m out of here,” I snap and lean down to grab my shoes.
“You won’t get far,” he tells me.
“Shut up, Myca!”
He chuckles and sits up, watching me. “You’ll be starving again before nightfall.”
I don’t ever want to experience what I did yesterday but I’m not about to remain with him when he’s somehow fucking with me.
“I will be, too,” he adds. “You don’t want to starve a vampire as old as I am. It’s a recipe for guaranteed catastrophe.”
I straighten, glaring at him. “That’s your problem!” I snap.
“Technically, it’s yours, since you’ll be the one I hunt down for dinner.”
This just went from freaky to terrifying. He’s serious – and amused, as if he looks forward to hunting me down.
How far can I go before he finds me? I can’t afford a cab ride across town let alone gas money to leave town.
“Fuck you,” I stand and march towards the front door.
“Keys are along the wall of the garage. Take whatever car you want. It’s not like I won’t see you again soon anyway.”
I want to kill him. Literally, truly kill him!
“Or, you can stay here and not put normal humans in danger until you learn to control the bloodlust.”
His words stop me several feet from the door.
“Watch what happens if you smell a drop of blood,” he says.
I whip around. Before I register what I’m doing, I’m two feet from him, hunger blazing in my belly and frame quivering from the need to feed. The familiar frenzy from last night is back in full force, compelling me towards him, destroying any resistance I should have.
Stopping my approach hurts me physically, makes my insides fold in on themselves.
He’s holding up his forefinger, where a single drop of blood is perched at its tip. “One drop,” he repeats. “You’re a full vampire now, Kingmaker, but not yet bonded to me. Want to guess what happens the first time you see a kid fall off his bike and scrape a knee?”
“No,” I breathe, horrified by the image his words paint – but not as much as I am hungered by that same vision. “I wouldn’t.”
“Whether or not you want to, you would.”
I can hardly breathe and can’t take my eyes off his finger.
He pops it into his mouth and licks it clean of blood.
The spell is broken, but I can’t move.
“It’d save us both some potential trouble if you stay here,” Myca says.
I meet his gaze. Myca is classically handsome, with a strong jaw, large eyes and golden skin. He reminds me of a Disney prince, if a Disney prince sucked the life out of every princess he met. For the first time, I sense something beyond his smile. Something cunning, soulful, ancient.
Hopeful.
It’s this last emotion that causes me to step back. A tiny piece of the fae’s gift for empathy remains with me, enough to flesh out my instincts about others without fully shining a light on what I sense.
I don’t want to empathize with him! If I stay, it’s because I’m afraid of hurting someone else, not because I’m curious about the man who openly admitted to killing my father!
The fact my father claimed no Kingmaker in history had ever heard of the vampire before me, let alone met him, furthers my sense of profound confusion. Myca has answers. This much I sense.
But his magic … it scares me on a level I can’t understand. Why should I fear him when I have every right in the world to be furious?
He’s watching me, as if he already knows what the hell is going on inside me.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“No. Never.”
“Leslie,” he starts and then pauses. Whatever he wants to say, he seems to change his mind. “This is gonna be a
long week.”
“No shit.”
“What was your dream about?”
My eyebrows quirk. “None of your business!”
“It was a memory, wasn’t it? One you’d forgotten long ago.”
Can he read my mind? I refuse to answer and glare at him. I’m trying to work up the courage to leave but can’t get the image of me attacking some poor kid out of my head. I had control as a werewolf, but I don’t as a vampire.
“Bedroom and bathroom down that wing.” He points. “The house is yours. Go where you like.”
It’s hard to walk away from him but I manage to turn and start towards the hallway he indicated. I’m fighting myself again, refusing to admit I’m curious as to how he knows about my dream while also dying to know if it really was a memory. I can still see the warmth of my mother’s smile in my mind. I haven’t been able to recall her face that clearly in a very long time.
With a growl of frustration, I stop before reaching the hallway. “Was it real?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Yeah.”
“How? And how do you know I had a dream at all?” I face him reluctantly.
“You were talking in your sleep.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t fuck with me, Myca.”
He snorts. “It’s called the Blood Rite of Knowledge. When you drank from me, you were thinking of something. Usually, it’s a question. Whatever it was, the answer appears in your dream.”
I think hard, trying to recall what I might’ve been thinking when I drank from him. The night is too fuzzy, though. I recall wild emotions, confusion and … peace?
“Vampire blood carries memories. The older the vampire, the more memories, and the stronger his ability to access them. Most vampires are too young to do it, but I can,” he continues. “You’re my temporary mate, so you have access to twenty thousand years of vampire knowledge.”
“The curse,” I say before I can stop myself. “You can access what happened two thousand years ago when the Kingmaker curse came into being!”
“There’s a catch,” he says with a half smile. “And a price for each memory you access.”
“What’s the catch?”
“The question you ask, and the one you need answered, may not be the same. The Blood Rite doesn’t guarantee you the answer you want. The magic will show you the answer you need.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Especially since I know the answers I need and want are the same. “What’s the price?”
“Whatever I deem it to be.” He smiles. “I can also say no whenever I want and there are limitations on certain events. Some things are never meant to be known or remembered.”
I hate this man.
“Last night was free.”
“So in order to know what happened, you’re going to blackmail me, even though it’s in the best interest of the entire Community to help me figure it out,” I say and cross my arms. “What’s the price for me knowing about the curse?”
“What’s it worth to you?”
Everything. The only problem: I have nothing. I consider for a long moment then whirl and walk down the hallway. Why do I have the feeling he’s going to demand twice whatever I’m willing to give?
“Let me know when you figure it out,” he calls after me.
I don’t have any money. Not that any of these guys need it. So what the fuck do I tell him?
I make it five steps when sudden pain slams into me.
“Ow!” I mutter and hold a hand over my mouth. My upper gums hurt badly enough that I start to feel ill to my stomach.
“Teething?” Myca has followed me. He keeps his distance, though, as if sensing I want to deck him.
“Teething?” I repeat. “Oh, god this hurts.” I slide a finger into my mouth and gingerly touch my blazing upper gums. They’re hot to the touch and swelling.
“Come on. I’ll show you what to do.”
I don’t want to follow him, don’t want to acknowledge him.
But I turn around and watch him walk away. I’m pulled towards him despite my resolve and take a step then stop. The normal step jarred me all the way to my gums. My whole face feels like it’s going to swell up and fall off.
I walk carefully towards the kitchen, wincing whenever my heel hits the ground too hard and causes pain to radiate through the upper half of my face.
Myca is waiting for me in the kitchen. He holds out a frozen orange. I go to him and take it.
“Bite,” he instructs me.
“Won’t this make me throw up?” I ask. I can’t talk without pain.
“You’re past the transition point. Bite.”
Suspecting him of tricking me, I brace myself for worse pain and very gently bite into the cold orange with my upper teeth. The frozen fruit alleviates the hot pain immediately.
I sigh.
“Keep biting,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Your incisors need to pierce the gums. It’s easier and less painful if you help them along.”
I do as he says and soon taste blood. My own blood doesn’t smell like food, and I swallow it with a grimace. As soon as my new teeth break through my gums, the pain starts to lessen. But it’s not just in my mouth. I feel it running along both sides of my nose and up into my forehead and sinuses.
I continue to bite, soothed by the cold orange.
“Let’s see.” Myca approaches.
I lower the fruit and touch one of the fangs. “Ew.”
He lifts my chin and slides a thumb into my mouth, running it along my upper teeth. Since being transformed into a werewolf for the first time, I have a thing for wanting to taste people. His skin is like his scent, darkly sweet, like night dew and grass. I find myself studying him, stuck between hating him and wanting so much more than his finger in my mouth. His bare chest draws my focus, and I watch the muscles beneath taut skin move effortlessly.
I refuse, refuse to be attracted to him. It’s not possible to fall for my father’s murderer!
Why is my heart racing? Why can’t the fire in my lower belly understand the message that this is not happening?
“Good,” Myca says and pushes my lip up to see the progress. He studies my gums. “We’re fast healers.” He holds up the wrist he bit for me last night. Not even a scar remains. “You heal faster than most vampires. It’s a good sign.”
I shift my head back and touch my gums. My new teeth have broken free, and I’m no longer bleeding.
“A normal vampire teethes for a week or two. I assumed you’d be quick to pass this stage.”
“Why does it hurt up to here?” I ask and touch my forehead.
“This,” he taps his own incisor, “is the tip of the iceberg. When you bite someone, you’re basically inserting a straw into their vein.”
“That is the worst imagery ever,” I say and touch my incisors. “Does it hurt them?”
“You’re stabbing them in the neck. Of course it hurts.”
I frown. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know. Lie about that part?”
“You get used to it pretty quickly. Vampires have a higher pain tolerance than other supernaturals.”
“Great.”
“And only one real rule. You never kill while feeding,” he adds firmly.
“Why? Does it kill you if you drink from the dead?” I ask, mind going to a vampire movie I watched recently.
“Because we’re predators, not monsters.”
“But it’s okay to kill my father in cold blood, so long as you’re not feeding?” I retort.
Myca says nothing. He takes the orange and tosses it before retrieving a new one out of the freezer. Handing it to me, he motions towards my mouth.
“Keep biting until the pain subsides.”
This time, he’s the one who walks away.
I want to scream at him and demand to know why the fuck he murdered my father, but the lingering pain in my face is agitating me. I start to chew on the orange once more.
Myca goes out back, onto the bluff, beside a large, blue pool. I pau
se in the center of the living area and glare at him.
He begins some kind of martial arts routine. Tai chi, maybe? It’s graceful and slow, whatever it is, and I’m soon entranced in how effortless his movements are, how much power he restrains with each deliberate shift.
Restrained is a good word for Myca. My instincts warn me a vampire his age doesn’t survive unless he’s pretty powerful. He’s disciplined enough not to attack me, even if he is hungry, and he’s wise enough to understand what buttons of mine to push to keep me here when I want to be anywhere else in the world.
He told me about my dad on purpose. But why start things off with me in such a horrible way?
I don’t get him. At all. But do I want to? Am I curious about him because I want to know why he took my father away, or is there more to this?
Blinking out of my trance, I leave the living area and explore the wing of the house with guest rooms. I avoid the master bedroom that smells of night and dew out of principle and pick out a guest room facing the ocean.
Without the Book of Secrets or my notebook, I feel lost and soon leave the peaceful bedroom to explore the rest of his house. The study is the only place I feel remotely at home. Myca’s collection of antique books is ten times the size of my father’s, though I doubt all his are encoded with the histories of the clans.
I peruse the shelves then go to the desk and dig out a piece of paper and pen. Sitting in a comfy chair near a fireplace, I start to write.
Bargaining chips for the Blood Rite with Myca
And then I stop, because that’s as far as I can figure out. I’m drawing a complete blank. Sucking on the orange, I stare at the paper for too long before giving up and standing.
I’m starting to feel hungry and not about to cave to my craving again. I lock myself in the guest room and wait.
Five days. I can make it five more days.
Chapter Four
By dusk, I’ve got the shakes. A couple of hours later, I’m in agony once more. But I’m not going to leave the corner I’ve adopted as my home for the next few days. I’m definitely not going to ask Myca for help.
The door cracks open sometime before midnight, and light from the hallway spills into my dark room. I refuse to look up, even when my insides seize at his closeness. The compulsion to be in his arms disrupts my ability to think and breathe straight.