The Complete Midnight Fire Series

by Kaitlyn Davis

  “Oh, Kira, this was for you,” her mother said and stood up to cross the room. She walked slowly around the table, never once taking her eyes from Kira’s face. Kira sat still, not moving to even breathe. Her mother knelt next to her, wrinkling the fine silk of her dress to place her knees on the ground, and rested her palms on Kira’s thigh.

  “I was dying. You see, I never truly recovered from the attack and with each passing day I grew weaker and weaker. My love for Aldrich helped sustain me, but I was content to die. And then…” She squeezed Kira’s leg affectionately. “Then we heard reports of a mixed breed conduit girl, a mere defenseless baby, and I knew it was you. And I knew I had to live so I could find you. But I was dying and the only way for me to live was through Aldrich, through his blood.”

  Kira fell back into her chair, completely drained of energy, and reached up to grasp her father’s ring again. She smoothed the pads of her fingers around the edges, feeling the slight scratches in the worn metal, and tried to understand this woman kneeling in front of her.

  Logically, everything she said made sense. The story was pieced together very well. The emotions in her voice rang true. But still, deep down past Kira’s lingering anger was a small ball of doubt curling around itself and settling in for the long haul.

  “Your father’s ring?” Lana asked, reaching through Kira’s fingers to grab at it. “I haven’t seen this in a long time.” She poked her finger through the opening. It was far too big for her slim hands. “Mine was taken from me a long time ago, but I still remember the words. Love will prevail—and it always does,” she said and dropped the ring to hold Kira’s fingers instead. Kira tightened her muscles, clenching her fingers around her mother’s hand. Like Tristan’s they were cold, but that was not how she remembered them.

  In her dreams, Kira remembered her parents. She remembered resting her tiny head on a warm bosom, tugging at strands of loose blonde hair, and poking at the freckles on her mother’s face. Her mother’s skin always felt hot and alive, always burned like Kira’s did now. Her hands were always tan and sun-kissed, not pale and cold like the moon.

  “What does it feel like?” Kira asked. “Being a vampire, I mean.”

  “Like perfection,” her mother said. “I’m never tired. I’m never hurt. I never feel the ache of old age. There is no distance I can’t run or length I can’t swim. I can see past the horizon and hear the flutter of an insect caught in the wind. There is nothing I am afraid of. Nothing that can hurt me. Nothing that I fear.”

  “But how does it feel?” Kira asked, emphasizing the last word. She had asked Tristan this question once, and he had said that until Kira had come into his life and livened his senses, he had just felt empty and without purpose. He’d had all of the time in the world, but no one to share it with. He’d had all of the power in the world, but no good to do with it. He was surrounded by life, but felt dead all of the time.

  “It feels,” her mother began and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and slowly released the air. As it left her lips they began to widen, pulling at the ends until her teeth were revealed. Two sharp incisors poked out, lengthening with the breath until they dented her lower lip. “It feels like bliss.”

  Kira looked away and brought her hand to her chest. One, two, three—she counted her heartbeat and felt the blood pump through her veins. It was warm and circulated heat to the rest of her body before crashing back into her heart to repeat the process.

  Kira thought of that spot, deep in her heart, where the swirling blood cells came alive and turned to flame, of the boil that crawled along her skin with her power. The sun once stung her, once caused her pain, but now she welcomed it. Whenever she was afraid, whenever she was lost in the darkness of doubt or despair, she came crawling back to that spot in her heart where the sun filled her with life. In that connection, she knew there was nothing to fear and nothing that could hurt her.

  Then Kira began to think of something else, of something ripping that warmth from her and replacing it with an icy chill that rippled through her limbs, a dead darkness that needed the lives of others to survive. Kira imagined pulling for the sun, attempting to gather her strength, and finding it gone—vanished.

  Bliss, Kira thought with a shiver. Losing the sun was her worst nightmare.

  Kira could understand fighting to survive. She could almost understand falling for Aldrich under the circumstances of her mother’s life. Losing a husband and a child all in one day might make a woman seek out comfort in the most unlikely of places. Even turning into a vampire wasn’t beyond Kira’s comprehension.

  But parting with her fire, losing the flames, rejecting the sun—and feeling bliss? That Kira would never understand and that Kira doubted any conduit would ever be able to truly feel. The absence should be a gaping hole in her chest, a pain that haunted her mother’s immortality.

  Kira broke her thoughts to stare at the woman kneeling by her feet, the woman still smiling with the happiness of her existence. Her ivory skin had no hint of the sun, not a single drawn out freckle. Her tightly pulled back hair was devoid of any wildness. Her smile held secrets, but none that Kira felt any connection to. And her eyes were as dark and monotone as the night sky at the end of the sunset, when all of the glorious colors had disappeared but the stars still didn’t want to come out and play.

  The woman flicked her pupils at Kira as if finally remembering her daughter was there. Kira watched the candles flicker in the black of her eyes and watched as even the reflection of heat rejected her. Deep in the ebony pools of those unfeeling eyes, Kira finally found an emotion. Coiling at the base of that bottomless pit, Kira saw hatred and it snapped her back into her seat.

  The woman blinked and it was gone, but it was enough. Despite her flawless appearance, carefully crafted story, and emotionally charged words, Kira knew with every fiber of her being that this woman was not her mother.

  Now all she needed was proof.

  Chapter Six

  Slowly, Kira rose from the sturdy wooden chair and excused herself. Calmly, she walked to the door and looked back at the woman still crouching on the ground. She put as much love as she could into that look, hoping it was enough for that woman to believe Kira had been fooled by the show.

  It took all of her strength to continue stepping at a normal pace up the stairs and down the hallway. Her muscles were tight, contracted. Her senses were alert, and she had to control her legs to stop them from stretching out in front of her and sprinting the rest of the way to her room.

  Aldrich and that woman, who Kira couldn’t even think of as her mother, had to believe Kira was happy—maybe tired and drained of energy, but happy deep down. In reality, all Kira felt was despair. All of this, every second she'd spent daydreaming of a future with her mother and planning a rescue mission, all of it was wasted. Her mother was gone. Kira knew it. And she suddenly realized just how stupid she had been to believe in the fantasy, how naïve she had been to actually risk all of their lives searching for a phantom dream.

  But there was a nagging question in the back of Kira’s mind—how? How had this woman faked her mother’s appearance? How did she know so much about her mother’s life? Was Kira just being stubborn again? Was she just screaming inside because she got exactly what she had wished for, but realized too late that it was a corrupted desire?

  You can’t bring the dead back to life, Kira thought but then corrected herself, you can’t bring the dead back to life and expect nothing to change. After all, vampires were in so many ways the living dead, but none of them, not even Tristan, were the same as their living selves had been.

  “Kira?”

  Kira blinked. Tristan was standing in the doorway of their room, looking down at her with concern.

  “Are you okay? You’ve been standing outside of the door for a few minutes, not moving, not really anything…” he trailed off. Kira blinked again then remembered the act.

  “I’m great.” She smiled, knowing Tristan would see it was insincere. But h
e didn’t. He took both of her hands and led her inside. All the while, his eyes danced with an electric charge, a surging burst of energy that Kira just couldn’t copy.

  “Don’t you see what this means?” Tristan asked.

  That my mother is dead, Kira thought, that I’ve been the biggest fool in the world? But she didn’t say the words out loud. Somehow, Kira didn’t think it was the answer he was looking for.

  Tristan didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he led her to the foot of the bed. Kira let him sit her down and he knelt at her feet, still holding her hands.

  “Kira, we can be together. Forever.” He kissed her fingers and held her hands against his heart, smiling from ear to ear. It was a full smile, showing all of his teeth. Something Kira was normally happy to see, but not now. Not when she wanted to die inside. Not when she wanted to confess that that woman downstairs was not her mother—that her real mother was probably dead. Not when she wanted to cry and release all of the pain piercing her insides.

  Tristan shifted his gaze from one of her eyes to the other, shuffling back and forth, and tried to read her expression. He thought she was confused.

  “Don’t you see it? Your mother turned. You can turn.”

  Kira almost couldn’t bear the excitement coloring his words. But she almost never saw him this open, so happy and relaxed…so full of hope. And that was the only thing that made Kira swallow her resounding no. Because even though Kira wanted to let it all out, she couldn’t bear to fight with Tristan, not when she was already so close to breaking and not when he was the happiest she had ever seen.

  But she couldn’t open her mouth to speak. Instead, she let her body weight pull her down into his arms. Tristan caught her mid-fall and they were hugging. And he was lifting her into his arms, holding her like she weighed nothing at all and spinning her around in circles.

  Kira held him close and let silent tears fall down her cheek. She buried her head in his shoulder to contain her shuddering breaths.

  But Tristan didn’t notice. His vampire senses were too hyped up on adrenaline for him to process how opposite their feelings were. Laughter bubbled out of his mouth, loud and uncontainable, joyful and disbelieving.

  Kira drank it in and let it fill her up, pushing her sadness to the side. Suddenly visions were popping into Kira’s mind, idle dreams she never really let herself believe because of how impossible they were. Or how impossible they used to be.

  Traveling, that was what Kira had imagined the most. Seeing the African grasslands with nothing to fear and Tristan at her side. Staring down a lion while he watched on with laughter in his eyes. Or kissing under the Eiffel tower, visiting every ten years as an anniversary of sorts. Fifty years down the road they would come back to England, ride the London Eye again, and Tristan could bore her by describing every single way the city’s skyline had changed.

  But maybe they would come sooner and, back in that rose garden, Tristan might propose. He would slip a ring on her finger—something simple, a single shimmering diamond. They would laugh and kiss and he would twirl her around like he was doing now. They would be perfectly happy, there in that rose garden forever, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla petals and eternity.

  And they could get married. Kira saw it clearly, a small ceremony with her family present. Her father would walk her down the aisle, making sure not to step on her flowing chiffon gown—something relaxed, perfect for the beach. Maybe she would skip the shoes and instead let her toes dig into the sand as she gracefully stepped closer to Tristan. His eyes would be as clear and bright as the glistening water, and they would sparkle just the same. She would take his hand and promise him forever.

  And forever was what they could have. When he ran, she would be at his side just as fast. They would be equals, on the exact same side for once, with nothing else to worry about. Nothing would be forbidden. Nothing would be judged. They would fight, of course. Kira was too stubborn to let him get away with anything. But then they would make up and that, Kira knew, would be magical. It would just be the two of them. The rest of the world would hardly exist except to make them happier for all of eternity.

  So Tristan continued to spin her around and around, because time stopped mattering. They had too much time to worry about wasting it. And with his laughter ringing in her ear, Kira forgot everything about this night except for the sounds of his joy and the dreams playing like a movie in her head, the preview of a life suddenly possible.

  By the time he collapsed on the bed with Kira draped over him, she was giggling with him, drunk on the endless possibilities before them.

  Kira looked down at Tristan and cupped his cheek in her hand. His smooth skin felt like silk against her fingers and she let them drift into his dark hair, pushing it from his face so she could see him clearly. With her other hand she traced the line of his square jaw, ran her thumb over the contour of his cheekbone. His eyes, framed with thick black lashes, were turning lighter by the second, fueled by a growing hunger Kira couldn’t dispute. Finally, she glanced at the two thin, pink lines of his lips and leaned down to cover them with her own.

  Infused in that kiss was every ounce of love Kira had ever felt for Tristan—the flutter of their first meeting, the heart-stopping zing of their first kiss, the deeper warmth of shared memories, and the passion of bonded moments.

  Kira felt the same from him and they were both lost in their feelings. The bed disappeared, the room disappeared, the entire world disappeared, until all Kira could sense was his skin on hers.

  Much later, when Kira rested perfectly content in Tristan’s arms, she wished only for sleep, not wanting to think about the day before or the hours to come. She didn’t want to think about anything except how perfectly happy she felt in that moment.

  But in sleep, her dreams did the thinking for her.

  And as her sleep deepened, the colors dancing in the darkness of her closed eyelids transformed into an image. Pink blushes became rosy flowers. Blue swirls flattened into a rippling lake. Green beams sharpened into blades of grass. And the blackness receded, condensing into the shadows of the tree she and Tristan sat under.

  The breeze against her skin felt like a ghostly kiss. The soft lapping of minute waves along the shore sounded like drums in her ears. She could hear cars driving miles away. Above her head, a bird stepped along the branches of a tree, crunching its little claws against the bark.

  Tristan’s hand over hers was firm, but not cold. For the first time, his fingers felt warm in hers and Kira looked down at their pale hands, intertwined and identical except for the difference in size.

  Her hands looked white. Her gaze traveled up white limbs, down to white toes. Her skin looked like stone. She poked it with her finger. It was hard, like overworked unyielding muscles. Kira wiggled her toes, and Tristan laughed next to her.

  He stood gracefully, moving his body like liquid, completely comfortable in his form. He offered his hand, ready to pull Kira to her feet, but she was already standing. She stuck her foot out for balance, not used to this lightning speed.

  She smiled at Tristan, and he tilted his head, reading her expression even though Kira wasn’t quite sure what her mind was thinking. His lips turned up into a smirk, his eyes challenged her and before Kira had time to think, he was gone.

  But not gone, just in front of her, racing. Her legs pumped, chasing after him instinctively. Trees flew past her in a blur, leaves slapped against her face but they didn’t hurt. Sticks crunched under her bare feet, breaking with the pressure.

  Soon enough, she caught Tristan. She jumped onto his back, latching her arms around his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his torso, turning him into her pack mule. He continued racing forward until they reached a clearing. Mid-stride, he dropped to his knees causing them both to tumble to the ground and roll over in a pile of hands and feet.

  But her giggles filled the silence, and she pushed his body off of hers as if it weighed nothing at all.

  And then a gust of wind came, o
ne strong enough to push the branches above Kira’s head completely to the side, exposing her to the sun. Instantly her arms tingled with the sting, like sharp pin pricks stabbing her all over her body. It didn’t hurt per se, but it wasn’t pleasant. It was new though.

  Curious, Kira stood up. She stepped forward, past the line of shadows and into the open grass. The sting strengthened. It felt almost like rain falling against her skin. But these raindrops were made of boiling water and they burst against her hands.

  “Kira,” Tristan called from the wood, “come back.”

  But Kira didn’t look back. She continued to stare at her hand. She turned it over, moved her fingers around. She could almost feel the heat sinking into her skin, burning it in miniscule patches you would need a microscope to see. But she could see it. She focused her eyes, zooming her vision closer and closer to the surface of her hand, until cells came into view and she could see them shriveled up in the heat. One cell turned to ash, only to be instantly replaced by another and another. The black flecks were lost to the wind, but Kira saw them.

  “Kira,” Tristan said again. “Come back and eat.”

  At the word eat, Kira’s nose picked up the scent of sugar and honey. But she wasn’t in the mood for sweets, and responding to her demands, the scent changed to that of a fresh turkey club with a crisp pickle. Kira licked her lips. Lunch was exactly what she needed.

  And when she turned, there was a girl next to Tristan. He cupped her wrist to his mouth and his eyes were closed. Following the smell, Kira walked closer and picked up the girls other wrist. She used her nail to cut a line in the girl’s skin and fresh blood oozed from the wound. The smell dazzled her senses. It was any food she wanted it to be and no food at the same time.

  In a daze, Kira leaned down to lick the savory meal, but a voice stopped her.

  “Wait!”

  Kira jerked her head to the sound. A blond boy stood across the clearing. Freckles danced along his cheeks and his slightly off-kilter nose seemed oddly familiar to Kira.