by Keary Taylor
“You know,” he says without looking away from Henry. “I became Sheriff when Jasmine killed the previous one last year. He said something or another to piss her off, and she ripped his throat out. I was standin’ right there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say as goosebumps flash across my skin. I try to imagine it: the soft, easy-South woman I’d met with blood dripping down her mouth, murdering a human being like that.
“She may look all sweet and kind and she knows how to talk you into thinking she’s the best thing that happened to this town since its creation,” Luke says. “But she’s a bloodthirsty killer.”
He takes a few steps toward me and removes his hat again. He holds it between both hands behind his back and his eyes finally fix on me. “I’m here to ask you what kind of person you are, Miss Ryan.”
“What kind of person I am?” I repeat. Because what kind of question is that?
Luke nods. “I need to know. Because I am well aware of what you father was and if you are who you and Rath say you are, I know what you will be someday. And I know what your heritage implies and how that might change everything in this town.”
I swallow hard. Luke’s eyes are intense and dark, and suddenly I’m just a little scared. If I give the wrong answer, what would he do?
“I am not a killer,” I say, standing a little taller. “I am not a manipulative person. I am not a politician, and I am not a pawn.”
We stare at each other for several long moments and I can feel this silent dance going on between us. The dance of truth and trust.
“I’m hoping you’re also not a liar,” he finally says. But I do see his eyes soften. He looks away and walks to an overstuffed chair and takes a seat.
I perch on the edge of the sofa.
“You need to be aware of how the town is going to react to your presence here,” he says. “It helps that you don’t go by the name Conrath, but it sure doesn’t help how much you look like Henry.”
“How many people even knew what he looked like?” I ask, feeling myself relax just slightly now that I’m not being interrogated. “I mean, as far as I can tell, he never left the Estate and hasn’t been an actual part of this town since they tried to kill him in 1875.”
Luke leans forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees. “Henry didn’t come out often, but he did sometimes. Always at night, but people have a habit of peering out their windows in this town. Henry visited the Hanging Tree every year on the anniversary of his brother’s death. He’d leave one white rose at the base of it. There’s a reason Henry is such a legend. He was like the boogieman, and everyone was terrified of him, but incredibly eager to catch a glimpse of the immortal man. I assume you know what he did the night his brother was killed?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I know he killed a lot of people in the town.”
Luke also nods in confirmation. “It was the most quickly resolved uprising in history. For a few, brief hours, Silent Bend tried to fight against the vampires, and in just twenty minutes, Henry killed that fire. Put the fear of your species back in them tenfold.”
“The vampires are not my species,” I bite.
“They will be soon enough,” he quips right back. Luke is a no bullshit man. “And that’s why people in this town won’t seem all to friendly once they know who you are.”
I’m already learning that. I recall Bella at the library. The way she looked at me with fear.
“A lot of people in this town are descendants of victims of that night,” Luke continues. “They know the stories. Others have just heard the legends. And others don’t believe the stories that are told in the dark. Just know, you might not ever fit in in this town.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome-warning,” I say with slightly clenched teeth.
“I just thought you ought to know what to expect,” he says as he stands and starts for the door. “I hope I can count on you being the good person you say you are. Silent Bend could use some change.”
I follow him out into the foyer. “I don’t know that I can bring about any change, but I do try to stay true to my word.” It’s hard not to take offense to his approach, but I get it.
Rath walks out of the ballroom to join us beneath the chandelier.
“You folks have a good night,” Luke says as he opens the door and lets himself out.
“You too, Sheriff,” I say quietly as the door closes.
SATURDAY EVENING, AT NINE O’CLOCK, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror in my massive closet.
The dress is beautiful. Strapless with a sweetheart neckline, a rope of a corset back laces me in tightly. The fabric is pale pink. Beaded throughout the chest and waist, it then explodes around my waist in folds, gathers, and poofs. It’s complicated, intricate, and gorgeous.
It’d been in the attic, with an assortment of other unexpected things. Bird cages, boxes of dirt. The skeleton of what appeared to be an alligator.
I did my own hair and makeup. It was something my mother loved, and I was always her doll. I watched her, and it was a tradition every few months to doll ourselves up like we were going somewhere important and grand.
My hair twists into a complicated bun. My skin glows, my eyes dark and smoky. I shimmer and shine.
Hanging from my neck, always present now, is a silver necklace, with Henry’s mystery key attached to it. I tuck it into my dress, between my breasts. Out of sight.
Grabbing my mask from the dresser in the middle of the closet, I slip my white heels on, and walk downstairs.
Rath waits for me at the bottom of the stairs, concern and disapproval all over his face.
“It surprises me that Ian agreed to let you go to the Summer Ball,” he says. But always a gentleman, he extends an arm for me to take. He opens the door for me and we walk down the stairs to where he has the car parked. The Ferrari, of course. “This event has been run by the House for over fifty years.”
“He thought it would be wise for me to know the individuals,” I lie. “All part of my education. We’re running out of time.”
“And he’s meeting you at town hall?” Rath says again as he opens the door for me. I nod as I slip in.
Rath takes the driver’s seat, and we wind down the long driveway. We turn right toward town.
And the city is alive.
Twinkle lights are everywhere. The sidewalks are filled with people dressed in gorgeous gowns and tuxedos. For a moment, I can almost imagine we’re back in 1875, before the attacks. The dresses, the out of century event we’re heading to.
The people of Silent Bend don’t have modern worries or cares tonight. They laugh. They live. They breathe.
It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
But I remember why I am going tonight. And how I hid like prey last week.
“So, was it needed to send me into exile?” I ask as we slowly make our way through the crowd.
Rath stares forward out the window. “Two Bitten dropped by the house the first night you were gone.”
“Dropped by?” I contest, raising an eyebrow. “And what happened after that?”
“I very kindly asked them to leave the premises,” he says without looking at me.
“And did they comply?” I encourage.
“No, they didn’t.” Not another ounce of explanation.
There’s a chill to the statement that hints at what Rath did to resolve the problem. I wonder if there are two new graves on the estate grounds or if maybe Rath has his own stash of vamp eating alligators somewhere.
Once again, I find myself asking if Rath is an ordinary human, a more extreme version of Ian, or the most composed vampire in all of time. Then again, I’ve seen his eyes, and they appear to still dilate. From what I’ve been taught, that’s a sure sign of still being human.
We park right in front of city hall. It’s an ancient, beautiful building that nearly rivals the Conrath Estate in its historical charm.
“You call me for anything,” Rath reinforces. H
is eyes are dead serious and pained. This isn’t easy for him. He served my father and now that loyalty has transferred to his only daughter.
“I’ll be okay,” I say, resting a hand on his forearm. “I promise.”
He looks like he wants to believe me, but I can tell he doesn’t.
I climb out and shut the door behind me anyway.
Bodies crowd into the building, heels click on the concrete steps. Jazz music, lively and entertaining, spills out onto the sidewalk.
Twice the enchantment exists in here as did outside.
It’s something from a dream. Lights and lace and candles and twirling gowns and masked faces. The party already started an hour ago. It’s well under way. The scent of alcohol is heavy, woven with women’s perfumes and the candles.
When the crowd surges forward from behind me, I am forced to step inside and become a part of this.
Quickly, I slip my mask on.
I’m walking into the lion’s den, but I am not unprepared. There are no less than ten stakes hidden in the folds of my skirt. There’s a handgun strapped around my calf. I wish I could have hidden a crossbow on me somewhere, but the dress didn’t begin to allow it. My cell phone is tucked between my breasts with Rath and Ian’s numbers on speed dial.
A drunken couple stumbles into my back, nearly sending me flying. I crash into a man walking by, and he catches me awkwardly.
“Whoa there,” he says, smiling as he rights me. He wears a mask with a flare of peacock feathers. He gives me a devilish smile. “Did you just fall from heaven, angel? I must insist you be more careful.”
I barely resist rolling my eyes.
“Save a dance for me later,” he says, winking at me before walking away. I watch him as he goes. He exits out a door toward the back of the ballroom.
As I look around the room, everyone is suspicious.
The House hosts this party every year, Rath had said. I can only assume that every one of them attends their own party.
I wonder, if I weren’t wearing this mask, if my face weren’t hidden, how many people would recognize me for who I am? How many people here would be afraid of me? How many would look at me with disdain and condemn me for the sins of my father?
Is what he did really a sin? It was the town that attacked in the first place, after all. My father had done nothing wrong. I’m not sure how I would have reacted if I’d seen my only brother so brutally murdered and then put on display for all to see.
A waitress with the faint yellow glow in her eyes of a Bitten offers me a glass of wine. I take it without realizing what I’m doing, so I don’t drink it. I need to be as clear minded as possible tonight if I’m going to survive.
Fifteen minutes pass, and finally, the crowd shifts, and I notice the nine ornate chairs at the front of the hall. Sitting in the center one is a masked Jasmine Veltora.
To her right is a black man in an ornate suit and a simple black mask. In another chair is a severe-looking young woman in a tight suit. There’s another young man. And then I see the man who caught me walk back into the ballroom. He wipes at something in the corner of his mouth before taking his seat. The two are unmistakably brothers, even with the masks on.
“Awesome party, huh?”
I spin around to the voice behind me.
There’s a guy there, probably a little bit younger than me. He’s holding a plate with an assortment of food. His smile is bordering on comical, and I can smell weed on him. He’s high as a kite and one of the perky, happy kinds. And of course, he wears a jester’s mask.
“Yeah, some party,” I say, looking around the crowd.
“You should try the food,” he continues. “It’s to die for. I am so hungry. Well, I should be so hungry.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but the kid turns and walks away.
I work my way further and further into the crowd. Couples surge and dance and kiss and smile and laugh. I find myself feeling caught up in it all. This is glamorous and from another time and place than the one I come from.
My view to the thrones opens up again, and I see another woman take her place. She’s thin, but looks strong, with short black hair and glowing skin. And her dress is amazing.
Except for the two small red dots on her sleeve.
I try to remind myself why I’m here tonight. Why I’ve walked into the nest of those that are coming after me. Why I have this feeling inside of me like I have to warn them about what happened at Ian’s house.
Why am I here?
Because when you’re backed against the wall, you have to turn the tables and find a way to break through the wall at your back.
The song comes to an end and suddenly there’s the metal screech of an unhappy microphone.
“Sorry about that.” I turn to see a middle-aged man standing up on the stage with the band. He wears a suit and his mask has been pulled up on the top of his head. Crows feet stretch out from the corners of his eyes, and he smiles brightly. A beautiful woman stands beside him. “Thank you for coming out tonight,” he continues. And it hits me—this man must be Mayor Jackson. “We hope you’ve had a wonderful time. We thank Miss Voltera for the wonderful evening.” There’s fear in his eyes as he raises a wine glass in her direction. When I look back at the mayor, I notice Sheriff McCoy standing just off the side of the stage, watching the party with disdain. “Enjoy this last song, and have a safe night.”
The partygoers clap, happy, excited, and all too ignorant.
That is when I lock eyes with the man who caught me earlier again. He gives another coy smile and stands from his seat. My heart drops into my stomach when he starts toward me.
He touched me earlier. He’s a vampire. I’ve caught his attention. And there’s no way this can end well.
I’m so stupid. So stupid.
“How about that dance?” he says when he finally reaches me. His eyes are hungry, in multiple ways, and I just know that he wiped blood from his mouth earlier. He extends a hand out to me.
“Sorry, but she’s already been claimed for this one.”
I turn as heat rises inside of me.
Ian stands just behind me. He wears a tuxedo, fitted and formed to his body. His hair is styled, not its usual wild action mess. A simple mask covers his face. His shoulders are tense and his eyes are filled with death.
I swear I hear a hiss and turn to see the man behind me filled with as much hatred. His eyes flash brilliant red. And for just a second, black veins rise up on his face.
But he doesn’t say a word. He turns and walks through the crowd, looking back over his shoulder three times.
I turn back to Ian. Not quite looking at me, he wraps one hand around my waist and takes my hand in his other.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses, pulling me close. His lips tickle my ear. His hand on my waist slips low and his fingers dig into my skin just a little.
The breath catches in my chest and every nerve ending in my body goes crazy. The music surges, and this night suddenly feels too big for me to breathe.
“I’m not lying down and taking a fate I didn’t ask for,” I manage. My fingers cling hard to Ian’s shoulder. I can feel the muscles beneath his clothes tense and tighten. And suddenly, I’m back to the days at his cabin, when he’d come walking out of the shower with only a towel and I pretended not to look. I know what his bare skin looks like, and I’m craving another glimpse.
“They won’t care about a show of good faith,” he says. “Do you have any idea what this party is even for?”
My silence is his answer.
“They throw this party once a year and offer massive amounts of alcohol so that people won’t remember the blackouts that come from being fed on.”
My eyes dart to that door at the back of the room. The blood on the woman’s shoulder. The blood in the corner of the man’s mouth.
“They’re feeding on the party attendees,” I say.
Ian nods. His scratchy cheek brushes mine. “The bite numbs and makes you
forget, but people tend to realize they blacked out. A party like this with this much booze, you brush it off. It’s the one time a year they feed freely upon the townspeople. It’s the only way to keep people from asking too many questions.”
It’s terrifying and horrifying, and I’m suddenly wondering if the man was asking me to dance as my turn to be fed upon.
“It’s bad, but I have to do something, Ian,” I breathe.
“Walking into the fire isn’t the way to do it,” he whispers into my ear.
I back away just slightly, just so I can look into his eyes. There’s intensity there. Enough of it to melt me clean through.
“It isn’t your job to protect me,” I say quietly as my eyes drift down to his mouth. “I saw you that night. You were supposed to be sleeping. But you were watching over me. You can’t keep doing that.”
“I can’t seem to help it,” he says as his brows furrow.
The music starts to swell toward the end. It’s the last song of the night. Everyone seems to know it. I can feel it. Surging and surging, pushing me to an unknown finish.
“I have to do this,” I say. I start to step away from Ian, toward the Royals that aren’t Royals. “I won’t be pushed around.”
“Stay,” he breathes.
“I can’t.” I take one step back, turning away from Ian.
“Liv, don’t,” Ian pleads. “Just look at me.” Not too gently, he pulls me back toward him.
Without warning, his mouth is on mine and his arms are around me, pulling my center to his and our bodies explode in human passion. And all the fighting and training and bantering we’ve been doing climaxes into something I can’t explain and don’t ever want to come to a conclusion.
Ian’s lips part and so do mine. Even as his breath gathers to say things I can’t do. “Just leave with me. Now. Just walk away.”
I give him one final kiss, feeling more alive than I ever have before, yet feeling like a sinking ship. Because I know I cannot give him what he wants. I pull away.
“I have to do this, and you have to let me.” A million emotions are running rampant in me and I’m not prepared to deal with a single one.
