by L. T. Kelly
I continued to stroke her hair. The colour of her locks matched my own. I shifted her away from the spectacle in the middle of the room and guided her back toward her sister in the far corner. Both girls needed me, and the others had to take care of the situation now.
“Well, are you going to help me or not?” Catherine jutted her chin toward Freya.
“Of course I am.” Freya smiled.
My breath caught in my dry throat as I held the now sobbing redhead in my arms, squeezing her for support. Would Freya, after everything, really turn on us now?
Freya raised her hand and pointed it at the other boy, who stood gormless beside Catherine without so much as an expression ghosting his face. The young man fell to the floor straight on his face. Hayley lost her shit again and went toward Freya, but she was too slow for her. Freya spat out another blue flame from her palm, which clattered in the centre of Hayley’s chest.
“They’re all gone now.” I rubbed the redhead’s back affectionately and pressed my lips to the top of her head.
“There’s still her.” Her voice crackled as she managed to steal a glance at her cousin, Catherine.
“Yes,” I mused. “But I have other ideas for her. A fate far worse than death.”
I started toward the centre of the room to stand beside Freya. I owed her. How could I consider her to be anything but a lifelong ally? Guilt swirled in my stomach for the doubt momentarily crossing my mind. I sped up and caught Freya’s wrist as her hand rose to point at the final member of this dark clan of witches.
I pretended to hold her hand as a show my palm was not intended to undermine her. Freya’s mouth dropped open to question what I’d done. Catherine’s head pointed toward the floor, as if resigned to her fate, clinging to her mewing cat.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” My voice cracked through the silent space. “I have something different in store for you, though.”
Catherine’s head snapped up, her eyes flying open with something I longed to see sparking within them. Fear. Stares lingered at my back. I hadn’t discussed what I wanted to do, because the idea alluded me until I saw the woman huddled and vulnerable on her makeshift throne. Catherine’s lips parted and bumped closed again.
“You will live.” I stated coolly. Charmion rushed to my side.
“Teagan, don’t you think–”
“Please Charmion. Let me finish.” I urged her to be quiet and turned back to Catherine, who sat straighter now, her cat rubbing his black velvet fur over her shuddering shoulder. “You’ve lived in luxury. This place was handed to you, along with the amulet and the power that came with it. You never experienced the pain these girls endured while you stood back and let it happen.” My voice caught with each word uttered. “You’ve never known any suffering, have you?” It was a rhetorical question, but I eyed her expectantly nonetheless.
Bartholomew moved in front of me, throwing a glance at Charmion, as if to tell her he agreed with my plan, validating my theory that death would be far too painless for this woman now she was alone and powerless. To encourage another clan to take her in would be almost impossible with such a retched reputation.
“You will sign everything over to me,” Bartholomew demanded.
Pride burst through me. If I were him and had been trapped in that room, serving this self-proclaimed queen without consent, I’m not sure I would support my plan to set her free into the world to carry on her existence, no matter how shitty it would be.
“The money will go to these young females.” He nodded, as though realising it would be the right thing to do. Their faces were still lined with an intrepid mixture of sadness, fear and confusion.
“If I ever set eyes on you again, Catherine…” Freya’s eyes narrowed to slivers and her grip on my hand tightened, “I’ll kill you.”
Catherine nodded, silent tears trickling down her face. “Can I please get some things before I go?” she asked meekly, glancing down to her knees.
“Yes, but hurry. You’re no longer welcome here,” Charmion said, though I suspected just for something to say. Catherine leaped off her chair, scurried to the back of the room and through a door I guessed was her bedroom.
I sighed heavily once she was out of sight and glanced around. Bloodied bodies littered the floor, and artistic sprays of blood splattered over the previously clean, white-painted walls and soft, pastel furnishings.
Placing my hands on my hips I turned, surveying the faces gazing at me, as though awaiting the next instruction. I didn’t have any further orders.
“Hey.” I grabbed Charmion’s arm to tear her away from inspecting Bartholomew’s face for any signs of injury. “How are Geo and Alex?”
She shook her head, her eyes crinkling in the corners. Her expression tugged at my chest, and I snatched my eyes to Bartholomew. I had been lucky not to lose him. The crazy bitch could have exploded his head, as well, but she kept him alive, been too greedy and stupid. I stared at Bartholomew’s sharp cheekbones and pouty, dark pink lips. His green eyes slipped around the room, and I knew, from having studied him for years, he was busy considering his next move, how he would destroy all the bodies and clean up the blood. It seemed to have escaped him that we were meant to be getting married and the day I took a long year planning had since been and gone.
“Freya,” he suddenly barked, as though he only just saw her standing there. “You left the clan. I don’t think you’ve ever done that. And what on earth are you wearing? How exactly are they protected?” He raised a thick, blond brow in her direction.
Freya grinned. “Oh, they’re protected, aren’t they, Teagan?”
I bumped my lips together. He picked up the finer details of Freya’s clothing, but failed to touch, embrace me or even offer me a regretful glance. Bartholomew glared at me coolly. I merely nodded, and Freya’s brow crinkled ever so slightly until I shot her a look of warning. Not now. I don’t want to fall apart right now. A thick lump formed in my throat. Although my physiology wouldn’t allow me to shed tears, an open display of emotion in front of these people wouldn’t bode well.
The creak of the door at the back of the room led its occupants to see Catherine sporting a small, black holdall in one hand and a cat carrier in the other. Something was off in the way she wore her usual smug expression, but before I could open my mouth, my vocal cords constricted, preventing me from speaking. I struggled to make a sound, watching her reach level with Bartholomew and seeing the glint beneath the bag’s handle in her hand. I clutched at my throat, my eyes wide, and realised not a single person was aware of my predicament.
I ran at her, intending to take her off her feet as she dropped her bag and raised the knife. She moved gracefully. My body didn’t make contact as she lunged at Freya, the dagger driving straight into her chest. Bartholomew lifted Catherine and tossed her across the room.
Catherine missed Freya’s heart, but the bright red, frothy blood seeping from Freya’s mouth indicated a punctured lung. Bartholomew kneeled beside her on the floor, his hand covering the wound.
“We don’t have time for a discussion, my darling,” he told her soothingly.
My skin prickled at how tenderly he spoke to her, his voice laced with a powerful love. I wanted to hit myself around the head for being so ridiculous. Freya told me Bartholomew had been like a father to her. Of course he would be that way whilst she lay dying on the floor. If she died, it wouldn’t just be her, either. Her baby would die, too.
“I’m doing it, Freya.”
My mouth hung open, my body paralysed, as Bartholomew extended his fangs and began biting her over and over. The room stood still as shock extinguished the movement of my breaths, until Catherine flung herself at Bartholomew’s body, the glint of her bloody dagger piercing his shoulder and the centre of his back. Charmion pulled at her. Both Freya’s blood from where he bit her and the blood from Catherine’s dagger would make him human, and his attempts to buck the girl off were futile.
My own body couldn’t move to save him. I
became lost to watching what he did to save Freya, my brain arguing incessantly with my heart.
Screaming from behind pulled me from my reverie. I turned to see Pearl pulling the two remaining members of my ancestral family to her chest, burying their faces so they didn’t bear witness to Charmion ripping Catherine’s body apart as though she were a piece of paper.
Bartholomew finished his task and sat up, wiping his blood-drenched mouth on his forearm. Colour drained from his sculpted face to a deathly grey-blue hue. I stared at him, and he stared back for what seemed like forever. My stomach lurched as though it bounced between my throat and my lower abdomen. I knew I had to move, to tend to the wounds that wouldn’t heal in an instant if I didn’t want to lose him. Bartholomew’s breathing shallowed, and I managed to compute to my brain for my body to move. I kneeled, placing my arm on his bicep to steady his shaking as I tugged his sticky, soaked shirt upward to inspect the wounds at his back. Bruno appeared beside me with several towels in his arms. Gurgling noises told me Bartholomew was trying to speak, but his injuries rendered him mute.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” Bruno shouted over the voices giving orders and the gut-wrenching cries of the girls who watched their entire family slaughtered in this room tonight. Despite the pain of what they’d all done, it had not been pleasant for me, either, so I could only fathom how they must feel. In all my years as a vampire, I failed to recall ever being in a room so bloodied or with the stench of death hanging so prevalently in the air.
I ignored Bruno’s question and snatched a towel from him, placing pressure on a number of Bartholomew’s wounds.
“You need to take Freya back to Ancrum,” Bartholomew finally managed.
I pursed my lips, my eyes stinging. We’d been in a room together for the first time in many weeks, and he was trying to get rid of me already.
“Do you hear me, Teagan?”
“Yes,” I replied, taking a glance at Freya’s closed eyes. It wouldn’t take long, perhaps an hour. My mind absently wondered what turning would do to the foetus inside her. I honed my hearing, but heard nothing. I didn’t get a chance to ask how far along she was. If it was early enough, the baby wouldn’t have a heartbeat yet.
“As soon as she wakes, give her the amulet.”
Another order. I pressed harder at his wounds and grit my teeth, preventing my fingers from doing what they wanted, which was to hurt him the same way he hurt me. Bruno nudged my hand away from the towel.
I resigned myself to the fact that I had been given my marching orders. I couldn’t look at him because if I did, my mind would say goodbye, and now wasn’t the time for either of us to make rash decisions. I spent my entire life doing that, discarding people, friendships and belongings without a thought. Bartholomew was one person, aside from Thomas, who without, my life would be a train wreck.
As I bent and scooped Freya’s lifeless body into my arms, a dull ache spread over me. Something told me I was already riding the train that began to careen off the tracks.
Twenty Three
Breathe Again
I carried Freya, somewhere between unconscious and dead, to the waiting car. I took in Geo’s face. It was marred with angry, red blotches as I struggled inside awkwardly, Freya nestled in my arms. His mouth twitched, as though he wanted to ask what happened to her, but either thought better of it or decided he actually didn’t care. Alex’s head remained bowed, not interested in what occurred around him, most likely lost in his own self-pity in the exact way I recalled feeling when I discovered Thomas was dead. He would need a lot of support to remain on the straight and narrow, and I gave thanks to the fact he had Ryan now. I wasn’t sure how much use I would be to anyone once we all got home and tried to resume life as it was before the events of the previous few weeks.
Charmion gracefully climbed into the vehicle and closed the door behind her, her mouth downturned as she took in Freya’s beautiful, sleeping face. Tendrils of Freya’s damp, black hair clung to her high cheekbones, and her lips were gently parted. Her breaths took longer and longer between intervals as her life ebbed away, only to be replaced with a brand-new one where she didn’t need to breathe anymore. Charmion stroked a palm over Freya’s hair and looked to me with sad eyes. We shared the same guilt, I was sure.
Rose went to Dublin with her own agenda and volition. Freya had been different. She made a ton of excuses as to why she couldn’t come with us, the fear in her eyes evident all along, and she’d been right. Had she possessed foresight of what would happen and come along anyway? I couldn’t be sure. There was still a lot for me to learn about witchcraft and what was possible.
Charmion ordered the driver to return us to the airfield. I flinched. “What about the others?”
“Pearl is taking care of the girls. She’ll return them home to collect some of their belongings. They have a light-tight room where she can rest. We’ll discuss them coming to Freya for at least a while whilst things settle down. Their name tarnishes them. Don’t you think that’s so sad when people pile you in with your family’s actions?” Charmion’s eyes slanted as she awaited my validation. They were my family, too, but I didn’t say that. I just stared at her. Of course, when I said “the others”, Pearl had been included, but you’d have to be a moron not to figure I asked after Bartholomew and Bruno, too.
Charmion huffed, most likely due to my lack of response and the lingering glare I offered her. “Bartholomew is remaining to tidy up the club as soon as he has healed, and Bruno is staying to assist.”
Having seen Bartholomew, his barely tolerable treatment of me, I was glad not to endure a further frosty atmosphere throughout an entire plane ride, no matter how short it would be.
*****
“Freya?” I called her name as her eyelids fluttered.
When we arrived back in Ancrum, I took her straight to her bed and placed the amulet around her wrist, still attached to the cat’s collar. Though I removed the name tag that rested beside it, the name Henry engraved on the surface, and slipped it into my pocket.
My chest ached for Freya when I noticed blood pool about her crotch during the plane ride back. Freya’s baby was lost throughout her turning, and my throat constricted, knowing it would be down to me to explain it to her once she awoke…if she couldn’t tell immediately her womb was empty.
I placed the amulet on her before she woke to save her the burning thirst I recalled from my own turning. Freya had not asked to become a vampire in the same way I hadn’t. It was either that or die. I hoped Bartholomew would not fall into her bad books for having made the decision for her.
Her eyes flickered again, and she blinked, taking in the surrounding room before noticing me sitting beside her on the bed.
“I’m so sorry. Everything is all my fault.”
“How am I here?” she croaked. “I feel…” Her hands flew to her head to rub her temples, as though to spur her brain into action. Her brows drew together. “What’s your fault?”
“I should have allowed you to kill Catherine when you raised your palm to her. If I–” I stopped dead. There I went again, making Freya’s predicament about me. Freya’s breathing quickened and I grasped one of her hands, battling whether to tell her of all the changes she suffered or allow her to establish them for herself. I mean, which order should I do them?
Freya had not been pleased about her pregnancy, but still, a miscarriage was horrendous for any woman to go through. I decided to start at the beginning and inform her of the choice Bartholomew made for her on Catherine’s apartment floor.
Her eyes flew wide and she wrenched her hand from mine to find the spherical, emerald-encrusted amulet dangling from her wrist.
“Thank God for my ancestral mother.” Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “Obviously, the cat collar cannot remain. Would you fetch me the wooden box, please?” Freya nodded toward a large, oak dressing table beneath the window.
I whooshed to get it for her, placing it on the bed. She shuffled to a sitting position
and opened it to reveal several pieces of jewellery.
“Can you ever forgive me?” I asked, glad of her eyes being pointed into the box rather than at my face. But her head snapped back and she studied me with a closeness, forcing me to shift on the bed and glance away.
“Teagan, you’re being silly. If I didn’t think you were doing the right thing, I would have taken her life regardless of your plan or opinion.”
I thought of many ways in which to argue, but what would be the point? I realised Bartholomew would likely place blame on me for what happened to Freya, so I gratefully accepted her free pass.
“Thank you.”
“There are many vampires I admire, but to rely on humans as a source of survival would drive me away from Ancrum and all I’ve ever known.” She sorted through the box and selected a long, gold rope chain. From what I saw, Freya lived at the heart of his clan.
“Why?”
Freya turned and looked at me, as though perplexed as to why I failed to understand her statement. “Because taking from humans, having to rely on them for survival, is not what we stand for. We live peacefully, for the most part. Of course, our vampire allies allow for that by fighting threats against us. But we ourselves stand for peace and harmony in every way possible.” A sob rolled off her chest, as though she could not help but release it in sadness for the loss of her life. “Whether you wish to tell yourself it or not, vampires exist in a constant state of conflict because of what you must take. We celebrate the land from which we take our sustenance. Your kind does not celebrate humanity. It merely feeds from it.”
I bumped my lips together and bowed my head. I never considered what she told me before, but she was right. “Well, at least you have the amulet.” I shrugged. There would be no point on dwelling on what was lost. Only to be positive she was able to continue her life as Bartholomew did in Ancrum. “What will you do? Will you consider doing what Bartholomew did and eventually become one of us?”
