by Rebecca Main
When the drinks are cleared, a round of champagne is set before us to finish off the meal. I cringe at seeing the pink tint to their drinks, but after a delicate sniff, I am pleased to find the smell not as pungent as earlier. Thank God. It’s unsettling enough to see every set of eyes consumed by vibrant red.
“You’re prepared for the coming fight, Nova?” Vrana’s casual comment silences the conversations at the table. I look across from me at the woman in question. Her Inuit features stand out in stark comparison to the rest of us at the table. Nova’s cheeks are round, and she has a broad nose, and full lips. Though her skin no longer maintains that human glow, it does retain its soft taupe coloring.
Nova wears all black and her face is devoid of any hint of emotion. She has finished each course of the meal with barely contained vigor and is eyeing, none to conspicuously, everyone else’s glasses of blood spiked champagne with envy.
“Yes.” Her answer is clipped, then, with a deep, unnecessary breath, her eyes retreat to their mocha coloring.
My lips turn downward as I turn my gaze to Vrana. “What fight? I thought you would be entering by—oh." The looks they aim my way range from mocking to bemusement. "Why aren’t you fighting?” I ask of Vrana.
“Because her position in this family dictates as much,” he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. Anger rises within me. A hot flare of injustice on Nova’s behalf consumes me. It is coupled with annoyance at being left out of the loop and my own ignorance of what gaining entrance into the court would really be.
“And what position is that?”
Vrana’s champagne flute stops before meeting his lips. His silver-flecked eyes cut to me once more. “She is the newest and youngest member of the Vrana family, of our pack, so to speak. And so, the responsibility falls on her shoulders.”
“By your reasoning, her rank among you is that of an omega. And if you're the supposed alpha”—the words leave a bitter taste in my mouth—“you do her a disservice. As the youngest, newest, and most inexperienced of your family, she is in need of the most protection. Yet you'll force her to fight on behalf of your entire family? A family she was forced into? You’re no alpha. You're just a coward unwilling to fight yourself.”
He sets the champagne flute down far more coolly than I thought him capable. “How eloquently put, dear heart. Might I be allowed my rebuttal?”
I give a stiff nod at his sinister tone, not liking one bit the way the soulmark stirs at his heated scrutiny.
“My earlier comparison was incorrect, I will allow you this, but my actions are not driven by cowardice.” The heat of his anger boils through the soulmark, only adding to my own. I lift my chin an inch higher, meeting his piercing gaze head-on. “Make no mistake, I need not explain myself to you, but for the sake of keeping this night’s celebratory air abound, I shall. Nova is our greatest chance at earning our entrance into the Dark Court. She is young, yes, but as such possesses extraordinary strength. As well as a certain… wild nature. She is the newest, but that does not make her inexperienced. She is already acquainted with a life surrounded by supernatural creatures and death. Additionally, she is a fierce and gifted warrior, a fact her opponent will not be privy to until too late. They will set her against one of their best fighters. They will underestimate her, but she will still maintain the upper hand….” Vrana shifts his sight to Nova who sits ramrod straight.
Her eyes widen a fraction at being silently addressed. “It's fine. I hate vampyrés,” she tells me matter-of-factly. "And I look forward to killing as many as I can once we get in."
“We’re working on that,” Ruby mutters, shooting a smile our way from the end of the table.
“You’re really willing to fight?” I ask, ignoring Ruby’s comment.
Tension runs thick in the silence that follows. A crease develops in Nova’s brow before she answers. “It’s what I was born to do. But”—her eyes move and narrow onto Vrana—“that doesn't guarantee I'll win. I could... mess up. One mistake is all it takes to lose."
"Speak plainly, Nova," Vrana says.
Nova’s shoulders roll back. "I'll win. I'll even make it a show for your little court of fangers, but I want something in return."
Vrana’s lip twitches upward, but he does not follow through with the temptation to smile. “I could simply command it. The sire bond would see to your compliance in the matter. Regardless, I’ll hear your proposition.”
“You have Vogart’s blade in your possession. If I win, I want you to use it on me. And if it works and I come back a human, you'll let me go."
"And if you lose? All our lives will be forfeit."
"All the more reason for you to agree," Nova says.
“Excuse me, did you just say Vogart’s blade? The Vogart?” Sebastian’s eager query does little to lift the mood. And when neither Vrana nor Nova confirms, he settles back in his seat with a huff, rolling his eyes skyward.
“We’ve spoken on this subject before,” Vrana says, a chill to his words.
“I’m aware. Vampyrés—” A smirk slants her lips. “—we never forget.”
I observe Vrana’s reaction. He eyes Nova with renewed interest, taking up his glass and sipping on the blut champagner. “I cannot agree to your terms as they are,” he finally says. Nova’s jaw clenches. A glossy coating covers her eyes, but she blinks it away valiantly. How many times have they had this argument since my arrival with the blade in tow? “After your fiftieth year, if you still wish it, I shall use the blade upon you.”
“Really?” Hope fills her voice, and Vrana gives another nod.
“But she’s family,” Ruby argues, a pretty frown on her Asian features. “We stay together. Always.”
“Enough,” Vrana says, not bothering to look at his second childe. “Make it a good show, Nova. Or consider our deal null and void.”
The room goes quiet, each of us mulling over the transaction. I worry my lip between my teeth, a seed planting in my mind before I turn a semihopeful Vrana's way. “Does that mean I can negotiate my freedom too?”
“No, Irina,” he says flatly. A pout pulls my bottom lip outward, and my nose wrinkles in distaste. “Don't look so despondent, dear heart. It's by your own doing that has secured your place here." Jakob passes me a wicked smirk. "We are in this for better or worse.”
“Fine,” I respond tersely.
Vrana takes my hand gently in his own, and I freeze. He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon my knuckles, making the barest of impressions. I calm the sudden racing of my heart, noting his touch is as stone cold as his gaze. “Forever.”
Prague | Spring 1784
Jakob was unsure of how many days had passed. Likewise, he was unsure how he found himself in his brother, Charles's, dank cellar. Yet, here he was, dreadfully cold and alone. The only thing Jakob understood was that he was changed. Somehow. In an unexplainable way.
Charles outfitted the cramped space with a lean cot, a small stool, a few candles, and a mirror—the last item brought at Jakob’s insistent behest.
Jakob dared not look into it now that it was here. It would not change facts.
Where he was certain a vicious bite mark should be upon his neck, nothing but smooth pale skin met his inspections. Jakob was… unnerved. And he was scared and tired. So very tired. The sound of a door opening and closing sounded upstairs, followed by rapid footfall. Jakob's sensitive hearing perked.
“Brother, are you awake?” Charles called from above. The cellar door opened before Jakob could issue a reply. A moment later, his younger brother was clambering down the stairs and standing before him.
“Dobrý večer, brother.”
The books Charles brought with him, he placed at the end of the cot. “No, brother. Dobrý den.” Good day. The elder brother gave the younger a thin smile in return to his soft correction. “I believe I have an idea as to explain your... unusual predicament,” Charles said. Jakob’s eyes widened, a flutter of hope going off
in his stomach.
“Please, share,” Jakob said. Charles cleared his throat, blue eyes brimming with excitement that Jakob knew well. The younger brother often got such a look when reading fantastical stories of fiction.
“I feel certain that you have undergone a transformation of sorts,” he said, a nervous lilt to his voice underneath his grand bravado. Charles took a deep breath, his shoulders jutting back. “An otherworldly transformation—”
Jakob held up a hand, his meager hope dashed. “An ‘otherworldly’ transformation. What are you possibly talking about? You sound absurd.”
Charles cleared his throat once more and gave a solemn shake of his head. “I have spent the last week digging through texts, hunting for crumbs on your condition—”
“My condition?” Jakob’s voice rose with outrage.
“Yes!” Charles declared, effectively snuffing out his brother’s protests. Charles smoothed his suit jacket down, a habit he took up from Jakob when he found himself particularly unsettled. “You are averse to sunlight, to a degree which seems almost impossible.”
Charles took in the dubious scowl on his brother’s face—mouth downturned, brows pinched together, and clenched jaw—and straightened with determination.
“Follow me.”
The two brothers went upstairs and to the front room, where morning light stretched across the pale maple wood floor. Jakob hesitated before the archway entrance.
“This is unnecessary,” Jakob hissed. A primal urge, almost too strong to ignore, shouted inside him to flee and take cover in the darkness. But why, he wondered fearfully. Jakob had never struggled with control like this before.
“You needn’t come all the way into the light,” Charles said, watching as Jakob unconsciously curled into the shadows of a corner. “Merely place your hand in the sunlight.”
A snarl wound its way up Jakob’s throat at the mere thought, but he smothered it down. Charles studied his brother with an intensity the likes of which Jakob had never seen. He felt like a test subject, a creature who was under examination.
“This is preposterous.”
“Says the man afraid to step into the light.”
The snarl released unexpectedly from Jakob, and before he could lose his nerve, he thrust a hand forward into the brightening room. For a moment, triumph flooded the elder brother. His eyes darted to his brothers and then—
“Argh!”
With unnatural speed, Jakob yanked back his offended hand and tucked it protectively against his chest, away from the destructive sunlight. Charles walked with deliberate calm to his cowering brother. The youngest Kysely eyed the hand with unbound interest.
“May I?”
Lips already sealed tightly shut, Jakob gave up his hand with reluctance. It was blistered and red. “An aversion to sunlight. An ability to heal with uncanny speed.” Charles paused and watched in fascination as the swollen red sores lost their bluster before his eyes. “A hunger for krev.” Blood. Jakob trembled.
Charles swallowed and took a step forward. With a steady inhalation, he reached out and pressed his fingers to his brother's neck. Charles ignored the way Jakob flinched and watched Jakob's head hang in defeat.
“And no heartbeat to speak of. You are one of the undead, my brother. An immortal being destined to live by the night and survive off of… blood. You are a vampire.” Nothing was said for a long time, both brothers shook to their cores at the spoken truth.
“I… I feel unwell.” Jakob closed his eyes tightly and shuffled back toward the cellar. Charles followed silently behind.
“I will bring you something to settle your nerves.”
Charles returned with haste, carrying two steins. Jakob accepted his glass with relief, taking a healthy drink. He was surprised at the vigor at which he consumed the liquid. He drained his stein in a few hearty gulps.
The taste on his tongue felt divine, unlike any other he had the pleasure of knowing. The beer was more robust than others he had tasted before. Headier. Like a syrup, it coated the back of his throat and made him thirsty for more.
“The beer was to your liking, brother?” Charles’s voice tore Jakob from his musings.
“Excellent,” Jakob uttered. “Unlike anything I’ve ever….” Horror crossed Jakob’s features. His mouth fell agape. The stein dropped from his hands and crashed to the ground. “You didn’t.”
Charles bristled with confidence. “I did.”
Jakob’s heart felt as if it had been ripped in two. Was he truly a… vampire? Had his brother truly tainted his drink with blood? A deep revulsion wove its way throughout Jakob until it was in every fiber of his being.
“Kill me,” Jakob gasped.
“Brother—”
“Kill me!”
Once more the brothers stood in stout silence. Grief and pain sullied the air around them. Charles swallowed convulsively for a moment, his gaze fixed anywhere other than his brother.
“I cannot.”
“You must,” Jakob insisted, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “If what you say is true, then I am a soulless creature. I do not belong on this earth. I am unnatural.” And how, Jakob thought, could he possibly control the sinful urges he felt to devour? How could he rein his hunger?
“You must not think in such a way. You are immortal, brother. You have been elevated to a new plane of existence.” The tenor of Charles’s voice trembled. “I cannot kill you, Jakob. You are my bratr. Do not ask this of me.”
Jakob sighed and found his brother’s troubled gaze. In an instant, memories of their shared youth rushed across his mind. Doubt seized hold of Jakob. If he remained as he was, he would have to say goodbye to his old life.
To his family.
To the warm embrace of the sun.
To a future with a wife and children to call his own.
The primal hunger stirred in him. Its darkness enveloped each dream and swallowed them whole.
“Then I shall not ask it of you, brother," Jakob said at last. A strange hollowness followed Jakob's decision.
“You shall see, Jakob. All will be well. I can obtain blood from the butcher once a week, and we will ration your portions. There is no need to fear. I will take care of you.”
Chapter 2
Present
Two nights pass, and I am uprooted once more. Little changes in the short time span, at least regarding my situation. After searching, there proved no outlet for me to contact my family. I begin contemplating the possibility of a carrier pigeon or even sending messages by owl and raven. Enough of the latter two haunt the premises for me to give fair consideration to the idea. Even now they crowd the roof, peering down into the quaint courtyard to watch the activities below.
Tonight is the night of the gauntlet.
Sebastian, Ruby, and Jakob waste no time in hassling Nova, gluing themselves to her side and peppering her with advice and guidance. Nova’s eyes hold a steely determination as she practices in the courtyard.
My search fruitless, I choose to watch from the second floor, which boasts an open-air hallway, making it the perfect viewing station. I learn several things as I watch.
First and foremost, Nova is an incredibly fast learner. She takes their critiques and suggestions and swiftly incorporates them into her repertoire.
Second, Vrana is a patient teacher. When Nova doesn’t immediately pick up on a new move or seems puzzled by some nuance of information, he explains himself in a new way or drills her on a step until she gets it.
Third, Sebastian is a walking encyclopedia. This isn't surprising, but his passionate detailing of the opponents Nova might face while in the “Pits” is.
Last, but certainly not least, Ruby is frightening. I am shocked at the heartless and savage suggestions she proposes to Nova as a means to slay her opponent.
“I think Ruby’s rather stuck on Nova’s theatricality, don’t you think?” a male voice inquires from behind. I spin aro
und, surprised to not have heard his approach. He sends me a broad smile, full of sparkling white even teeth.
“She is,” I concede, eyes narrowing on his form. The man’s thick, wavy hair is ash brown. His eyes, upon closer inspection, are hazel, with no hint of silver in sight.
“You could give a man a complex if you keep staring like that,” he says. I hold his gaze, containing the blush that threatens to spill forth on my cheeks, and continue my assessment of him. He’s older than me, but not by many years, two or three years at the most, leaving him at either twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
“Who are you?”
His smile softens to a grin, and he steps out into the open-air hallway with me. “Jax.” My head tilts minutely to the side as I attempt to recall the name. I force a polite smile. At least he isn't a vampyré. Perhaps, he could even be an ally. “Jax Stormrow.”
My smile drops. How could I ever forget that name? The Stormrow Clan had aligned with Vrana early on, doing the vampyrés bidding like some common thugs. I recall their disastrous exchange with the Trinity coven. The clan had brokered a deal with the witches for the Crystal of Dan Furth, a powerful magical artifact that radiated supernatural energy and enhanced the products of the land surrounding it, in exchange for an Amethyst of the Aztec ring. The sorcerers claimed ownership of the crystal, and the witches the ring. Neither had been honest, and the turbulent exchange left both sides with scars.
“Stormrow?" My voice is pure ice. "The sorcerer, I presume.”
“One in the same. I wasn’t sure if you would recognize my family name.”
“Hmph.” I turn my back to him, ignoring the curiosity that ignites in me at the large, flat box he holds, with a crimson ribbon tied neatly around it, that and the matching gift bag sitting atop it.
