“The abuse ended when I was around eight,” I tell her. I feel her hand briefly pause in my hair as she listens. “Elijah, my big brother, started defending me when he came back from boot camp that year. The old man fell off a cliff and died when I turned eighteen. Hunting trip. I left a year later and never looked back. I spent years in therapy, but it’s all in my past now.” I turn my head to look at her. Her eyes burn into me, and a sense of belonging wraps around my soul. It’s such a blissful sensation. I never want to let go of her, or her of me, until the day I die. “I have a new life now, Your Majesty. Protecting you is all I ever want to do. I’ll happily die doing that, completely and utterly content until my last breath.”
Violet chuckles and continues stroking my head. “Then I better make sure I don’t fall into any trouble. You’re my family, Elliot. You all are. I’d rather burn this world to the ground than lose any of my Protectors.”
I shudder at the sincerity behind her words. “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, that’s for sure, Your Majesty.”
“You’d be wise not to,” she says, tickling the side of my neck. “Now, what are your thoughts on wearing a collar for your queen, hmm?”
I’m relieved I don’t need to sleep after testing out my new power. The boys return from shopping shortly after Elliot falls asleep on my lap. Kaleo carries him to my bedroom while I pour myself an extremely large coffee. After listening to more of Sorcha’s good-hearted complaining about her friends and family, I go up to my room.
I find Elliot in bed snuggled against Kaleo’s naked chest, and Ronan typing on his laptop beside them. They look up when they hear the door lock.
“He’s more exhausted than I was,” I say, nodding at Elliot. “My poor little wolf. I hope I didn’t do any damage.”
My heart sinks at the thought. Under no circumstances will I practice on my Protectors ever again. The guys will want me to, but I won’t. There will be other ways to practice.
“He’s just exhausted,” Ronan reassures me, turning back to his laptop. “You worry too much. You always have.”
I look at Elliot asleep in my bed. He looks so peaceful. It’s horrendous to think of the life he had in Ohio. I wish I’d known him then so I could have saved him from his father’s abuse. My body boils with rage at just the thought of that bastard. I’m glad he died. I hope he felt every fucking bone break, every laceration, every muscle torn from his skeleton falling down that cliff. I hope he also got eaten alive by the animals he was hunting.
Forcing myself to smile, I hop onto the bed, and I prowl toward them, hungry for their touch. Kaleo smiles at me while smoothing his long fingers through Elliot’s hair.
“The kid didn’t have it easy in Ohio,” Ronan mutters, closing his laptop with a thud. He yanks his flannel shirt over his muscular, pale torso. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“You have no idea,” I say, my distant thoughts still wrapped in a familiar coldness from Elliot’s mind. I nestle between him and Kaleo, pushing my back against Kaleo’s chest and basking in their warmth. “You did a background check on him?”
Ronan shrugs a shoulder. “You bet your gorgeous ass I did. You’re my Queen. One can never be too careful.”
I glance up at Kaleo. He wraps his arms protectively around us. “He used to do them on our delivery guys, too,” I tell him. He’s such a control freak.”
A grin pulls at Kaleo’s lips. It slips away the moment he asks, “How did it, you know, go with Elliot, Your Majesty?”
How did it go? I found out one of my Protectors lived a life full of cruelty and neglect at the hands of his sadistic father. I experienced his pain as though I, too, were submerged into that heartless little world on the outskirts of Ohio. I felt every lash of his father’s whip and belt against my skin. I even felt his rage and disgust at having sired an omega. How could he have seen an innocent child in that way?
“It was painful,” I reply honestly, closing my eyes as I breathe in each of my Protectors’ scents. Their strong musk often serves as an aphrodisiac, but they also calm me. “I experienced everything Elliot did. I felt everything he felt. I breathed like him, I cried like him, and I begged for mercy like him.” I wrap a curl of Elliot’s dark hair around my finger. “It was just like with the kitsune, only more intense.”
Ronan sits beside me and rests a hand on my thigh. “You were able to access his memories with only a touch?”
I nod absently. “Yes. It was difficult at first. I managed to get through to him in the end.”
I repeat everything I told Elliot before he fell asleep. I describe the thoughts and emotions floating in a vortex, and that once I touched them, I was drawn into specific memories, some of them pleasant and some downright awful.
“Do you think this is something you can control?” Kaleo whispers, squeezing me to him. “Being sucked into memories that can harm you.”
Before I answer him, Sorcha knocks on the door. I can tell by her familiar four knocks that it’s her.
I let go of Elliot’s hair and look at the door. “Come in, Sorcha.”
She appears under the door frame, carrying a large brown parcel. “Oh, heavens! You’re all here. I was wonderin’ where you’d gone off to.” She turns to me, her big cheeks rosy and small eyes wet with tears. Has she been crying? Thankfully, she notices Elliot asleep in my arms and keeps her voice low. “I just had this delivered, lass. It’s… It’s a parcel from your mother, God rest her soul. It’s dated two weeks ago.”
My heart skips a beat. My mother sent me a parcel before she died?
Ronan pushes off the bed and takes the parcel from her.
Wiping her pink, button nose with a handkerchief, Sorcha nods toward the door. “I’ll just be downstairs preparing your supper. Shout down if you need me, lass. The men can come and fetch me.”
With that, she closes my bedroom door, leaving us alone with the mysterious parcel.
Kaleo lets out a sigh. “She really doesn’t like us, does she?”
“She’ll warm up to you, I promise.” Taking the parcel from Ronan, I sit up on the bed and cross my legs. “I wonder what my mother sent me.”
“Where the…” Elliot stirs awake. He takes a small glance around the room, his eyes still bloodshot, and gives a yawn. I catch it from him and yawn, too. “How the hell did I get up here?”
“You fell asleep in the drawing room,” Ronan explains, his voice surprisingly tender. “You did well today, Elliot. You deserved to rest.”
“But I—” His wide eyes land on the parcel. I love how his cheeks are rosy from sleep. “What’s that you’ve got there, Your Majesty?”
I smile at him. “A supposed gift from my mother.”
I don’t recognize the handwriting on the front of the package. She must have gotten someone else to write my address. The room falls silent as I slip a long, ruby fingernail under the paper and rip a corner. I pull the paper apart only to unveil a dark wooden box that I see no way of opening. I trail my fingers over the unusual carvings etched into the surface. I’m not familiar with the ancient symbols, but the roses and small rubies contain the same cut and color as the necklace my mother left me in her will. I run my hand over the foreign inscription. The words are rougher than I expect.
“Sanguinem vincit in aeternum,” I whisper, more to myself and wishing I’d paid attention to my Latin tutor. “What does that mean?”
“Blood wins forever,” Ronan says, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. “Similar to the note Eloise left you.”
“What did the note say?” Elliot asks, crossing his legs.
“Blood binds for eternity,” I mutter out loud, running my fingers down the side of the box.
“Ah, that makes sense. This inscription is the closest thing to the English translation.” Elliot looks between us all. “What? I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I can speak Latin, French, German, Spanish, and Japanese.” He shrugs casually. “I spent a lot of time at home, bored out of my skull. It’s nothing to brag about.”
My heart freezes at his words. He spent a lot of time at home because his father held him prisoner there. His abusive childhood rushes through my mind in a series of flashing, grotesque images. I force myself to shake them away and focus on the box. There’s definitely no way of opening it.
Blood binds for eternity.
I repeat the words in my head. My mother’s blood will run through my veins until the day I die, as will my father’s, and each time I drink from another, a droplet of their blood will remain in my system forever.
Binds, binds, binds…
I’m bound to the throne regardless of whether I want to be or not. It’s my purpose to be the One True Queen of the Shadow World—a world which I must protect for all supernatural creatures. My father’s blood binds me to that fate forever.
The only way I can claim my throne is by clawing my way through the sea of blood threatening to engulf me. Rivals. Traitors. Assassins. God knows what else. My Protectors are the ones who keep me afloat. They are the boats who will carry me, the air to my lungs, the hands to seize me from the crimson depths. They are a part of me, their souls, their hearts, their… blood.
“I’ve got it!” I run my hand over the letters and press my finger into the letter ‘I’. A droplet of my blood seeps into the box, staining the rich wood. “My mother’s magic worked by exposing her blood. My blood. She wanted to make sure the contents of this box couldn’t be intercepted by the royals.”
A soft click whispers through my ears, and the box opens up like a lotus flower. Inside I find a leather-bound journal with another ruby on the front cover. I trail my finger over the inscription at the very top. It’s different to the Latin version. This one has the same words as the note from her will, Blood binds for eternity, and it’s her handwriting. This is her journal. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I flip to the front page. My expression drops. The page is blank. I flick through the rest of the book and each parchment has been left unmarked.
I pinch my eyes in confusion. “There’s nothing inside.”
The bed dips as Ronan sits next to me. “May I?”
I hand him the blank journal, hoping he’ll be able to deduce why my mother sent it. Does she want me to use it for something? I’ve never been one for journals. I usually forget to write in them after a week, and they end up collecting dust.
There must be a reason why my mother sent me this.
Biting into my finger to deepen my wound, I hold it over the journal and let my blood—now my Protectors’ blood—sink into the parchment. Just as I thought, words start to emerge, long, loopy sentences written by my mother’s hand. I touch each letter carefully as the blood smears and oozes down the page, and then my mother’s soft voice whispers to me.
[Close your eyes, my sweet darling.]
Tears threaten to fall. I miss her voice. I miss everything about my mother, the way she’d cover her mouth and throw her head back whenever she laughed, how she would sometimes snort, and even when she admonished me over meaningless disagreements or my love for tattered, old boots.
I do as she says, my fingers still touching the parchment.
My consciousness wanes as I’m drawn into a deep dream. I float through a sea of clouds, over an enormous ocean, and over crowded streets with brightly lit buildings. I recognize Times Square glittering underneath me, and Club Mystique standing out proudly amongst the chaos. I am taken beyond them to upstate New York. My mother’s manor appears in the distance. Only one light is switched on. Her study. The front door opens, and I float through the entrance and up the spiral stairs.
My mother sits hunched over her glass desk, switching between a laptop and a pile of books and maps of historic buildings. The balcony doors are now open, the chiffon curtains blowing on a light breeze, and the full moon bleeds over her dark floorboards in silver ribbons. My heart squeezes upon seeing her.
[Mother! Mother, it’s me, Violet.]
She must not be able to hear me.
Of course she can’t.
This is just a memory.
My feet touch the floor as I am lowered down. I find my balance and take a steady step toward her, extending my arms to envelop her in my embrace. I fall right through. Her body momentarily disappears into a gust of black smoke, then she returns, typing faster on her laptop with her attention glued to the screen. Sadness threatens to wash over me. I’m silly for thinking I could touch her when she can’t even hear me. I gaze over her shoulder and read her notes.
Castello di Sanguine, Vatican City.
Vampires reported missing: 16
Vampires found: 1, pronounced dead before questioning.
Suspect: Lord Daemon and Senator John Wilkinson.
Verdict: Suspects were witnessed trafficking vampire cartel through Vatican City. Last seen entering Castello di Sanguine three days ago.
My mother stops and leans back in her chair. A smile of triumph plays over her face. She reaches into her desk drawer, places a cigarette between her lips, and strikes a match. I’ve never known my mother to smoke. She always said it was unladylike and pointless since the toxins have no effect on undead creatures. A vampire might as well just breathe the air.
A low chuckle sounds from the balcony. My mother pauses and glances out the window, her thin brows drawn together. The curtains no longer move with the breeze, though a rush of cold air sweeps over me all the same, and my mother’s hair swooshes against her back.
“You should have kept your nose where it belonged, Eloise.”
My mother crosses her legs, her silver dress moving with her slender body. It’s the dress she sent me as a birthday present eight years ago. “Oh, really? And why on earth would I do that?”
The man chuckles again, his deep, thunderous voice shaking the furniture. “You and I both know what will happen. You’re playing with fire here, Eloise, and you’ve already been burned by its flames.”
Taking a long drag of her cigarette, my mother exhales toward the balcony. The smoke wraps around a dark figure with eyes that gleam like fire. “I’d rather die than let you get away with this.”
The shadow takes a step toward her. Sharp canines flash in the moonlight, but I’m unable to make anything else out. A violent growl carries through the air. It’s from my mother.
“We both know you cannot sssstop me,” the man says, his voice turning into a hiss. “This has gone on for centuries. What makes you think a vampire like you has the right to put an end to ancient traditions? You’re a fool, Eloise Ayris.”
“And you’re a traitor!”
In the blink of an eye, my mother shifts into a white tiger and lunges forward.
Fangs tear into flesh and claws slice through brittle bones.
A gush of ebony blood sprays over my face and clothes, trickling down my throat and over my eyes. Despite my inability to see, I try to fruitlessly help my mother, but when I run to her, blinded by the thick residue, my feet fall into quicksand. Hands claw at my body, covered in thick, oily, crimson liquid. I scream as they drag me deeper under the murky depths until I see nothing but blackness.
“Don’t wake her,” Ronan warns, his crimson eyes narrowing into icy slits. “We don’t know what could happen to her.”
I glance down at my queen convulsing in my arms. Her eyes are wide open, but the lilac glow within them has faded. There’s no sense of awareness in her gaze or her colorless eyes. She’s gone, far away, out of my reach and where I’m unable to protect her. I can’t fucking stand it.
“We can’t—just—leave her like this,” I growl back, tightening my grip on her thrashing arms. I struggle to pin her still as her spasms gather momentum, and her head rocks violently from side to side. “Who knows what’s happening to her!”
Her head catches my chin, and I clench my jaw from the pain. I still refuse to let her go. And I don’t fucking care what Ronan says. My queen has been convulsing like this for too long. At first, her spasms began slowly, a simple twitch of her hand, turn of her head, or a mumbled prote
st. Then her temperature soared, her eyes shot open, and she started to convulse.
“I agree with Kaleo, alpha,” Elliot says to Ronan. The blood has completely drained from the pup’s face. He hasn’t looked away from Violet the entire time. “If we’re too late—”
“That won’t ever happen!” Ronan snarls at him, sitting beside us on the bed. He runs a damp cloth over Violet’s forehead. His hand pauses. “All right. Let’s wake her.”
How we do that, however, I have no idea.
Ronan throws the cloth over his shoulder. “Keep a hold of her, Kaleo. I’m going to drink from her leg. As I do that, I want you both to feed her your blood.”
I hold Violet against my chest, Ronan sinks between her legs, lifting the hem of her dress to expose her thigh, and Elliot bites into his wrist. I pierce my own, but l wait until Ronan sinks his fangs into Violet’s skin before we press our wrists to Violet’s mouth. Her response is weak to begin with. Her lips barely move, her tongue remains stagnant, and our blood only trickles down her gagging throat. But her thrashing ceases, much to my relief.
Ronan’s low moans vibrate up Violet’s body as he drinks from her, and slowly but surely, Violet’s lips begin to move, and she licks the blood oozing from our veins. Relief floods through me as I feel her taking the blood. Her hands weakly move up toward her mouth, and she grasps onto Elliot’s wrist, forcing his blood deeper down her throat. My hardened cock digs into her back. Fuck, fuck, fuck, my queen’s lips against my skin, drinking my blood, is better than fucking sex, and that’s saying something.
“Her eyes are normal again,” Elliot whispers, cupping the side of Violet’s face with his free hand. “She’s back. My queen, can you hear us?”
Ronan lifts his head. Droplets of Violet’s blood trickle down his chin, but his long, serpentine tongue laps at them hungrily. His eyes, too, are back to normal.
“Your Majesty?” I whisper, gently easing my wrist from her mouth.
The Queen's Protectors (A Throne of Blood Book 1) Page 11