by Iris Walker
She felt like an idiot; like a soft, squishy idiot for breaking down in front of this ethereal vampire queen. Megan had been raised to not show a scrap of emotion, to be a rock, even if she would never have been allowed to assume leadership of her bloodline. Weakness was not a quality that was tolerated for her people. But that life was so long ago, and even as every instinct that had been instilled into her screamed to shut up, to wipe her face and put on that mask of intimidation, she knew it would be impossible. Fausta pulled her chair over, silently folding her arms around Megan and rubbing her back. Megan had no choice but to let all the pain, all the horrors, and all the suffering out, reliving each horrific experience with utter clarity. She could still hear the decrepit, starving vampires hissing at her through the bars, and a shudder ran through her.
“You are hurting,” Fausta hummed. “You are scared…” Megan nodded, drawing in a gulp of air. Fausta let her hand leave Megan’s arm and reached for something on the table. Liquid splashed against glass, and Megan drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to wipe away the tears. Fausta shifted so that she was sitting up, the vampire’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders. “This will help you feel better,” she cooed, presenting the glass to Megan.
Deep red liquid sloshed inside, and for a moment, Megan wondered if it was blood. She’d seen so much blood in the last few days that even the thought of it sent a wave of nausea through her. “What is it?”
“Wine,” Fausta said simply. Megan eyed the liquid with equal measures of wonder and fear. She hesitated; her father had succumbed to the bottle after his long and horribly complicated relationship with her mother. She’d abused him, and he in turn abused himself, and Megan had been front and center for the whole thing over the course of her upbringing. But the wine in front of her now sparkled like a spell, an enchantment, the notion of sweet oblivion promising an end to her suffering. Was it as good as every adult said it was? Would it really erase everything she’d seen? Fausta pulled her closer, running her hand along Megan’s hair, and whispered in her ear with velvet words. “Let me take the pain away, little wolf.”
The sunset burned through the red liquid, a blazing ball of fire contained in the reflection of the glass, and Megan nodded, letting Fausta bring the cup to her lips and drinking deeply.
God, it burned.
Megan coughed slightly, making a grimace at the sour, ashy taste. A melodic laugh came from Fausta, who tilted the glass up once more. It wasn’t as shocking as the first time, and left her whole mouth feeling warm. Fausta took a silk napkin and wiped the corner of Megan’s mouth, tucking her hair behind her ear with one slender finger. “Now that you’re here, with me, there will be no more pain for you, Megan,” Fausta said, setting the glass on the table. Megan watched the vampire’s burning red eyes, more vibrant than the sunset, like blood and fire all boiling around those deep black pupils. Her hair fell over Megan’s shoulder, thick and dark, and it smelled like ripe cranberries and some rich spice. Cloves, or cinnamon, or maybe something sharper. The vampire moved closer, and closer still, brushing her lips against Megan’s and sending her tumbling into a blissful oblivion.
The whole world was moving around her like she was underwater. Colors streamed together and everything buzzed with a vibrant hum, like she was Alice, walking through wonderland. She could barely feel her fingers and toes, because they were buzzing too, and everything was warm and she felt so beautifully distant and that was fine by her, because distance from reality was a real treat after everything she’d been through. Further and further they walked, through the halls of the castle. She got glimpses of her surroundings, here and there, before her mind slipped again and it all blended together. Down another staircase, across another corridor. Her head tilted up at that beautiful, golden chandelier, sparkling like a firework. A wide smile spread across her face, even wider when she realized how ridiculous the response was; she shouldn’t even be smiling at all, but she found that she couldn’t stop.
They went down the main hallway, and Megan’s eyes drifted to the Persian rug that she’d seen during that horrible race for her life. Her mind perked up, just a little, and she looked to her left, still walking, studying the curtain. The boy was gone, no trace of him against the austere window. Where did he go? Is he okay? She had no clue. A bitter taste crept into her mouth and she noticed that someone was walking at her side, her eyes fumbling over his blurry outline. It was Todd, she realized. He had the same glazed look, like he was living underwater, too. Megan’s head swiveled back, and she saw a detail of vampire guards behind them, then brought her eyes forward, to the back of Fausta’s long cloak. Why were they walking? Where were they going? Why couldn’t she think clearly? She realized that she was probably drunk, or maybe more than that. The vampire’s kiss was a drug, right? She remembered hearing that somewhere, from someone. Trying to focus on anything right now was like stapling water to a tree.
They entered the grand hall, and Megan distantly took in the wreckage of the once glamorous and astounding room. She didn’t feel worry or sadness, just a numb ambivalence and a distant apprehension. Fausta led them down the long aisle in the middle, up to the rows of chairs. Megan realized that the chairs were all occupied by vampires and there were more humans clustered around them. There seemed to always be humans congregating everywhere the vampires went. Where did they all come from? She didn’t have time to think about it, because they’d gone up the stairs, and someone nudged her onto a beautifully embroidered cushion on the ground, next to the large throne where Fausta sat. Megan hadn’t realized how tired her legs were and she curled up on the soft pillow, resting her head against the throne. It was cool, refreshing against her forehead.
Her eyes drooped shut, time slipping like sand in an hourglass, passing by her with no recognition. She was roused from her syrupy sleep when Fausta stood, a glimmer of movement in front of her. Megan opened her eyes and perked up. The room was full now, packed with vampires and strongbloods as far as the eyes could see. It was a massive room to begin with but seeing so many people was almost dizzying to her. She wrapped her fingers around the side of the throne, as though holding onto it might keep her grounded if the world decided to tilt or slip away from her.
“Friends, subjects,” Fausta boomed, her voice fierce and shocking. “We have worked so very hard for this time to come. Gone are the days of the corrupt, weak vampires Darian and Magnus, catering to the whims of the casters and letting the wolves multiply like rabbits right under their noses. Gone are the days of vampires stepping on eggshells around the humans, as though their value is more than ours. I promised you retribution, I promised you vengeance, and most of all, I promised you change. And now, here we are, entering a new day. A new era. We were instilled with strength to move mountains and split the oceans, and yet under the Masters’ incompetence we were hidden, cowering in our castles and taking whatever humans our servants provided us with. But I say no more!” The crowd of vampires roared in agreement, whooping and hollering loud enough to make the floor underneath her rumble. She clutched the throne even tighter, her breath hitching inside of her chest. “No, my friends. We were meant to be conquerors. We are the lions of the forest, and the other beasts shall bow to us as you bow to me!”
Another tidal wave of applause crashed into her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much, too much sound, too many hands, cracking together like lightning against the ground. She swallowed, finding her mouth thick and dry, stale wine coating her throat. “Bring in the remainder of House Xander’s troops, and we shall seal this victory with a celebration unlike any you’ve ever experienced,” Fausta said, her voice oozing power and commanding a response.
The roaring started again and Megan curled in tighter until it was done. She braved opening her eyes, only to see waves of prisoners being brought in, chains clanking and vampires from the crowd throwing curses at them. It was like a frenzy; an angry mob. Megan swallowed hard as Darian’s subjects were lined up, three rows deep, in front of the th
rone area. It was a massive space, and Megan feebly attempted counting the number of people, but when the numbers got mixed up, she let the effort go. Bottom line: there were a lot of them, Darian’s stragglers, still yet to bend the knee.
Fausta stepped down, walking closer to them. Megan couldn’t see her face and quite frankly was glad for it. The vampire was terrifying, even from behind. “You put up a noble fight, considering everything that the master Darian Xander let slip through his fingers.”
The prisoners shuddered in anger, rage, or fear. Maybe a combination therein. One of them grew so agitated that he stood. Megan’s eyes snapped over to the rebellious subject, a vampire, part of the guard. In a uniform, he would have looked quite formidable. A stab of fear drove through Megan, and her eyes widened slightly as the man addressed Fausta. “You will never take over this House. We are loyal to Darian Xander and him alone, and you are nothing but a power-hungry whore that dirties his throne!” the man spat, spittle flying into the air between them. Megan’s heart lurched inside of her. She expected the vampire queen to take his head off with a single blow, or maybe rip him apart.
Instead, Fausta crossed the distance between them with cold, gliding steps, like she was a leopard stalking up to him. Her movements were nearly a dance until she stood before him, straight as a board, power and fury rolling off her in waves. And then, her clear, delicate voice cut through the air. “I do not like the way you speak to me.”
Megan scowled, watching the encounter with dazed confusion and frozen panic. For a moment, the whole room held its breath. And then, Megan watched as Fausta brought her hand up, clasping it around the vampire’s face hard enough to crack bone, as her other hand began reaching into his mouth. That was when Megan had to look away. Cower, more like it. Megan let out a horrified whimper and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her ears as hard as she could. Her pulse hammered in her mind, pounding into her as more screaming rang out, like she was in a bad dream, a never-ending nightmare of blood and gore. It was a long time before Megan opened her eyes. When she did, Fausta had returned to her spot addressing the entire room. Megan caught a glimmer of red staining the vampire’s hands and a wave of nausea rolled over her.
“Now, former subjects of Darian Xander, you have a very, very important choice to make. Serve me. Renounce your connections to the ruined ‘master’ and pledge yourself to our cause. Those who do will be spared, and those who refuse will not.” Megan’s breath came in and out in shudders, desperate gulps. The tension in the room was thick enough to slice through, and Megan wanted nothing more than for every one of them to say that they would, to end the violence, and just say whatever they needed to stay alive. She just wanted to feel that soft bed underneath her and watch the sunset. Everything inside of her ached to be back upstairs, away from this place. For a moment, nobody said anything. Darian’s subjects remained entirely still, unmoving, unwavering. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she watched as one of them stood. A wide smile spread on Fausta’s lips and she outstretched her arms in a welcoming gesture. “Bring them forward.”
One by one, more subjects volunteered, about twenty in total, only a fraction of those that were forced in front of the throne. Those that chose Darian were agitated, deep scowls of anger standing out across the sea of faces. The defectors were lined up, leaning in front of their former compatriots, their heads bowed. Every one of them trembled, just like Megan did. She tightened her grip on the throne until her knuckles were white and ached from the force.
“In this House,” Fausta began, lifting her chin and addressing the entire crowd. “We value loyalty above all else. You will die knowing that your final act was one of betrayal to your master.” Electric adrenaline flooded Megan’s body, and her head snapped up, watching in horror as Fausta’s troops advanced, one by one, on the prisoners. Megan let out a choked cry for them, every muscle shaking like a leaf, her eyes unable to look away from the spectacle of gore.
Red. She saw it everywhere. Pooling in front of them on the marble, seeping towards the stairs, faster and faster as more bodies were added to the pile. Megan couldn’t breathe, and everything inside of her was screaming to run but pinned in place by the terror that pierced her. Fausta returned to her throne, walking lithely up the stairs and sitting back, eyes raking over her crowd, which roared in approval. More screams, more red splashing against the marble, splattering and gushing and drowning everything in its wake. Nausea rolled over Megan in a fierce, painful stab. She clutched her stomach, feeling the wine, red, just like blood, sloshing within her, festering like poison. Another scream. More blood. More applause. The sickness inside of her boiled up. There was nothing Megan could do to stop it. She doubled over, vomiting before she even knew what was happening, everything in her body rejecting the violence before her. She gasped for breath, hands pressed against the floor, coughing and sputtering. The entire room quieted in an instant, an oppressive hush spreading through the whole hall.
She became painfully aware of the silence and brought her eyes up in horror, seeing the cause for such outrage. Megan had thrown up on Fausta’s feet, and on the hem of her gown, soiling the vampire in front of all her subjects. Icy terror stabbed through her, and her eyes went wide as she looked up to the vampire queen. “I’m – I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling in fear. The silence persisted for a moment longer as Megan’s wide eyes pleaded to the vampire queen in front of her. In an instant, the tension broke as Fausta gave a soft smile and reached out with both hands, ignoring as Megan flinched away. She was pulled onto the throne with Fausta, who snapped her fingers, beckoning some human to scurry over and clean up her vomit. A silk handkerchief appeared in Fausta’s hand and she wiped Megan’s chin – who was still rigid and trembling in terror, afraid that any movement would be her last. Fausta dropped the handkerchief on the side of her throne and then turned forward, keeping an arm around Megan. “Continue,” she announced to the soldiers.
Megan squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head into the vampire, but Fausta stopped her, the arm around her shoulders trailing up to Megan’s forehead, stroking her hair back but also keeping her pinned in place. Fausta leaned closer and spoke with a soft tone. “You will watch. You have forgotten your taste for blood, but even domesticated dogs have an instinct for carnage that cannot be bred out. Sometimes, they just need to be reminded of it.”
Megan did watch. She had no choice but to watch, every face a show of suffering, every body adding more blood to the waves, rippling out and lapping against the first step. She didn’t realize how much blood there actually was, how much each body contained, and it just kept piling up, spreading further and further until everything in front of her was a sea of red and she held on to the hope that sometime, at some point, it had to run out. A while later, someone handed her a glass of wine and she gulped it all down in one long draught.
Chapter 2 Always and Forever
Present Day
Reykon
Everything inside of him tingled with anticipation. They were getting closer, closer to this moment, after so long, after so much fear, and after so much uncertainty. The waves crashed against the shore, slightly grayer than they should be, slightly muffled against the mirror dimension’s boundary, but it was the most beautiful scene he’d witnessed in a long time. The sun was just setting, casting a beautiful golden wash on everything and beaming across the ocean’s waves, sparkling like it was made of gems.
He was facing the ocean but he heard her, he felt the salty beach air shift as soon as her bare feet touched that sand.
Chadwick grinned, his smile wide and beaming, and adjusted his bowtie once more, not that there was anyone to impress in the empty plane. “You’re one lucky lad, Reykon.”
And Reykon knew it.
He swallowed, hard, the gravity of this moment pressing in on him as Robin’s steps sunk into the sand, closer and closer to him. This was something he’d never dreamed of. Marriage. Strongbloods, since the beginning of tim
e, were not afforded such luxury. No ties, no burdens that would weigh them down and drive a wedge between honor and duty and the need to protect. Love was an even more laughable concept. But he’d found that, too, and he planned on never letting it go. They’d been here, in the mirror dimension, in Chadwick’s secret abode, for six weeks now. Six weeks since that night in Sedona, and all of them were spent in blissful ignorance of the outside world. All of them spent watching the stars with Robin, discussing what had befallen them both in brief spurts, until they drifted to lighter conversation, spending hours and hours talking about their upbringings, their wants, their dreams. Hours spent in the sheets, spent holding each other, spent without a care for what lay ahead. They’d done it. They were safe, they were hidden, and nothing would come for them. Not here. It was almost surreal for him, for the hardened soldier. His entire life had been metered out with utter precision, and now, he was floating in ecstasy, day in, day out, just living. Simply being.
With Robin.
He heard her breathe, a gentle, excited gulp of air slipping through her lips. And then, he turned. His heart quickened in his chest, beating faster and faster as he ran his eyes over her beautiful figure, those vibrant crimson marks racing over her like lightning. Since Calliope had dissolved the link, transferred her power, and sacrificed herself for Robin, her skin always glowed with a golden sheen, just enough to be stunning but not enough to seem unnatural. Right now it was ravishing against the simple white sundress. Her blond hair was as beautiful as ever, tousled with the breeze, and those glacier blue eyes set every nerve in his body on fire. And she grinned, the desire and the excitement plain on her face, too. They joined hands, Reykon squeezing hers and Robin squeezing his back with that crinkly grin that made his whole body ache to kiss her, to hold her.
