by Keary Taylor
“You prefer this life over freedom?” I ask, surprised.
“It’s not like that,” she says with the shake of her head. “It’s about being with others like you. Who understand you. I have a theory that you’ll only keep yourself separate from us for a few years at most. I don’t know how your father stood it for all those years.”
I hadn’t considered it before. Will this life eventually get lonely? It’s makes sense. Being only able to go out at night, and everyone in this town is afraid of the dark. Who will I talk to? Rath? He’s the only guarantee of who will stay in my life. I’ll loose Ian. Elle. Even Daphne and Fred.
But the House will be here, and they will understand everything I will be going through.
No. I won’t ally myself with Jasmine. Ever.
“How long has it been since you resurrected?” I ask, changing the conversation.
“I was killed in the Revolutionary War,” Anna says. Her eyes grow dark and distant. “I pretended to be a boy so I could join the fight. I lasted four months before someone ran me through with a bayonet.”
It’s astounding. She’s told a huge, incredible story in just three short sentences. Mentally, I try to calculate just how old she is. Two hundred and fifty something years.
“I’m the oldest in the house,” she continues. “Next is Markov. He’s about to hit his two hundred year mark in the spring. Then Jasmine. She’s 125. Then the Kask brothers. Trinity, then Micah, Lillian, and baby Cameron. He’s only seven years post-resurrection.”
Between all of the house members there is so much history. The things they’ve seen. The wars they’ve lived through. The revolutions and the changes. It’s incredible.
And all of that potential for such a profoundly long life is laid before me.
I’m supposed to be at work right now. I should be working side by side with Fred, getting the pastries for the day ready. But I’ll never set foot in that heaven-scented shop again.
The party carries on. I’m anxious the entire time, and I try not to let it show. But then again, my sweating palms, increased heart rate, my anxiety that I know every one of them can sense is totally justified. They just don’t know the real source it originates from.
When the time nears five a.m. and the sun will soon start creeping up in the horizon, things begin to wind down. Half a dozen humans are passed out on the floor in random places. Others sit, in a blood-drained haze. I don’t know where the rest are. I hope they’re alive. I wonder if any new Bitten have been created tonight.
But the House members all look happily satisfied. Full of blood. Knowing they are soon to be returned to honor.
“It’s time,” Jasmine says. She comes up from behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder.
My heart both flutters out of control and calms, if that’s even possible. It’s time.
I remember that all these vampires have perfect, enhanced hearing because Jasmine didn’t say it very loud, yet every one of them comes from one part of the house or another.
“I thought we could have a beautiful goodbye to your old life,” Jasmine says as we start walking toward the front door. “I thought we could do the Bloodletting outside, where you can see the sun begin to rise. But, having been converted to your new life, you’ll die just before the sun rises.”
How morbid. “Alright,” I say instead.
Death.
I’m going to die.
Right now.
One of the Bitten opens the doors wide.
The sun is only faintly starting to lighten the horizon. A pale haze of gray-green on the horizon. I squint against the dark, even as I hear Lillian give a sharp intake of breath. Micah hisses, a low, throaty thing. One step. Two steps. Down I walk, toward my fate.
As I reach the bottom step, the world falls away.
There’s a figure, sitting and bound to a chair. Unconscious.
It’s Ian. Sitting before the very House I am here to protect him from.
“What’s going on?” I manage to get out. It’s a muttered, strangled thing.
“Mr. Ward here has annoyed the House for the last time,” Jasmine says as she walks down and stands behind Ian. She traces her hand along one of his shoulders, drags it behind his head and over the other shoulder as she walks around him. “He’s a nuisance to us all. We’ve been wanting to be rid of him for a year or so now, but he’s a tricky one to catch. Last night, I tasked Bronson here in tracking him down.”
“What are you going to do with him?” My voice is little more than a whisper.
“He’s a gift,” Jasmine says. She looks up at me from beneath her falsely long lashes. “For you. Once you resurrect, you will be thirsty in a way you can’t imagine. Your first feed is always a draining one. And since you had him drugged and in captivity in your own home, I thought you might want to do the honors.”
I’m pretty sure there’s no way my heart is beating anymore. My chest is an empty, hollow thing. There’s already no more blood in my body and surely I am dead already.
Maybe this is all just a nightmare.
But there’s Ian. With his head slumped to one side. His mouth hangs open just slightly. His body is entirely limp. The only reason he hasn’t collapsed to the ground is the cords that bind him to the chair.
“No,” I breathe. I shake my head. There aren’t words for the turn this evening—morning—has taken.
“No,” Jasmine says. Even as she does, I feel the crowd around me tighten. “What do you mean no? Surely he must have done something to you to warrant you drugging him and locking him up.”
Rath.
What happened to him? How did a simple Bitten get past Rath?
What have I done?
“This is a gift, Alivia,” Jasmine says. Her eyes grow dangerous and dark. She walks slowly toward me. Micah’s hand suddenly clamps down around my wrist. Trinity grabs my other. Instinctively, I fight against them. “We could have made you go into town and hunt down your own first meal like an animal. But here we are, offering you a gift, like the royalty that you are. You should be thanking us. Unless there’s a reason you object to the specific meal?”
And there’s a beat. In my chest. In my ears. In my throat. Throughout my entire body.
“I can’t,” I say. My voice is barely heard. “Not him.”
“Why not?” Jasmine asks. Her own voice grows lower and quieter with each syllable. And a red glow ignites in her eyes.
“Not him,” I breathe, shaking my head.
I feel Lillian’s hand on my shoulder from behind. It tells me not to say a word. That revealing the truth will only make things worse.
But I can’t.
“She loves him.” It’s Markov. His voice is thoughtful. Slightly amused. But there’s a hint of reverence in it.
Everyone is silent as Jasmine walks up to me. I feel her eyes burning into me. She’d kill me now if she knew I wouldn’t resurrect. But I don’t look at her. I simply stare at Ian.
I did this. If I hadn’t drugged him, he would have easily fought that Bitten off. He would have killed him. Ian wouldn’t be here right now. And I wouldn’t be asked to kill him.
All my organs turn to lead as Ian’s eyes flutter open.
No! I internally beg. Don’t wake up. Please don’t witness this. Please, no!
Jasmine still stares at me, but I can only watch in horror as Ian struggles to clear the fog from his head.
Slowly, he lifts it. His eyes are squeezed closed for a moment. He stretches his neck from one side to the other. A low groan makes its way from his chest.
And every pair of vampire eyes snaps to him.
“Holy shit,” Ian breathes when he finally opens his eyes. He takes everyone in, blinking rapidly as if to make what he’s seeing fade into a dream. His eyes land on me last. They grow in terror. “Liv,” he breathes. “Liv, don’t do this! Please, don’t do this!”
My throat tightens. Tears once again spring into my eyes.
I’ve ruined everything.
“Liv,”
Ian whispers. I see moisture gleaming in his own eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say. But I doubt he can hear it.
Cameron suddenly gives a choked off cry and crumples to the ground. A tiny needle sticks out of his neck.
I hear a tiny whistling sound and then Micah goes down, as well.
“Enough!” Jasmine screams like a maddened woman. I watch in horror as she draws a long-blade knife from the folds of her dress.
“No!” I scream, trying to jerk out of Trinity’s hold. But she’s yanked both of my arms behind my back. Her sharp fingernails dig into my skin, but I don’t feel it.
Moving faster than I can see, Jasmine is standing before Ian. She leans in close, whispers something into his ear.
I think Ian mutters something. But it’s cut off.
Jasmine shoves the knife up through Ian’s stomach, the length of it disappearing inside him.
A demented scream rips its way from my body. Except I feel nothing. Only the sharp sting of the blade I cannot see. I jerk against Trinity’s hold and everything slows.
I see every millimeter of steel as it slides out of Ian’s body. Blood gushes from the wound. Ian’s face. His face... It’s frozen. Not in terror. Not in pain. Simply in shock and disbelief. His eyes stare at Jasmine. He blinks. Slow. So slow. And when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking right at me.
I think it’s his name that is pouring from my lungs into the lightening morning.
And suddenly I’m free. My feet are flying down the final step, across the gravel. There’s a flash beside me, and I think it’s Lillian who rips the ropes from Ian’s body and flies at Jasmine.
But all I can process is catching Ian’s falling form as he collapses out of the chair. I’m soaked in his blood when his torso crashes into mine and we both go down into the gravel.
“Ian, Ian,” I’m whispering, over and over. I press my hands into his bleeding, gushing wound. There’s so much blood. Just pouring out of him like a river.
“Li…Liv,” he manages to get out in a breath. Blood bubbles up in his mouth, staining his teeth and lips. His hand shakes as he raises it up to my face.
Blood smears over my cheek as he brushes his thumb over it. “Tell me what to do,” I finally manage a coherent thought. “You could save you. Tell me what to do.”
He tries to say something. But he’s drowning in his own blood.
So much blood.
“Ian,” I call desperately. His hand falls away from my face. “Ian!” I press my hands harder into the wound with one hand and try to sit him up with my other. If I could just clear the blood from his throat. If I could just make it easier for him to breathe.
But I’m sitting in a pool of Ian’s blood. And it’s leaking from his mouth. And he takes a gurgled breath.
“Ian,” I whisper.
And his body goes limp.
“Ian?”
My hands shake. Realizing that there’s no more breath being pulled into his body, I pull my hands back. My mouth hangs open, not pulling in any air, either.
The sound of a body dropping behind me pulls me back into reality. And I jump when the growl of a motorcycle rips through the morning.
I turn to take in the scene. Micah, Cameron, and Samuel all lie on the ground, immobile. The rest of the House members cower in a semi-circle, retreating into the house.
“Get on.”
My eyes dart up when the motorcycle comes to a screeching halt beside me. Rath extends a hand down and grips my forearm. “Get on.”
He doesn’t wait for me to react. He hauls me onto it. “But Ian!” I scream as he starts to drive away.
“He’s dead,” Rath says as he wraps one of my arms around his waist. “There’s nothing you can do for him now.”
I look back toward Ian as we start speeding down the driveway. Instead, I see Jasmine, darting after us.
Like he knew exactly where she was, Rath turns in his seat, gun extended, and shoots. He catches her in the chest, on the right side, and she goes down. Rath guns the gas, and we rip through the pale light.
We’re nearly back to the Estate before I realize that Rath is covered in blood. And it isn’t just Ian’s blood—Ian’s blood—transferring from me to him. Rath is bleeding everywhere.
The gates to the Estate swing open as it comes into view. Gravel spits everywhere as we race up the drive. We pull straight into the garage and it shuts behind us.
“Come on,” Rath says in the dim light. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He has to help me off of the motorcycle. I’m a frozen, in shock statue. And my dress is tangled around me. Everywhere. Rath places one hand under my elbow, the other on my waist and half drags me off of the bike. With stiff, shuffling steps, we walk into the house.
Two of the staff members wait for us in the kitchen. They stand there, hands folded in front of them, at attention.
“Draw Miss Ryan a bath,” Rath instructs the woman. She darts off without hesitation. Rath turns to Antonio. “You lock down the house. No one comes in tonight. No matter what.”
The man nods and heads off.
“Come on,” Rath says. He’s still holding onto me and it’s only now that I realize how much of my weight he is supporting. He winces as we try to make our way toward the stairs.
As we round the corner into the foyer, I see the dead body lying in the middle of the floor. When we get closer, I see it’s one of the gardeners. Juan.
There’s a knife embedded into his back.
Somehow still possible, my face blanches all the more.
But I don’t ask. My brain can’t process more. More death. More blood. More everything. I concentrate on taking the stairs one at a time.
Rath guides me into the bathroom where the water is running and the water is frothing with bubbles. When I simply stand there, numb and empty, Rath instructs Angelica to help me undress and get into the water.
Most of the blood was soaked into my dress, but a healthy amount covers my arms, my chest, and my face, so the water of the bath instantly turns a shade of pink.
It’s a literal bloodbath.
When the water is full, the woman shuts it off and exits the room. I hear Rath muttering quietly to her, but the words don’t process in my brain.
Rath limps into the room. I see the nasty gash in his leg. Wide and gaping. But not bleeding like it probably should. There’s another gash down his opposite arm, and claw marks down one side of his face.
He’s a wreck.
“Are you ready?” he asks as he sits on the divan. The bathroom is idiotically large enough to accommodate it.
For the first time, I meet his eyes. They’re deep and dark. They’re prepared and calm. Same as always.
Dependable, loyal Rath.
I’m so lucky to have him. Just as my father was.
I swallow, and nod.
Because I have to be. I have to not drown. I have to know how the events of the night happened.
“I was in the library,” Rath says. He rubs his dark hands together, but doesn’t look at them. I think they are itching for action. “Listing what would need to be done to the house to prepare for your resurrection. It was an hour until I needed to give Ian his next dose and I planned to give it to him in thirty minutes. Juan came in, which should have tipped me off. The garden staff have no business being in the house in the middle of the night. But he’s worked for the family for years with not a sign of betrayal. He said he needed to talk to me.”
My eyes fall to the injury on Rath’s leg.
“He pulled a blade on me before I could react. He caught me off guard, and I’m ashamed of that,” he looks away from me.
I should comfort him. Tell him that there was no way he could know. That he should be able to trust his own staff. But I’m too angry. Too full of everything, that if I open the doors, it all with come pouring out of me and then there will be nothing left but an empty skin bag full of bones.
“I went down and couldn’t even fight him off—or the Bitten that
Juan then let in through the damn front door. The Bitten grabbed Ian from his room and was out the door in less than ten seconds. But Juan can’t move as fast as a vampire.”
I imagine the scene. Rath on the floor of the library, bleeding out. But grabbing a knife from somewhere on his person, I have little doubt, and embedding it in Juan’s back. Ending his life right then.
“I failed this family,” Rath says in a cool and even voice. His eyes fall to the marble floor. “And for that, I am truly sorry.”
Rath is strong. He’s a rock. He doesn’t make mistakes.
So seeing him, him like this. It’s what finally breaks me.
I reach over, take his hand in mine. And let the tears consume me.
DURING THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT OF the next day, Rath goes with Elle to collect Ian’s body. I ask him to go, and he does with shame in his eyes.
No police will be called. There will be no murder investigation. There will be no trial and no prison time.
There will only be a devastated grandmother and little sister. There will only be a body in a box and a hole in the ground.
It all happens very quickly, and I can only figure it is with Rath’s taking control. A burial plot is arranged, right next to George and Cora Ward’s headstones. The following morning, a hearse drives Ian’s body to the grave.
I lock everything up. I put my pain in a box and hide it in the darkness of my soul. It won’t be let out until the time is right. But right now, I simply need strength. I stand beside Elle, holding her hand. Lula stands on the other side of her. She mutters things under her breath every once in a while, shaking her head. About every two minutes, she shoots a dark glare in my direction.
A pastor gives a generic sermon on life after death and God’s plan. There’s no hint of Ian in it. It could apply to any John Doe.
Rath watches us all from the shadows. I don’t see him, but I can feel him there. Ready. He’s injured, but I’d still bet on him in any fight. He won’t be caught off guard again.
There are no other attendants of Ian Ward’s funeral.
There’s a stone in my stomach that grows heavier and heavier as they lower Ian’s casket into the earth. He’s all on his own down there and that wet, dark dirt looks so cold.
