But Ella was different; she was a true Arc, a clairvoyant with an unrivaled power to recall the past and ability to soothsay the future. When she arrived, I’d waited on her hand and foot, as Darke did for me. I knew she was there against her will, and I hoped to help her, but she blamed me for enslaving her. I wished that Laurent would have used her as he used me, punished her the way he’d punished me, and then she’d understand the fear and respect that Laurent demanded of us—but no, the Council had to protect their precious Arc.
What about protecting me?
My progeny shuddered and mumbled in his sleep. He’d been restless for the past few days, as if he felt that something was wrong, but he was still too weak to leave. I fed him a large cup of blood each day, as directed by Kale, and it seemed to do no more than anger him.
He was a Chorý, and weak by Chorý standards meant that instead of fighting four men and winning, he would most likely only be able to take on two.
I leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Shh… Rest longer.”
His scent was sweet and still held traces of his human blood. I placed my hand on his shoulder to pacify him, as I had done for the past few days, and he slowly settled down. I stroked his supple jet-black hair and caressed his cool chiseled face and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
I was a mother, now. I had a progeny, and the authority that came with it was amazing. He would trust me more than anyone else, because my blood flowed in his veins. It would fade over time, but the only thing proven to keep la Luxure at bay was the blood of a Chorý’s sire—in Alex’s case, me. Though I held no physical power over him, we would be connected psychically for a while, and I’d use that connection to my benefit.
It would be easy for me to make him bend to my will. His need to appease me as his Chorý mother would be hard to deny, and as I sat beside him, this man that I would soon use, I felt a surge of energy in me that rivaled the day I was reborn. I would use him to get Darke back, because I knew deep inside that he was not dead, no matter what Jace said he saw.
Looking down at his sleeping form, I contemplated the ways that I could use him to find Darke and teach Ella a true lesson on suffering. Her life had been so easy, while everyone around her suffered because of what she was and the abilities that came with it. She thought that being hunted and then rescued by her knight in shining armor was suffering.
She was wrong. I had to sit in her place and endure Laurent’s wrath until she was found, and even then I was treated like a slave, always having to cater to her needs.
He groaned again and turned toward me. His eyes slowly opened, and I smiled. He was beautiful, and my own creation. Of course, I would have to give credit to his true mother and father for his beauty, but I would raise him as my own.
I would abandon everything that Kale had told me to do. I would allow him all the blood—human blood—that he craved. I would deny him nothing and teach him everything he needed to know to bring Kale to his knees. What better way to hurt Ella than to take away the one thing she couldn’t live without?
“How are you feeling, Alex?” I brushed my hand across his cheek.
“Hungry,” he answered, with a sly smile.
I stood and held my hand out to him. “Good. Let’s go eat.”
About the Author
Kristen Iversen was born to Anne Iversen and Kaii Iversen Sr. on August 22 in Virginia Beach.
I first decided to write when I was eight years old and my mother read a story to me about a princess and a frog. Most little girls swooned over a cute prince and desired to be the princess, whereas I wanted to change the end of the story. I played with my dolls and friends instead of writing and as I grew up I continued to place writing on the back burner. That was until I was 18 and a friend explained to me his desire to write a book. It bought back memories of the eight year old that had a passion to change and create stories, but I still didn’t act on it. Writing was a dream and real life was happening then and there. I was in between jobs and with the recent loss of my father I decided, in a battle of following dreams vs. real life, real life would win hands down. Over the next 10 years I made and lost friends, went to college, changed my major, fell in love, changed my major, dealt with loss, changed my major, fell in love and wrote a short story. That was when I realized that whether or not I was successful or not, I would write and write until I ran out of ideas or loss the use of my fingers.
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