by Keary Taylor
“That’s stupid,” I let the words slip without thinking.
“No, your ignorance is stupid,” Charles says coldly as the first shops and bed-and-breakfasts come into view. “Do you think I am the first to honor a blood feud and grudge? Have you forgotten our entire monarchy and Royalty system?”
And I realize it’s completely true. Thousands of years ago, Cyrus had seven grandsons. Five of them turned against him, sided with Cyrus’ son, whose name has been erased from their history. When those five lost, Cyrus exiled them, cut them off. To this day, those Born mean absolutely nothing to him. He gives all the glory and power to the descendants of the two who remained loyal.
Charles, himself, is a descendant of one of those two. The third son, Dorian.
“I am only eight generations removed from the King himself, did you know that?” Charles says, moving on from our very dark and vengeful previous conversation. “King Cyrus, his son, Dorian, then came Gervais, and then his son Peter, who came to the New World on the second ship to sail here. The House of Allaway was the first established in this country, and therefore the oldest.”
I hate this man. Hate his very name. And especially hate that I’m fascinated to hear the story he’s telling. The history to the name of Allaway.
“Our family has only ever produced male heirs,” Charles says as we finally break into town, passing an art gallery. The windows are all dark, and I only see two others out at this very late hour, down the road, headed toward a car.
“All those eight generations, only producing one son each,” he continues his tale. “Until our mother conceived the two of us for my father, who actually was killed by some humans while we were still in the womb. So my mother ran the House until my sister and I came of age. But Chelsea, she was a first. The first ever female Allaway heir.”
His words grow tighter when he says her name. His grip on my hand tightens.
“My sister was a proud woman, a strong one who knew how to use her power to gain what she wanted.” The night grows colder and I hear an animal howl in the night through the trees, reminding me just how rural this town is located. “She was the one who ruled the House. The one who knew how to boss everyone around. The one who could get things done.”
We pass a diner, but by this time, it’s closed, not a soul around. The two people down the street climb into their car and start down the road, driving away from us.
“I spent fifty-six years ruling at my sister’s side,” Charles says as we come to a bridge. And here he stops. I look south, seeing the moon, nearly full, reflecting off the slowly running river. The air has an earthy scent to it, rotting wood and fresh leaves. The beginnings of flowers emerging from the earth. “I paid attention. I know I can do what she did. But my mind…”
Charles lets out a slow breath, his teeth clenching together. He lets go of me, resting his hand on the railing of the bridge, his fingers curling into the wood.
He knows he can catch me in a fraction of a second if I decide to run.
“I cannot focus on being the regent I must be when I just have visions of all those Bitten slaughtering our House. Of the barbed bat that woman brought down on my sister’s face.” His fingers tighten, splintering the wood. “The blood that trickled down Chelsea’s neck. The scream that ripped from her throat, the very last sound I’d ever hear her make.”
Suddenly Charles’ hand is around my throat, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh. He stares at me, his eyes glowing brilliant red, black veins sprouting from them.
“That is the vision I see every moment, for the past seven years,” he says as his voice quakes in anger. “That is what dances in the back of my head, repeating over and over. Even as the rest of the Houses laugh at my tiny House. As those who once stood at my side doubt my ability to provide them protection. As the King makes threats to take me out because of my lack of authority and enforcement of the rules.”
He squeezes tightly for just a moment, and slowly, very slowly, loosens his grip. My hammering heart doesn’t still though.
“I can rule,” he says, though there’s a small tremor to his voice that tells me he doubts himself. “But not until my mind is no longer distracted. Not until I no longer see my sister’s blood every time I close my eyes. Once I avenge her death, I can move on. The House of Allaway will rise again, once you are dead.”
He suddenly shoves me away from him, putting pressure on my throat. I stumble, tripping and falling onto my back in the middle of the bridge. Grit, rocks, and sticks scrape my hands as I fall, cutting my skin.
Charles turns away from me, once more resting his hands on the railing. He braces himself there, and I half expect him to turn on me once again, eyes glowing, fangs lengthened, ready to rip my throat out and kill me right now.
Lexington told me once that Charles is a patient man. Patient enough to wait seven years to get his revenge. Patient enough to wait nine months, having me in his custody, until he kills me and moves on with his life.
I climb to my knees, pain shooting through my injured hands. I look down, curling my fingers around two large marble-sized rocks. Glancing up, I see that Charles is still staring out over the river. Silently, I slip the rocks into my pocket.
Gravel crunches under my boots as I climb to my feet. I look down at my hands and see the skin shredded there, cuts scattered all over them. Blood oozes to the surface, dripping down my wrist, staining the cuff of my shirt.
“You’re injured,” Charles says. He looks back over his shoulder at me, his eyes fading from red to their blue-green color. “I can’t have that putting any stress on the baby. I’ll call in Dr. Gethrow.”
He nods his head back down the road, and without a word, praying he won’t notice the small streak of blood that leads to my pocket, I follow him.
Charles doesn’t speak any more as we walk back to the House. But I can feel the pain he’s gone through in these past seven years. He and his sister may have been crazy, deranged, from what I hear. But they didn’t have anyone besides each other. Neither of them married. Neither of them had any other family. The Allaway line was a narrow one, one son after another who have all died.
Charles has been left with no one.
I understand now why he wants me to take such good care of this child inside of me. It’s all he has.
When we reach the House, Dr. Gethrow is climbing out of his car. Charles escorts us down the stairs before handing me off to Angel. She watches with black veins and red eyes as the doctor clears away all the blood and bandages my hands.
And I watch her.
My heart wants to thunder as my mind races, trying to plan out how to do this. But she, and everyone else in this house will be suspicious if suddenly my heart starts racing for no apparent reason.
So I concentrate on keeping my breaths slow and even. On thinking calm thoughts.
When he declares me to be done and fine, Angel escorts me back into the common room.
I slip the rocks from my pocket. Just as she puts the code in and the door slides open, I flick one back into the common room. It lands with a sharp ting across the space. Angel whips around, her brows furrowed, looking for the source of the noise.
I take my opportunity. I quietly drop the second rock, placing my foot on top of it and sliding it to just the right spot, right in the corner of the jamb where the door slides closed.
“Goodnight,” I tell Angel as I step inside my cell and look back at her.
Angel only glares at me as the door slides closed between us. From the window, I watch her walk away, up the stairs.
Through the glow of the moonlight outside, I touch my fingers to the door, sliding them to the jamb. Slipping them into the quarter-of-an-inch crack where the door could not slide closed all the way.
“Knew you’d come up with something,” Michael says through the pain behind me.
It’s the longest eleven hours ever.
Twelve hours of pain, that’s what my toxins grant a vampire, Born or Bitten. Michael has
been shot with them over and over, and for me, I’ve regretted he has to go through it, but now there is so much on the line.
Charles came to get me at ten o’clock last night. That means Michael won’t be through the pain until ten in the morning. I can’t escape without him, and I won’t leave him.
“Taking off during the day is going to be our best chance,” I whisper as I push Michael’s hair back from his forehead. “They’re more likely to be asleep. I’ll blindfold you and guide you once we’re out of the house.”
“Still gonna be painful,” he manages to say through the poison coursing through his veins. “But not gonna touch what I’m feeling right now.”
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe. “They have to be running low on the toxins by now. I took the whole supply the night I met you, and I didn’t make much more after that. They can’t have much left that they stole from my shop.”
“This stuff is half the reason I sided with you,” he says through a pained chuckle. “Had hoped I’d never be on the receiving end, I will admit.”
I offer him a little smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. I glance up, noting the brightening day behind the blackout curtains. The clock on the wall reads nine-thirty. Half an hour more and he’ll be able to move.
“You know once I get you some place safe I’m coming back with more bodies to kill him, right?” Michael says darkly. “I’ll turn more Bitten if I have to. They’ll do what I say till the job’s done. You can cure them later.”
“Michael-”
“This isn’t a discussion,” he growls. “What he’s done to you, it’s despicable. He doesn’t get to live after something like this. His bloodline is carried on. You find some Born to adopt the baby and hold its place until it’s old enough. I’m sure your Royal sister-in-law can help with that.”
And suddenly something lifts in my chest.
The logic he’s presented.
The relief it would bring to me.
The end of running and hiding.
“You don’t have to feel guilty, for any of it.” Michael raises his hand, placing it against my cheek. The toxin is finally starting to release him. “After everything you’ve been through, the scales are eternally tipped in your favor. I’d say you’ve got a free pass to do whatever you feel you have to do for the rest of your life.”
I place my hand over his, and my heart swells.
I’m thankful to have a few people in my life who really understand me.
Who care.
Michael grunts, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He nods that he’s alright, and I set to gathering some things.
I make a sling bag from sheets and pack it with clothes for the two of us. Fill a few bottles of water. Grab all of the snacks Charles has sent down. I pull on my boots and my jacket.
“Can you hear what’s going on upstairs?” I whisper as I set the bag down beside the door.
Michael pulls himself up to his feet, wincing in pain. He stretches his back out, his face twisted in a grimace. “It’s pretty quiet up there. Pretty sure Murphy and Russell went to bed about an hour ago. Angel is in the library. Charles is in his room.”
“What about Megg?” I ask as I look through the window, letting in a sliver of light.
“Don’t know where she’s at,” he says as he stands upright, stretching out his limbs. “Must not be home.”
I nod. That makes me nervous. I’d rather know where all the players are.
Ten more minutes. Eleven. Twelve.
Fifteen more minutes, and Michael is back to his old self.
“Angel just went upstairs, sounds like she’s in her room,” Michael whispers as he slips our bag over his head, hanging across his chest. I hold the blindfold made from one of his shirts in my hand, prepared to tie it around his eyes the moment we get outside. “I think Charles is asleep. Let’s do this.”
We’ve left all the water running in the cell. The music player Charles gave me to play classical music for the baby is turned up high and just loud enough not to be suspicious. Hopefully it’s enough noise to cover any sounds we’re about to make.
Michael wedges his fingers in the small crack of the door. They barely fit and he has to squeeze to get them in far enough, and suddenly I’m afraid I didn’t grab a big enough rock to get it open.
With his face turning red, inch-by-inch, Michael slides it back, forcing the steel door open. Once it’s open wide enough to fit through, he pops his head out, looking back and forth. He nods, and waves me out.
There are no openings to the outside down here in the basement. We have to risk going upstairs, and out the back door.
As we creep up the stairs, I’m terrified that they will creak. That I’m breathing too hard and Angel will hear it. That suddenly nausea will take me over like it tends to do and I’ll announce our escape by puking.
But we make it to the top of the steps, and I can see the back door.
My heart is pounding like the beat of a drum. But there’s no controlling it now.
Not a body in sight, and no alert from Michael that anyone upstairs is moving around, so we continue silently to the back door. Across the great room.
Michael’s hand wraps around the doorknob. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the blinding light on the other side of it. I put my hand on his back, giving what little support I can.
He gives it a twist and pulls it open.
The day is hazy, somewhat overcast, leftover from the rain that rolled through in the middle of the night. But still, Michael squints and holds a hand up to block the light as we step out onto the back deck.
We could steal a car, get out of here quick. But we need a head start, and the best way to do that is to not let on that we’re gone right away.
We’re taking off through the woods on foot until we get to another town where we will then steal a car.
I take Michael’s hand in mine and lead him down the stairs and through the underbrush, away from the property. It’s difficult to keep our steps silent as we snap twigs and brush against bushes, but I just hope and pray we sound like the hundreds of deer that wander these woods.
Finally, fifty yards from the house, I glance back, and when there is no sign of movement in the house, I bring up the blindfold and tie it around Michael’s eyes. But neither of us dares breathe a word just yet.
Once more, I take Michael’s hand, and guide him through the thousands of trees that dot the Vermont landscape.
We head down the hill toward the river, which I intend to follow east and break off from before it cuts through town. My goal is to follow the highway, off enough not to be seen, until we hit that town I remember driving through on my way in. There, we’ll find a car and take off, only a little over two hours to Boston.
Back to my home.
Back to Lexington.
“Charles always said you were a clever girl,” a voice cuts through the silence from behind us. “Escaping from a House of vampires proves it, I suppose.”
My heart spits ice into my veins and I turn to see Megg standing behind us.
She wears a pair of sun goggles but it’s obvious she’s still feeling the discomfort of the sun. She wears a smug look on her face, quite pleased with herself at having caught us.
“Don’t put up a fight, and I won’t even tell Charles you tried to escape,” she says as she smiles at me. “It will be our little secret.”
“I’m not going back,” I say quietly.
“I think you know you are,” she says. She takes a step toward me, radiating confidence that she’s going to drag me back into that basement, back to my cell.
I feel Michael lightly touch the back of my arm, and something rough slides into my hand.
I whip that hand forward, flinging the broken stick with every ounce of strength I have in me.
The sharp end embeds itself into Megg’s chest, right above her heart.
But I knew I wouldn’t have the strength to embed it deep enough.
I dart forward,
throwing myself on her, knocking the both of us to the ground. Just as her hands claw for my already bruised throat, I wrap my hands around the thick stick, and shove hard. Driving the stake down, and into her heart.
Shock widens her eyes for just a moment, and then they stare into nothing as her body collapses against the ground, her skin slowly turning gray and ashen.
“Damn!” Michael declares. I whip around, a finger against my lips to silence him. We’re still far too close to the house, and one of them might hear us.
“There’s the little woman who shocked the hell out of me,” he says quietly as he peeks beneath the blindfold. “Knew she was still in there somewhere.”
He pulls a little smile from me, but I hold my finger up to my lips again. I pull the sun goggles from Megg and hand them over to Michael who replaces his blindfold with them. I dig through her jacket, finding two stakes and a switchblade knife. I’m hoping and praying for a cell phone so I can call Ian and Lexington, but no such luck.
I guess that would just be too much to ask for.
“Let’s go,” I say, nodding my head back in the direction we were headed.
I look back one more time as we take off through the trees. I don’t see any movement from the windows. And I hope and pray that it’s the last time I ever see the House of Allaway, official or unofficial.
There are so many holes in my escape plan right now. So many things that could and will go wrong. I’m not out of the woods, figuratively or literally speaking. I’m not going to be safe from Charles.
But at least I’m on my way.
I’m going home.
I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter against my skin. The clouds above our heads threaten rain. The air is thick with moisture. I can feel the electricity in the air, begging to be let loose.
My feet are swollen. My legs are exhausted. My back is killing me.
But I’m trying hard not to complain or show signs that I’m struggling. Because I know the second I do, Michael will hoist me up on his back, and I’m determined to do this myself.
I devised the plan that led to our escape.
