by Mysti Parker
Wren strolled in then, fully clothed, but making my cock jump anyway. I was beginning to sense that she’d never had an ugly or awkward day in her life, because even with her platinum hair bedhead, she looked stunning. Her scent washed over me, an intoxicating blend of musk and roses.
"And will you be recruiting women into the Royal Knights like the progressive vampire you are?" she asked, crossing toward Charles.
"I don't care what they have between their legs. We need a trained army, the more the merrier." He circled his arm around her, and they pressed against each other in the most natural way, leaning like they helped hold each other up.
A pang of jealousy shot through my chest. My only serious relationship had been with my work, and that was how I'd wanted it. But watching these two, the woman who'd starred in my dreams last night and a man she was too good for, so relaxed and contented… Well, it was something I wasn't familiar with. With anyone.
"Breakfast?" Charles held out a shot of whiskey to her.
"I woke up about two minutes ago, so no." She ruffled his hair then unfolded herself from him and crossed toward the refrigerator.
I tried not to stare. Really, I did. But she wore black cotton pants that molded to her long legs and perked up her ass. A strip of bare skin ran across her back where the white T-shirt tied into a knot at her waist didn't quite reach. She had the grace of a panther as she moved, her yellow eyes always aware, always calculating.
Especially when they were aimed directly at me.
We flicked our gazes away at the same time.
I knew all my thoughts and feelings were being programmed into me by this stupid tattoo. I knew that, but parts of me were stirring awake that used to be just as dead as the rest of me. If I had a working heart, it would have been racing right then.
Did it matter that I'd never asked to feel like this? It was such a foreign feeling that I had no idea. Bronwen and Albert had chosen me as one of Wren’s mates, and as much as I respected both of them, it didn’t mean I agreed or wanted to.
“So yes, you'll get that list?" Charles was staring at me, like this wasn't the first time he'd asked that question. Or like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"Yes. But give me some time." I scratched at my tattoo distractedly.
Wren seemed to notice as she settled into the seat next to me; she cleared her throat and looked to Charles.
We hadn’t talked any more about removing my tattoo with the scepter like Albert had mentioned, but it sure felt like the elephant in the room now. I knew that the idea upset Wren as evidenced by the broken teacup at the bell tower, and I also knew I would need to make a choice quickly. I couldn't let myself be the one to stand in the way of the rightful queen. Rightful, but woefully unprepared, I meant.
So, as it was, I balanced on a stake's edge—tip one way, pledge allegiance to her, and probably die horribly. Or tip the other way and keep doing what I was doing. Wasn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results? Did I expect a different result? In a way, yes. I wanted a new queen. Someone who wasn’t Ravana, but someone not as naive as Wren. Unfortunately, there were no other known heirs, unless Bronwen had tucked away another kid somewhere. Ravana had supposedly been pregnant once but had miscarried, which might explain in part why she was so full of hatred and jealousy. The only other option would be an heir from one of the other clans, a second daughter of another queen. From what I knew of our history, that had happened only twice, and with deadly consequences.
An awkward silence had fallen, which was something I excelled at creating. And escaping.
I moved to stand. "I should—"
"Wait." Charles held his hand out. "I'm sure you'll tell me to go to hell if this hits too close to personal, but…what's with the mask? Was it fire or acid or…?"
I sighed inwardly. There were two types of people in this world—those who asked me directly and those who just stared at me with pity. I had no idea which was worse.
"Fire," I said.
Charles sat back in his chair and waved his hand. “Care to elaborate?”
I really didn’t. I hadn’t continued after my usual one-word answer since talking to the shrink I had in college. But maybe it was the way Wren was looking at me, not with pity but with gentle curiosity. Or maybe it was the easy way about the two of them that sparked something inside me, made me want just the slightest hint of…what? Comradery? Acceptance? I'd convinced myself I didn't need either.
Or at least I thought I had.
"Ever heard of Eternal cigarettes?" I settled back into my seat, and my toe hit a cat toy with a bell inside on the floor, making it rock back and forth and ring softly. Said cat raised his head where he lay napping on top of the refrigerator, blinked sleepily, and growled before resuming his rest.
Charles nodded. "The witch brand of cigarettes. They never go out."
"My mom used to smoke them." The words themselves sounded hollow, but they tasted like ashes and held the undercurrent of a child's scream. "She was an interesting woman. Always had a smile for a stranger, liked to leave handmade gifts on our neighbors' porches.”
Charles’s jaw tightened. “I feel a but coming.”
Something shifted across Wren's face while she listened, and her yellow eyes flickered with realization as they slid over my masked face. "Oh my god…"
My throat dried, and I forced a swallow as I stared down at the table. I could stop at any time since they already seemed to get the gist of what I was saying, but this had happened in my therapy sessions too. Anything more than my one-word fire answer broke the dam, like I had to finish recounting the entire nightmare just to remind myself that it was over. To stop the screams of my past for good.
"But,” I continued, “there was one thing in her life she despised, and that was me. She'd try to stamp out her Eternal cigarettes on my face and arms and legs, lock me in her closet for days with no blood—"
Her words still haunted my nightmares. “You’re just like him, no heart, no soul. The only thing you’re good for is pain.”
Wren sucked in a sharp breath even though she had no need for air. "How did you get out," she said with a slight tremble. Not a question, not phrased like one anyway.
"By throwing myself into the next fire and then into the next and then the one after that."
"Fucking Christ, man." Charles raked his fingers through his hair and then dragged his hand down his face to his chin. "I thought my mom was bad, but she took it out on herself, not me, by staking her own heart."
Wren's mouth popped open as she stared at him. "You never told me that."
"It…wasn't really the type of thing I wanted to tell you while we were running for our lives, little lady." He leaned over to squeeze her thigh. “I’ll explain more later.”
"Still. I'm sorry." She covered his hand with her own and bowed her head.
"What do you mean you threw yourself into another fire?" Charles asked me, his voice low.
"Ever since she first burned me, fire seemed to be my constant companion. My high school burned down, and I barely got out. During SFBI training, a freak accident torched the gym, and again, I just barely got out." I opened my mouth to say the next part, but the words stalled for a long moment. "The…warehouse…I told you about, Wren, where Albert stayed for a little while, burned."
"You were there." She searched my face, what she could see of it anyway, and I bet she could read everything off anyone by how closely she peered. She didn't miss much.
"I was there, like a fire magnet, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. He was just trying to burn off his tattoo, and by the time I arrived—or because I arrived—the fire got out of hand. I’ll never know for sure."
"I’m sure it wasn’t your fault." She leaned toward me and placed her palm flat on the table. “Did you…did you save my dad?”
"Over the years since I got to know him, I kind of saw him as a dad too." I shrugged. "I had to save him."
I never
knew my real dad, and frankly, I didn’t blame him for not sticking around my mom.
Wren gazed at me, stunned, and I had to look away because I saw the beginning of tears, of awe, and I was no fucking hero. If anything, I brought the apocalypse with me everywhere I went. It was like my mom's Eternal cigarettes still blazed wherever I stuck my nose. I'd tried to help Ashe and company, and look what happened to his sister? If I helped Wren more than I already was, death by fire could very well be all our fates. Whether by Queen Ravana or just me being me with my Eternal curse.
"Thank you for saving him. I…" She rose and touched my shoulder, sending a shockwave through my skin. Every angle of her face hardened as she stared blankly around the kitchen, seeming to hold herself together. "Thank you."
Then without another word, she left the kitchen.
Charles scooted the bottle of whiskey across the table and then raised his shot glass. "To horrible mothers."
I clinked his glass and then took a short pull from the bottle to silence the screams in my head. It burned everything on the way down, a fire in liquid form, and it worked quickly. A light numbness spread through my chest and made the thousands of pounds of bunker concrete above my head less heavy.
He slammed down his empty shot glass with a hiss. "Better?"
"Yeah." I sharpened my gaze on him. Had I walked into a trap coming in here? With alcohol to help loosen the words--which I hadn’t needed until now--and him asking probing questions in front of Wren? Yes. Yes, I had likely walked into a trap.
Bastard. He’d known. Not all of it but enough to get me to lay my cards out in front of Wren.
He nodded slightly as if he could read my thoughts. "Wren told me about the scepter and what her dad said it could do. You want to know what I think?"
Trick question if there ever was one, coming from him.
"Maybe," I said.
"We need someone who can burn it all down. Ravana. Her twisted view that vampires should be worshipped by humans, brazen political favors, the tight hold she has on her reign. All of it. Purposefully. Accidentally. Either way, as long as it's eternal. Make your curse or whatever it is you have count for something. Not all fires are destructive."
Eternal. Fitting choice of words. But Ravana had shoved Bronwen aside to take her place. Could someone like Bronwen—maybe Wren—shove Ravana back out? Did Wren have that in her? Did I have it in me to stay by her side and help fight what could very well be a losing battle anyway?
As if prompted by just talking about them, flames manifested on my right foot. They scorched through my boot, spreading a huge burnt patch across the toe, and incinerated the cat toy. Charles rose, grabbed one of the many extinguishers, and put the small fire out like this happened every day. Which it did. He just might not realize it yet.
“Thanks.” I heaved a bone-deep sigh. That was the second pair of boots I’d gone through in the last month.
“No problem.”
The cat hissed from his perch on top of the refrigerator.
“Sorry. I’ll get you a new toy,” I told it.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Shortly after, Zac burst into the kitchen, his shoulders heaving, his eyes wide.
"Where's Wren?" he demanded.
"Not here.” Charles stood, staring at him. “Why do you look like you've been chased by a ghost?"
Zac opened up his laptop and set it down on the table. "There's something you need to see."
Chapter Seven
Wren
In my experience, the sounds of someone running were never a good thing. This followed by Zac’s breathless voice saying my name and that there was something I needed to see. Well, that pretty much meant he wasn’t just training for a 5K.
Reluctantly, I turned back to the kitchen, where I had to face Marlowe and the shit fest of emotions he had stirred up in me, plus whatever new shit storm Zac had discovered.
“What is it?” I answered flatly as soon as I cleared the threshold. It smelled like smoke in here, and Charles was hanging up one of the many fire extinguishers. I cut my gaze to Marlowe who looked away. If he’d let me in and explain this whole fire business, maybe I could help get him an exorcism or something.
“Sit down,” Zac said. “I don’t know all the details, so we can’t act just yet.”
“Show me.” I sat in the same chair beside Marlowe I’d just vacated. He squirmed in his seat and took a swig of whiskey from the bottle he held.
Zac sat opposite me and slid the laptop he held in front of me. On the screen was a paused video on VTV with the heading Fifty-Thousand-Dollar Bounty—Must Watch!
But it was the still image on the screen that turned my blood to ice. Feet tied together and hung from a rope. It looked like a woman and a man. The woman wore one scuffed high heel, while her other foot was bare. The man wore casual hiking boots and jeans…just like Ashe had been wearing.
I gripped the edge of my chair. “Play the video.”
“Wren, maybe we should find out more first,” Zac said, glancing up at Charles and Marlowe.
His coddling tone quite frankly pissed me off, as though I couldn’t handle anything disturbing. I grabbed the laptop and pressed the play button myself.
The VTV logo with the subtitle ‘TV by Vampires, for Vampires’ faded away to a female vampire reporter with a severely straight platinum bob and bright orange eyes. She wore a crisp red dress with shoulder pads just as harsh as her hair and held the VTV News microphone with a death grip.
The camera zoomed out until the bodies were shown hanging from a bridge behind the reporter. They were both covered from head to ankles with black sheets. “More traitors to the crown have been discovered. Our gracious Queen Ravana has issued a bounty of fifty thousand dollars for anyone who has information leading to the capture of the person claiming to be the late Queen Bronwen’s daughter. Here are some still images we managed to gather from the authorities, shared exclusively with VTV News.”
Several images were shown, presumably of me from security footage. One was me dressed as Vivian, but was terribly grainy. It might have even been Vivian. The others were random blurry shapes that could have been anyone or anything. At least my identity was safe for now.
“As we reported earlier, this person is believed to be responsible for the explosion at the Vivian Bravo concert in Nashville. She has been seen with several men, including Ashley Jensen, who was apprehended and executed just this evening, also accused of murder in the death of the late Queen Bronwen.”
Ashe…apprehended and executed… Panic balled my hands into fists so tight, my fingernails pierced the skin on my palms. That couldn’t be right. The reporter was wrong. Ashe was fine. He had to be.
“Along with him, an accomplice, Elsie Mae Smucker, was also executed. Both of them drained of blood and eviscerated, the male also castrated, in the traditional manner in which traitors were dealt with before the clans were divided.”
I blinked at the screen, everything in me squeezed tight and drooping to the floor at the exact same time. This couldn’t be happening.
A male reporter’s image appeared in a square in the bottom right of the screen. He had a bushy mustache and thick rust-colored hair. “Truly a gruesome sight, Laura. Is there any lead on the location of this impostor?”
“None yet, though she is believed to be somewhere around the Alabama and Mississippi border.”
With a hard swallow, I hit pause on the video and slid the laptop back in front of Zac. All the men were poised and ready to hold me down. I guess they thought I’d fly into a murderous rage. Not that I didn’t want to. This new wait-five-minutes-before-killing-someone thing was more challenging than a vampire going vegan.
“That’s not him,” I stated, letting my steady gaze rest on each one of them until they eased back in their chairs a bit.
Had it rattled me? Hell yes. But if he were dead, I would have known it. I had to trust my instincts. They were a lot more reliable than the damn emotions clouding my senses. And I had to prove th
at I could stand up to pressure from enemies without losing it or ripping someone’s head clean off…until it was necessary.
I held up my tattoo. “His part of the symbol is still glowing. It’s fainter since he’s farther away, but if he were dead, it would be out. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. They’re trying to lure me out of hiding. They didn’t even show his face. If that were him, they would have shown his face.”
Charles nodded and sat back in his chair. “Like they did Jessica. When Ravana wants to make a point, it isn’t subtle, but this? This is trickery.”
“You’re probably right,” Marlowe said, regarding me with a look that bordered on impressed. “And the witches I sent with him would’ve contacted me at the first sign of trouble, which they haven’t.”
A soft female voice startled me. “But what about Elsie Mae?”
We all turned to see Vivian there in the doorway, her arms crossed tightly around her middle. I hadn’t seen her since we arrived, and quite frankly, hadn’t given her much thought since then.
Zac stood from the table and gestured for her to take his seat. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Marlowe, poured himself a shot, and downed it.
“Thank you.” She approached slowly and lowered herself to sit, staring at the laptop screen. She wore no makeup tonight. Her hair was pulled back with a pink, sparkly headband. The baggy pale green sweatshirt and faded black yoga pants made her look entirely different from the dolled-up starlet she had been when I first saw her. She looked so young, like a teenager.
“Um, we don’t really know who they are yet,” Zac said. “But just the fact that they are naming her in the video doesn’t sound good. Unfortunately, I haven’t determined their location yet.”
“Do you know Elsie Mae?” I asked.
Vivian nodded. “She’s my sister.”
A collective sense of shock widened everyone’s eyes. Not the least of which was knowing that Vivian Bravo was actually Vivian Smucker.