Blood Tithe (The Lost Cove Darklings Book 2)

by Bekah Harris

  The dining hall was buzzing with excitement. All the Laltogs gathered for Evening Feast every night, but the room was louder, and the metallic scent of blood was stronger, churning Felicity’s stomach. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten before she came, so there was nothing to throw up when Fhaescratch tipped his goblet up and guzzled. And the rare steak on the plate in front of her? There was no way.

  A band played strange music in the corner of the room, and all the Laltogs were dressed in formalwear that screamed Goth Halloween. If she hadn’t been surrounded by real bloodsucking creatures of doom, she might have enjoyed herself. As it was, she sipped her water and tried to ignore Kyla’s malicious glare. She looked radiant in emerald silk, her platinum hair piled high on her head in intricate braids. But her crimson eyes were trained on Felicity, never looking away even for a moment.

  She was actually happy when Fhaescratch stood from his prominent seat in the middle of the royal table and struck his goblet with a fork. The conversations died away, and finally, Kyla turned toward him.

  “This shall certainly be a Samhain celebration to remember for centuries,” Fhaescratch said. “We have in our midst a powerful Seelie Fae we are fortunate enough to call our Mage. As such, she has the power to thin the veil between our world and the NetherRealm more than any other Mage in the history of Lost Cove. As she begins, be sure to think of the ancestor you most wish to see, and I have every confidence it will be so.”

  Felicity’s stomach launched into an acrobatics routine as Fhaescratch pushed his chair in and held out his hand toward her. Glancing nervously at Tristen, she took the King’s hand and allowed him to escort her to the middle of the floor.

  “I leave you here to drop the veil,” he whispered. “Do not disappoint me.”

  The Magi should have already broken the wards, so now, all that remained was to summon the ancestors and be prepared for attack.

  But before Fhaescratch could leave, the doors behind them burst open.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Fhaescratch demanded.

  Two guards wearing fighting leathers escorted a familiar figure into the hall.

  Seth Erwin.

  He wore a pair of tight jeans with no shirt, leaving his well sculpted chest bare. Around his neck, though, he wore a large red half-ring that Felicity thought at first was a horseshoe. Upon closer examination, though, she realized it was a magnet, covered in tiny yellow chicks.

  Chick magnet. Clever.

  As if unaware of how ridiculous he looked, he rushed straight toward Fhaescratch and leaned in close. He whispered a single word, not meant for Felicity’s ears, but she heard it all the same.

  She bit down on her tongue against a shocked gasp. Fhaescratch, though, managed to keep his face completely free of reaction. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.

  “I think one of the humans has indulged in too much cider,” he said. “Leave us and do not bother us again.”

  The Laltogs erupted into nervous laughter, though whether they were relieved or disappointed that Seth wouldn’t be punished for his intrusion, Felicity couldn’t know. Once Seth was safely out of the room, she could breathe a bit easier.

  “Proceed,” Fhaescratch demanded, widening his eyes as if to beg her to be silent about Seth’s revelation.

  Trying to avoid the one face her instincts demanded she look at, Felicity forced her eyes closed and raised her hands. Just as Ardan had instructed, she didn’t rely on words but on instinct, her connection to the elements. Now that she had contacted her own mother, it was easier this time to connect with the other side. The energy she felt from the other Laltogs’ focus swelled inside her like a wave. Behind closed lids, she pictured a dark curtain hanging between this life and the next. One by one, the hooks on the curtain, snapped, the velvety fabric falling away inch by inch until it dropped.

  A thousand voices flooded her ears. Ghostly images flickered in her consciousness, a horde of spirits, just waiting to break through. She grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the table and sliced her palm, fisting her hand and allowing the blood to fall onto the lit candle beside her. Energy burst from her chest like a broken dam, and the veil was torn. The whispering started first, the sound of it like a million murmurs at once. Then, as Felicity’s eyes fluttered, as shadows appeared throughout the room, solidifying and fading like holograms. The spirits of the dead filled the room, their whispers echoing from the walls. The Laltogs chattered excitedly, happy to see their loved-ones after so long.

  Felicity had done her job. She had proven herself to the Laltogs. Maybe if she lived through the night, she’d reap the benefits.

  Gradually, she began to feel weak. Nan had told her that she might feel faint after the Samhain Feast, since she wasn’t accustomed to using her magic for that kind of powerful working. She sought out Tristen’s eyes in the crowd, but the only pair she found were the ones she had been avoiding.

  Queen Rowena glared at her, watching her like a spider watches a fly. Her head feeling too heavy for her body, Felicity searched for Fhaescratch. He was standing in the far corner, watching his wife and whispering to the guards.

  Suddenly, Tristen was beside her, catching her by the elbows and offering his support. Felicity was fading fast, fighting to stay conscious.

  “It’s her,” she whispered.

  “What?” Tristen asked. “I can’t understand you.”

  “The Fledglings,” Felicity managed. “It’s Rowena.”

  As her knees buckled, she felt Tristen’s arms supporting her weight just before he lifted her and cradled her against his chest. The room was spinning as she tried to orient herself. Finally, she gave in, allowing her head to fall back. The last thing she saw was her own mother’s face blurring in her vision. Slaine’s pale face twisted with an insidious smile.

  Chapter 29

  Tristen felt a set of eyes burning into the side of his face as he gently shook Felicity. His coven had basically used her as a magical battery, generating enough power to break down the barriers between the living and the dead. The majority of Laltogs were preoccupied by the appearance of the ancestors or friends they had conjured, but a few remained undistracted.

  His mother, for instance.

  It was her eyes that burned into him. When he met her gaze from across the room, her expression was unreadable. Could his mother, his own flesh and blood, be responsible for abducting humans? For turning them into vampires? For kidnapping four of Lost Cove’s own students? But the intensity in her fiery gaze told him all he needed to know.

  Yes. Queen Rowena was every bit as capable as his father of committing dark acts of betrayal. Tristen’s only surprise was that it was his mother, rather than Fhaescratch. It had to be about the fallen Seelie Queen. About seeking vengeance upon the realm that treated her so cruelly. She had never forgotten her scars and she wore them like trophies. Maybe this had been her plan all along.

  All was confirmed as Kyla moved behind her, and Elder Conlan crossed the room, heading straight toward them. Tristen glanced at Fhaescratch, who was shouting and pointing, urging the guards toward them. Suddenly, the doors closest to the main hall burst open, and bodies flooded into the room. Fledgling vampires rushed into the dining hall, some of them marching in organized formations, while others stumbled or crawled, their motions quick and jerky like zombies. It was easy to separate the trained fledglings from the newly turned, but both were clearly high on excess blood rations. That meant they were twice as dangerous, twice as unpredictable.

  He shifted Felicity in his arms, shaking her in an effort to wake her.

  “Come on, Felicity,” he said, “I need you to wake up. Can you hear me?”

  From all sides, guards and Coven members clashed with the new threat, turning over tables and breaking chairs. King Fhaescratch’s orders were drowned out by terrified screams, ferocious growls, and feral hissing. Bodies hurled with immortal strength soared through the air before landing hard against the stone floor or slamming into walls. Claws raked across sk
in, fleshy pops landed against cheeks, fangs tore throats from necks. Blood spattered the walls and ran in tiny streams between the stone tiles.

  Tristen had to get Felicity out. He sprinted away from the fray, grabbing a large pitcher beside a fern on the windowsill. Placing her gently on the floor, he poured the cold water over her face. She came to with a gasp and a curse.

  “There’s no time,” he said. “We have to go.”

  Nodding, Felicity took his hand, allowing him to jerk her to her feet. By the royal table, his mother and Kyla were fighting back to back, both of them armed with iron daggers, as well as their claws and fangs. Elder Conlan was rushing toward Fhaescratch, who bent his knees, waiting for the assault. Out of the corner of his eye, Tristen saw his father dodge a strike, and shove into Conlan. Opening his mouth wide, Fhaescratch struck, ripping Conlan’s throat out and spatting it on the floor. The Elder’s body slumped to the ground, his legs twitching as death took him.

  Tristen met his father’s eyes momentarily. Fhaescratch pointed to the tapestry, indicating that he needed to get the Mage out of harm’s way. Still holding Felicity’s hand, Tristen ran for the hidden door behind the hanging that covered the back wall. He had just applied the pressure to open the door when Felicity's hand was jerked from his. He whirled just in time to see Kyla dragging her across the floor by her hair. Snarling, he hurled himself at Kyla, knocking her away from Felicity, who rolled to the side and came up into a crouch, her palms glowing blue.

  Kyla hauled her fist back and punched Tristen in the face, his nose exploding in pain. Before she could hit him again, a surge of blue light zapped her, stunning her to the ground. She lay there, jerking, electricity still moving through her.

  “Let’s go!” Felicity shouted. “Come on!”

  Covering his nose, Tristen sprinted behind her back toward the passageway. They were halfway to the tapestry when double doors on all sides of the room were torn from their hinges. Tristen had to do a double take to believe what he was seeing. Fae soldiers clad in black fighting leathers stormed into the fray, pulling Laltogs and Vampires alike from their feet using dark ribbons of Unseelie magic. The magic bound their hands and feet like cloudy ropes, leaving the live bodies writhing and struggling against the cold floor. Tristen spotted Lyric and Lochlan among the Fae, both fighting side by side with the Winter magic of their native court. Fhaescratch had made his way across the room and was screaming at the queen. Rowena turned on his father, raising the iron dagger, which was aimed right for his heart.

  “Felicity!” Tristen shouted.

  Turning in the direction of his stare, she blasted Rowena with her electric magic, causing his mother to drop the weapon. Instead of trying to recover her knife, she stared in disbelief at the Unseelie Fae that raided the castle and then ran the other direction, trying to find a path of escape. Gaining more and more speed, his mother leapt into the air, blurring around the edges as massive leathery wings unfurled from her back. Felicity followed her erratic movements, blasting her with Seelie magic. She clipped his mother in the leg, but Rowena didn’t slow down. She gained more and more speed until she crashed through the window and into the night sky.

  She was gone.

  Tristen searched the room. Unseelie Fae had located the passageway and were now pouring out of that location.

  He wanted to get Felicity out, but now, they had no choice but to stay and fight. Laltogs began to shift, separating themselves from the fledgling vampires, most of whom had not yet learned how to take their batlike forms. They were easy targets, easy prey. While the Unseelies made an effort to keep the fledglings alive, the Laltogs from Tristen’s coven killed indiscriminately and without hesitation or guilt.

  “Tristen, look out!”

  Felicity pushed him out of the way as a newborn vamp dove at him. She sidestepped the flying body, allowing it to crash to the hard stone floor. The creature recovered, coming up on all fours like a rabid animal. Raising his head, the vampire snarled at them, revealing a powerful set of fangs that dripped with saliva. But here was something familiar about the creature. Recognition dawned.

  “Campbell,” Tristen said. “Campbell if you can hear me, we’ll help you. If you come with us we can help you.”

  But he wasn’t listening, wasn’t comprehending. For a new vampire, nothing existed other than thirst, and their instincts drove them to find blood and take it.

  “Oh my God!” Felicity said. “What can we do? We have to help him!”

  Tristen dodged, pulling her out of the way as Campbell launched himself at them again. He didn’t want to hurt a friend, someone who was innocent with a bright future ahead of him, but he also didn't want Felicity to get hurt. Bodies covered the floor, most of them bound by smoky black magic. The new vamp was quick, even when up against Tristen’s royal speed. Felicity continued hurling magic toward his feet and knees, trying not to cause any permanent damage, but he dodged her attacks every time. Finally, they found themselves backed against a wall with nowhere to go.

  Campbell hurled himself at Felicity before she had a chance to prepare. His fangs chomped centimeters from her throat before Tristen caught him by the neck and slammed him to the ground. But Campbell was strong, nearly invincible, and he rose just as quickly as he fell. Tristen continued to exchange blows and dodge attacks, but he worried that he would eventually have to kill him. If he could just contain him, they could save him, bring him into the coven, and teach him self-control. Campbell swept Tristen’s feet out from over him, sending him toppling into Felicity. Both of them crashed to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs.

  Towering over them, Campbell struck like a viper.

  Tristen reacted, covering Felicity’s body with his own and bracing himself for the pain.

  It never came.

  When he opened his eyes, Fhaescratch stood over him, holding Campbell’s still- beating heart in his hand. His ears rang, as the bloody organ began to dry and gradually fell to ash, floating to the ground like bits of charred paper.

  Chapter 30

  Felicity wrapped her arms around her knees, her hands still shaking.

  Campbell was gone.

  Alice’s boyfriend. The shy student who had eyed her skeptically from across the table in English class. Felicity hadn’t really known him. She’d never gotten the chance, and now she never would.

  King Fhaescratch—Tristen’s father—had ripped the poor boy’s heart from his chest. He had done it to save his son, maybe even to save her life, but the brutality of it, the quickness, was something she would never forget. How would she ever tell Alice? And what happened to Dante? Where was Ardan? How many had lost their lives during Rowena’s pursuit for power and vengeance? There were so many unanswered questions that flickered through her mind as Laltogs and Fae darted back and forth around her.

  Lyric, Lochlan, and King Padraic were engrossed in a serious discussion with Fhaescratch and Tristen, Lyric glancing back at her every now and then with a worried expression. Guards hauled the bound Vampires towards dungeons, where they would be fed and cared for until they could figure out who the sire was and break the bond. After that...well, that was going to be interesting. Would Fhaescratch keep them in Lost Cove? Would the Unseelies take them back to their Darkling Queen?

  Aside from the bustle of moving guards and dragging bodies or the occasional feral noises coming from the captured vampires, the dining hall was quiet. Felicity nearly jumped out of her own skin when a thunderous bang sounded from the main door.

  Everyone stopped.

  The humans had been barred from the castle, so whoever had gotten through was either a skilled enemy or one of them. Fhaescratch and Tristen crossed the room. Felicity stood to her feet, gathering her magic with what little strength she had left. When the door opened, though, Ardan strode through, carrying a gagged and bound Dante over his shoulder. He stopped and spoke in a low voice to Tristen and Fhaescratch before moving toward his brother, King Padraic, who stood with Lyric and Lochlan.

  Relief
washed through Felicity at the sight of Dante before she zeroed in on the Unseelie bindings and realized what they meant. Grief sent warmth spiraling from her head to the pit of her stomach.

  Ardan had been too late.

  Dante was a Vampire.

  Tears burned her tired eyes, and nausea surged and waned in her middle. Raven was going to hate her forever. If Dante lived through whatever was about to happen to him, he would probably hate her, too.

  But Ardan had kept his vow. He had gotten to Dante. He had brought him home safely, despite what had been done to him. Considering the blood that pooled in the grout of the tile floor, it was something to be thankful for. And the Darkling Queen had once been human. She was in full control of herself and, according to the histories, Queen Juliet fed from her own husband without harming him. Maybe there was hope for Dante, too. Maybe he could be taught to control himself. Maybe he would still be him once the bloodlust passed. Maybe there was a way to salvage Raven’s relationship with him. Still, tears pooled in Felicity’s eyes. How was she going to tell Raven?

  Confusion swept through the room as the stranger strode toward Lyric and Lochlan, and as he did so, the over-the-top glamour fell away, revealing the true Ardan. Recognition flickered across expressions as Laltogs and Fae alike took in the tall, lean form, the dark green skin and cold black eyes of the Winter Consort. Felicity had thought Gladiator Ardan was hot, but the true version was much better. He was beautiful in the same way a venomous snake was beautiful—lethal and dangerous and fascinating. Queen Ivy was a lucky lady.

  Taking a deep breath, Felicity forced her legs forward, moving toward Ardan. When he saw her, he greeted her with the infuriating smirk. Dante thrashed against him, growling like a rabid wolf. Felicity’s expression must have reflected her worry.