by Kayleigh Sky
An eerie quiet followed Zev through the empty halls. With his enforcers guarding his guests, no sound broke the stillness downstairs, and his heartbeat thudded with a dull echo. He turned the corner to his rooms and hurried to Justin standing outside his study door.
“Is everything secure, sire?”
“Secure enough,” Zev said.
“You need to rest. Would you like tea?”
“I have to go out.”
“In the storm?”
Zev swept an arm at his windows. “It’s dying down. Otto and Uriah will return soon.”
“Why not wait? Why go out at all?”
Zev continued down the hall to his bedroom, stopping outside the door. “Put the tea in a thermos and bring me some warm blankets.”
He went into his room, pulled on two pairs of socks, flannel over his T-shirt, a sweater over that, shoved his feet into his boots, and pulled a heavy jacket out of his wardrobe. A scarf already hung under the collar.
He turned and went still. “Yair.”
The boy stood in the door to the study, staring at him, arms crossed over his chest, hands tucked under his arms. His hair hung loose and ragged, and shadows smudged the skin under his eyes. He tongued his lip rings. “Where are you going?” he asked.
Discombobulated by Yair’s presence—how did he get by Zev’s enforcers?—the question struck him as nonsensical. Was it even in English? Then, a second later, his anger flared. “I don’t have time for you, Yair. You have no business here.”
“Why not?” Yair whispered. “I’m just like you. I’m a Lotis.”
The wounded tone in Yair’s voice lashed at Zev’s conscience. He’d let the boy kiss him. Too much to drink. Too lonely. He never found comfort with anyone though.
“Yair. This isn’t the time. I’ll talk to you later.”
He took a step closer, but Yair didn’t back up. A strained look pulled lines down his face. “There’s…” His voice broke. “No more time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wanted to hurt you.” He unfolded his arms, and Zev’s blood ran cold. He stared at the knife, wickedly thin and flexible like a flaying knife, in Yair’s hand.
“You didn’t hurt me, and you won’t now,” said Zev. “You will put that knife down at the command of your king.”
Yair pulled his lip between his teeth and bit down. Even in the pale light, red painted the delicate skin. Thin arms and legs, eyes too big for his face. As reedy as a spring weed. Everything about the boy was delicate. Zev didn’t want to hurt him, but he would. It would take a lot to kill him with that thin knife, but it would delay him, and he needed to go. He needed to find Asa. He didn’t need a lovesick admirer standing in his way.
“I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Yair. I need you to come to your senses.” He strode forward, and Yair lashed out with the knife. The blade sliced through his coat. “Yair!”
Yair blinked, his face green. He shook his head. “I… I didn’t mean that. I want to help you. My family will torture you. I know you don’t love me. That doesn’t matter anymore. But they want the necklaces. I’m sorry I poisoned you. I just wanted you to notice me.”
Zev clenched his jaw. “I notice you.”
“I didn’t mean for things to get like this.” He shot a quick glance behind him, and Zev tensed, his eyes on the knife.
But then Yair looked back again, and the knife shook.
His arms shook.
What was he afraid of?
“It’s okay you don’t love me,” he whispered. “I don’t care anymore. I…” His eyes glazed. “I wish I’d met them before.”
“Met who?”
“Let me cut you. A quick cut.”
You will die bloody. Zev had thought so from the moment Rune dropped to his knees at his feet. His heart had broken that day, and his death had filled his mind with darkness. The vampires loyal to Qudim and the Seneras would come for him. He was not a true king, and he saw them in every shadow. But to die at the hands of a silly boy he’d kissed, because it was easier than hurting his feelings was laughable. To fail over… obsession?
Well, of course. It was all obsession. Jewels, necklaces, treasure, family loyalty.
“No, Yair.”
Yair waved the knife again. “The spell won’t hurt you. You just give us the necklaces, and you can still be king.”
“A puppet king?”
“Aren’t you a puppet king now?” The voice from the other room nailed Zev to the floor while the walls spun and his gorge rose.
No.
Yair blinked, his face sickly pale. He jerked his head sideways and looked behind him. “Let me. I—”
His words dissolved into a choked cry. He flew sideways and bounced off the dresser. His knife clattered. Zev lunged for it, but Justin kicked it out of his way and said, “Go, Yair. You have no stomach for this.”
The young vampire scrambled to his feet and ran.
Justin sighed. “Yair is a Lotis but not well trained. This new generation.” He shook his head. “They don’t remember what it is to be a real Ellowyn. But then, neither do you.”
He held a Ryzok—its blade long and hooked like a scythe. Zev hadn’t seen one in use since Qudim’s time.
His skin prickled with a sick sweat.
“I know,” said Justin. “You don’t understand. You even think I betrayed you, don’t you?”
“You’re with the Adi ’el Lumi?”
Justin waved his sword. “Not in the way you think. They are thugs, but useful. They want to buy an army with the treasure. Granted, it would have been useful if Yair could have coaxed you into telling him where the necklaces were, but we have our own army, and we’ll soon be ready. Before that time, though, we can allow no blood oaths. It would alter our timeline, not to mention loyalties. I’ve been fond of you. You are not a true Lotis—”
“I am—”
“A traitor.”
With a thin smile, Justin swung the sword. It caught the light and gleamed like gold, and Zev flashed back to Celestine and the Nezzarrams fallen to their knees at Qudim’s feet. His sword had dripped with blood, and his fangs had curved over his smiling lips.
A vampire born to rule. But Zev had thousands of years of vampire blood in his veins too.
He ducked and spun, drawing Justin away from the door. The older vampire grunted, a flash of discomfort crossing his face. Zev was younger and—
“Your abomination of a lover will die too.”
—Passionate.
Zev hissed and fumbled with his coat. “You won’t touch him.”
Justin slashed out again, this time low, staggering after him as Zev leaped sideways, then lunged under the curve of Justin’s arm. He gripped Justin’s elbow and slammed him into the wardrobe. A door popped open, and Justin’s forehead crashed into his. He grunted, propelling his arms for balance as he stumbled backward.
Justin squinted, eyes narrow, his lips pulling back over his fangs. “You idiot. You are fornicating with an Adi ’el Lumi operative. Your enemies surround you. You can’t escape. Your throne will be returned to the rightful king.”
Rune? Were they insane?
With a twist of his lips, Zev brought his leg up and kicked downward. His boot slammed into Justin’s knee. The vampire crumbled, and Zev rushed him, swinging his arm as the vampire rolled to his side, slashing down with the sword. The edge cut through Zev’s coat and rent burning pain across his forearm. He rocked back, flushing at the hot wave that rolled through him. Justin flailed with the blade. It chipped off a corner of the dresser.
Zev gathered the coat around his bloody arm. He curled his lip back and roared. “Traitor!”
Justin swayed on his feet. “Yell all you want,” he panted. “It was your brilliant idea to soundproof your rooms. You wanted your privacy, remember? Now no one can hear you.”
“Why? Why are you doing this? I am on this throne by the will of Qudim’s son.”
“I keep my o
ath,” Justin said. “Qudim is my king. You are not.”
“Our cities. Are. Gone.”
“We will rise.”
Zev rushed him, launching himself into the air. The blade buzzed past his ear, and Justin’s arm struck him on the side of the face. The force knocked him sideways, and he twisted as he fell. Justin’s hot breath blasted his face.
Scrabbling over the older vampire’s body, Zev pinned his arm to the floor. He grinned, his fangs out. “Will I kill you slow, traitor? Peel you inch by inch?”
Justin’s arm pressed hard against his. The damn vampire was strong.
Justin grunted, a whisper of a taunt in his voice. “You haven’t won.”
“You are alone.”
“Moss is dead, and we caught your lover before he got a hundred feet away.” Justin smiled, his thin eyes dark and ghostly. “I promise only pain.”
Zev roared and slammed Justin’s arm on the floor. Red splashed across his vision, and his head swelled. Justin grunted. Zev slammed his arm down again and again until the sword thumped, and Justin clawed after it.
Knocking it off the rug, Zev hissed in Justin’s face. Then he stood, still panting, and grabbed the sword.
Another grim smile tore a gash across Justin’s face. He got to his knees. “You are weak. You cannot see your own destiny.”
“Peace is my destiny.”
Justin laughed, grabbed the edge of the rug, and yanked.
Too strong.
Zev’s feet went out from under him. He stumbled backward, holding on tightly to the sword, his vision shattering at the slam of something hard against the back of his head. A kaleidoscope of colors burst behind his eyes and scattered into the dark.
49
Checkmate
The vampire flew at him, arms rising like dark wings against the growing light outside the foyer windows. Asa caught him. A tangle of hair hit him in face. He blew it away, his arms trapped in a thin, sinewy grasp.
“Get off me,” he grunted.
The creature—Yair—threw a wild stare at him. Horror welled under despair. “I need Moss.”
Asa broke the vampire’s grip and fisted his shirt. “What’s going on?”
“Moss!”
Yair jerked away and dashed up the stairs.
The front door gaped wide open, cold and snow swirling in.
The dawn light bleached the woodwork, sapped the life from it. Was it even the same place? He’d been struggling through snow and darkness, and then he’d stood in the corridor outside the dungeon. What had happened in between?
After Yair’s footsteps faded, no sound came from the house.
Was everyone gone?
Dead?
He crossed the foyer into the windowless hall that led to Zev’s suite in the rear of the house. The back of his neck tickled. He looked behind him, but the unease came from in front. His gut churned, and he crept forward.
Coward.
He hadn’t always been. Or maybe he’d only been a stupid boy who hadn’t known enough to be afraid. But no, he’d wanted to stop the war with the same passion that drove him to make Zev smile. He hadn’t been fearless. He’d been brave. Like Isaac picking the lock on a dungeon door. Because being brave was never as risky as doing nothing. He clenched his fists and moved on again.
Around the corner of the hall to Zev’s rooms, he found—nobody.
No enforcers.
Coming through the open study door, the weak light inside spilled a milky sheen across the floor. A laugh reached him. It wasn’t Zev’s. Justin?
“You are weak. You cannot see your own destiny.”
A shivery cold ran over Asa’s body, every nerve alive and tingling.
“Peace is my destiny.”
He eased into the study, but a thud from inside the bedroom sent him rushing for the door. He burst into the room, the sight of Justin with a sword freezing his blood, but his momentum carried him on. The sword swung at Zev’s prone figure, and Asa jumped. He plowed into Justin’s body, and they both crashed to the floor and slid toward the wall. Asa rolled into the baseboard, scrambled up and scuttled on his knees for the sword as it skittered away.
A grip on his belt yanked him up. He spun and gagged at the smack of Justin’s hand against his neck. Justin dug his fingers in, and a roar filled Asa’s ears. His eyes bugged as Justin leaned in. Cheekbones carved like a pickax, lips slashed thin over curved fangs, black eyes burning red like coal fire.
Or maybe the red mirrored the fire behind his own eyes.
He clawed at Justin’s wrists.
Spittle flecked his face. “Vermin,” Justin spat. “I’m going to kill you and the untrue king.”
The light grew at the windows, reflecting off the clean white snow, and a ring of gray surrounded it. The gray widened and darkened, shrinking the light. So fucking pure. He’d never know what the forest around the lodge looked like underneath the snow. The color of the jeweled lake under the blue sky. The play of shadows on Zev’s skin on a summer twilight.
His fingers slipped on Justin’s wrists, and he fell… and fell…
Into a pit of roaring voices.
Zev’s voice, its echo running like fingernails down his spine. He clapped his hands over his ears, blinking away the dark.
Justin lay on the rug, blood on his forehead, and the sword in Zev’s hand, pressing into his chest. Glass glittered on his clothes, on the rug.
“You gave me that cup on my birthday, didn’t you?”
Asa lifted his gaze to Zev’s face. Zev stared at Justin with his lips pressed thin, jaw muscles twitching. His sword arm held steady.
“No, actually. I simply warned you,” Justin said. “That was the easy way out. Yair’s way was the easy way.”
“Yair didn’t want me dead.”
“Pity.”
“You stood by my side for years.”
Justin’s lips thinned in a bloodless smile. “I stood at Qudim’s side.”
“You fought for him. Murdered for him.”
Justin jerked, rising up against the sword, pain wrenching at his features before he fell back. Blood oozed under the sword blade.
“I killed in a war,” Justin said.
“Something I never understood makes sense now. You ran amok inside Gladstone Solutions and murdered everyone you found there, didn’t you?”
“I exterminated them.”
“On Qudim’s orders?”
“At Qudim’s side.”
“Jesus,” Zev whispered.
“Go on and kill me. None of this matters anymore.”
“It matters to me,” said Asa, the words hot and raspy in his throat.
Justin twisted his head and frowned. “Why?”
Zev spoke. “Emek’s real name is Asa Gladstone. You or Qudim or someone else in your mob murdered his father. I made a promise I broke because of you. I can’t go back and stop you, but I can avenge him. That is my promise now. What you do to mine, you do to me.”
With a single thrust of his arm, Zev drove the blade into Justin’s chest. No cry of despair, no regret, no plea for mercy met the blow. Justin’s mouth opened, but no sound emerged. Silence and emptiness.
As though it hadn’t happened.
Asa stared into the hollow eyes Zev turned to him, and the fire of his vengeance burned away and left the same hollow place inside of him.
50
Game Over
“It’s over,” Asa had said, his voice raspy, eyes bloodshot.
Zev hadn’t been sure if it was a question or what he’d meant, but he’d answered the truth that came to him. “No, it isn’t.”
Asa had dipped his chin, his eyes wary. And why not? He’d seen Zev kill.
And now he was leaving with the others. Zev didn’t expect to see him at the manor. He waited until the last SUV rounded the curve at the end of the driveway, then went back inside and strode through the house to the mudroom in back. He pulled on a coat, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and switched his loafers for boots.
&nb
sp; The snow was bright and crisp, the sky cobalt blue.
He trudged up the path he’d taken with Asa only a few days ago. His breath rasped, a prickle of sweat itching under his coat. Nothing moved around the cabin, and no smoke rose from the chimney.
Camiel had admitted to helping Asa break out of the dungeon, but Asa remembered nothing between getting lost in the storm and finding himself back in the lodge.
“Why did you break a prisoner out of his cell?” Otto had asked him.
Camiel had smiled. “Because he was innocent.”
“And you know that because you know who’s guilty?”
Camiel had shrugged, then said, “Morjin.”
“Can you prove this?” Otto asked.
“No, but Morjin and Og were so alike in so many ways it was hard to see how unalike they were too. Og obeyed. He would have obeyed you,” Camiel said to Zev. “Morjin would not. But Morjin was the younger brother. The oath was Og’s to take.”
Zev had stilled his face. No sign of weakness. He’d had every right to demand the oath, but now… The cost of it…
“Of course, Yair complicated things,” Camiel had added.
Zev had reasons not to complain about Yair now. He’d saved Moss’s life, fed him before the last of his blood had seeped from the knife in his chest. Vampire blood couldn’t do much for another vampire, but it had bought Moss time. Justin had been a part of his life for as long as Moss had been alive. No shock could have been deeper. Moss’s comfort though was Yair… and Uriah.
Strange. Two fated loves.
On the porch of the cabin, Zev stomped snow off his boots and unwound his scarf. Inside, he found a cold hearth and a cup and a saucer in the drainer. He climbed the stairs. The first room, the one Rune always used, was tidy, the bed made, the dresser bare. It was the room Rune had used when they were boys. He’d suspected that Rune came here and had always kept it stocked and ready for him.
Downstairs, he sat on the couch and stared into the cold hearth. His hunger for blood sat like a rock inside him, exhaustion bleeding from his starvation. Jere had disappeared during the storm, and Otto doubted his survival. He’d most likely become a liability. Og was dead because of the oath. Zev hadn’t meant for that to happen. Og was innocent. And Yair? A silly distraction. Were Morjin and Justin in league? And if Justin wasn’t Adi ’el Lumi, only using them, what was he?
