by Keary Taylor
I scream.
I yell.
I make death threats.
I sling every curse word I know.
But there are four of them dragging me away, containing me.
“Cyrus will have every one of your entrails spread across the world for this!” I threaten.
I feel the air grow cold.
And we’re going down stairs. Boots sound over hard concrete.
The air smells damp and old.
A cellar. We have to be in a cellar.
I’m shoved backward, and my internal organs panic, preparing to brace myself to fall to the ground, but my spine jolts when I fall into a chair, nearly tipping out of it, my vampire instincts the only things keeping me from ending up on the floor.
The second I’m down, my hands are yanked to the sides. My arms are pulled straight and tight, balancing me centered.
From behind, I feel something touch my back, right over my heart. And another touches my chest.
I take a breath of air as the bag is yanked from off my head. My hair falls across my face, temporarily blocking my view.
A figure takes a step toward me. He’s not alone. The four who dragged me here surround me, too. Two of them hold stakes at my front and back. The other two must be the ones who chained my wrists and secured them to the hooks in the floor.
The figure in front of me stoops and carefully moves my hair from my face, attempting to right it.
I know exactly who it is before he clears my view.
I can smell him.
I can feel him.
And then there are his golden-jade eyes, looking into the ones he gave me.
“Hello, Sevan,” he says with a little smile.
He’s controlling his smugness. I can tell in every muscle under the skin of his face. And I hate him for it. I want to shred every one of them to pieces and make tacos out of them.
“You will regret this, Lorenzo,” I seethe. “Every bit of your existence the past seven hundred years, but especially this.”
“You don’t even hear three words from me before you begin the threats?” he says, dragging a chair across the floor. He sets it in front of me and sits in it backwards, draping his forearms across the back of it. “Though I will say, I’ve never heard anyone who makes more creative threats than Cyrus, until you came here, Logan Pierce.”
“I haven’t even tried,” I say spitefully.
He smiles at that, a little smirk.
Yep. Tacos. With cheese and lettuce and really spicy sauce.
“I would quake in fear, but you’re the one in the chair and chains, and I’m the one with all the numbers on ground level.”
“From what I hear, things aren’t going so peacefully and smoothly,” I say. I lean forward. “How is my first grandson doing these days?”
I get him there. The expression on his face sobers. His jaw tightens. He sits back in his chair.
“Did you know that he was still alive?” he asks. And from his tone, I know he genuinely wonders at the answer.
I take a breath, considering how I should answer. Since I cannot see any grave harm in telling him, I decide to go with the truth.
“I had forgotten,” I say. “But I remembered a guard telling us he had escaped, a long time ago. But no, I didn’t consciously know he was still out in the world until a few days ago.”
“He’s going to be a problem,” Lorenzo says, his eyes sliding over to meet mine again. “He’s going to throw kinks in all my plans.”
“You poor thing,” I say, throwing false pity into my tone.
“You should care about this,” Lorenzo says, sitting forward. “Our visions for the future… His looks much more red than mine does.”
My blood does go cold at that. Lorenzo wants to unite all vampires, to make the “family” stronger. If that means exposing all our kind, so be it.
But Moab. Moab worshiped my son, would do whatever he wished.
And my son’s greatest wish was to show the world what we are. He didn’t want to hide. He wanted to break out of secrecy and show the world just how strong he was.
Moab will ruin the world.
“He needs to die,” I state, my tongue slipping before my brain can pre-screen my words.
“Yes, he does,” Lorenzo says. “As soon as possible. Before he screws anything else up.”
“Are you asking for my help?” I ask, my brows furrowing at the realization.
His eyes flick up to mine again, and he doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend, isn’t that what they say?”
“You can never be my friend when you’re attempting mutiny against me,” I say, not trying to contain my sneer.
“Not even for a few days, perhaps a week or two?” Lorenzo says as he leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Not even if it means taking out an enemy who wants to turn the whole world into a living hell?”
I want to smash something. Something really nice. Something really pretty and expensive. Just to fully punctuate how much I want to scream, how much I hate this corner I’m painted into.
“You understand that I’m still going to try and kill you, the first chance I get, if we succeed in taking Moab out or not, right?” I say, leaning forward just a bit, the tip of the stake one of my half-siblings holds pressing into my chest.
“Oh, of course,” Lorenzo says. “And as soon as we’ve killed Moab, I’m going right back to finding every way I can to lock your husband in the deepest pit on the planet Earth. And you may be my daughter, but you’re one of many, so if you continue to stand in my way, I’ll do what is necessary.”
“Good,” I say, sitting straight and tall. “As long as we understand one another. I have some ideas.”
Chapter 10
Shoulder to shoulder in the dark stairway, I look over at my enemy—my father. His jade-yellow eyes meet my jade-yellow eyes.
There’s animosity in every centimeter of each of our eyes. We’d stake each other right here and now. We’d rip one another’s hearts from each other’s chests.
But for this moment, for just a few days, we need one another.
One problem at a time.
So together, we push the door open.
We step out, side by side.
Lorenzo lifts a horn to his lips, just like he stepped out of the fifth century, and bellows it.
The second the sound dies away, I cup my hands around my mouth, and scream as loudly as I can, “Allies of the Crown, retreat!”
Two calls, both signaling our armies to turn and run from the fight.
Lorenzo bellows his horn once more, and I scream my command again.
I turn, my eyes searching. There, across the battlefield, I see Cyrus.
His eyes jump from me, to Lorenzo, who is now running with a crowd, all his children retreating, running further into the canyon, away from the battle, and further from the castle.
There’s a thousand questions in Cyrus’ eyes. But there’s even more trust. So he yells “retreat” with me, and watches as our people disengage from the battle, and run back toward home.
I back toward Cyrus, my eyes scanning the battlefield.
Moab. Moab. Where are you, Moab?
There are just as many staying, stranded in the middle, as there are running away from the fight. They stay with weapons, some still firing, looking confused and disoriented as the battle suddenly dissolves.
A little smile pulls on my face as I turn, jogging toward Cyrus. I stoop momentarily, retrieving my sword that was forced from my hand earlier.
Cyrus gives me a confused, questioning look as I join his side, but he doesn’t demand answers, just follows me, as I run with our people toward the mouth of the canyon.
It’s killing me, walking away. I want to stay, an invisible little butterfly, innocently fluttering through the tiny, destroyed town. I want to see what’s happening.
But I know our spies will have a report for me shortly.
So with my people, my famil
y, we retreat into Roter Himmel.
“We were winning!” someone declares arrogantly as I walk among them, headed toward the gates of the castle. “Why the hell did we run away?”
“Why are Lorenzo’s children running like they’ve given up?” someone else demands.
I ignore them all, walking side by side with Cyrus and finally stopping at the gates of the castle.
“Dorian,” I call out. “Malachi.”
Through the crowd they both make their way, stopping at my side.
Keeping my voice low, I quickly explain what just happened. My agreement with Lorenzo.
“But we will kill him if the opportunity presents itself,” Malachi says, not really even a question in his voice.
I shake my head. “If we do that, his children will turn against us again, and they’re back to two against one, when it comes to sides and armies. I don’t think we can actually afford to go after Lorenzo until we’ve killed Moab.”
“Forced to work with snakes,” Cyrus seethes. “Times of war…”
I look at him sympathetically. “I don’t like it either. But think about it. Who is the more deadly, experienced enemy here?”
“Moab,” Dorian says for him, his face grim and white.
I nod in agreement. “Moab has fought this exact war before. He’s led armies, he’s won battles before. Lorenzo has no experience in war. I think we can afford to put our problems with him aside in exchange for the benefit of more bodies against the more experienced issue.”
“I’m not arguing against you, Sevan,” Cyrus says with a sigh. “I just don’t have to like it.”
I give him a little smile and squeeze his hand. “Okay,” I say with a breath. I take a heartbeat to gather my thoughts, and turn back to the crowd waiting for an explanation.
“If we try to fight against everything coming against us all at once we’re going to lose.”
That sets every single one of them immediately silent. Their expressions slacken. Their eyes widen a bit. They fall utterly still.
“It’s true,” I say, shaking my head and taking a step forward. “We’re vastly outnumbered. I have no idea how well-trained Lorenzo’s children are in battle. I hope it isn’t much. I can’t imagine they’ve ever fought any wars. But they had to know they were going to fight some day. But I do know Moab’s people will be skilled. Moab was raised in war. Thrives off it. So if we have to fight all of them all at once, we’re going to lose.”
I clasp my fingers around one wrist behind my back, facing the members of Court.
“I’ve spoken with Lorenzo just minutes ago,” I say, and before they can freak out and protest, I move on, even as a few mouths open to speak. “I didn’t get much of a choice in it, and trust me, if the opportunity had first presented itself, he would have been dead before he could open his mouth.” I glare out at the crowd who is annoyingly questioning me.
“Moab is a problem for Lorenzo. They both want essentially the same thing, and he can’t stand that. So he asked me to set our own problems aside for a moment.”
“You’re teaming up with that betraying bastard?” someone accuses from the crowd.
“Do you want to die?” I yell, feeling my eyes ignite red. I take another step forward, every muscle in my body flexed to snap bones. “Because we will. We are strong. But we are so vastly outnumbered. So yes, for a few days, until we can smoke Moab out and kill him, I am teaming up with Lorenzo St. Claire.”
“So what is the plan, my Queen?” Cyrus’ voice suddenly cuts through the air before anyone else can argue with me.
My nostrils flare, and I have to take a good five seconds to cool myself down. I force my fisted fingers to calm, to relax.
“Lorenzo’s people have retreated further into the canyon. With us here at the mouth, we have Moab’s remaining army surrounded.” I slowly pace back and forth across the road. “I want to hear from our spies what is happening right now. Moab has been in hiding, and I pray with this sudden withdrawal, with the confusion, that he will have to show his face to investigate what is going on.”
My eyes turn back toward the mouth of the canyon. I want to be out there. I want to be one of those spies. I want to be the sniper who finally spots him and takes him out.
“If he doesn’t show his face within an hour, we will go back, and the battle will resume. Our people, and Lorenzo’s, will kill as many of Moab’s army as we can. We will take prisoners. We will interrogate. Until one of them reveals Moab’s location.”
I look over at Cyrus. And I think it’s a confirmation I’m looking for there, that I’m doing the right thing. He’s done this for so long, on his own and by my side.
I’ve never been one to make the calls.
But this is my war. For my people. Against my father. This is what I fought for.
Cyrus’ expression is difficult to read. I can’t tell what’s going through his head. But he nods, his eyes hard.
He’s with me.
With a plan set in place, the members of Court and the Royals arrived, set to arming themselves once more, taking a rest, a moment to regroup.
Cyrus and I greet the newest arrivals, the House of Koto, from Borneo, arrived just thirty minutes ago. They join the ranks, fully armed, ready to fight.
Static sounds over my radio and I raise it to my ear, listening for the scratchy words.
“No signs of Moab yet,” a voice says. I don’t know who it is, we have multiple spies watching at all times.
“What’s happening up there?” I question instead of letting the frustration and disappointment flood through me.
“They’re regrouping,” the spy reports. “Counting their dead. They seem pretty panicked that the airport has been destroyed.”
My eyes turn to the skies, and I see a plane headed off in the distance. No way to tell though if it was trying to come here. “So they are still expecting more arrivals,” I conclude, meeting Cyrus’ eyes.
“Safe to say yes,” he responds.
I let out a sigh.
How far does this extend? How many of them are there, throughout the world, trying to get to Roter Himmel, so that they can change the world forever?
I have to believe that if we kill Moab, it will cut the head off of this thing. At least for another century.
“Keep us posted if anything changes,” I say into the radio. He makes an acknowledgement and the line goes silent once more.
“I’m done waiting,” Cyrus says. “I want this to end, tonight.” He shifts, checking his sword hanging at his side. He accepts a handful of stakes handed to him by a woman, tucking them into the same belt. “Moab dies, this ends, tonight.”
I nod. Turning to the crowd, I take them in, counting once more.
We lost two of us in that first skirmish. How many more would die tonight?
My chest aches at the thought of anyone having to die. This all could have stayed so peaceful. Why did anyone have to change any of it?
But this is the price of freedom and peace. It’s been repeated in history, over and over again. People die for what they believe in.
The same will be true for all three sides of this war tonight.
I look at the time, ticking down, down, down.
At five minutes to the hour, I step out once more.
“We have no idea where Moab is. In reality, there could be more allied with him, here, than we realize,” I pull my sword from it’s sheath, turning to face the castle for a moment. “If we lose the castle, we’ll lose the war. I want the Royals to stay here. You defend the castle. And if anything happens to the rest of us…” I look out, at the members of Court, “the world will need you.”
There are thirty-eight Royals at the castle. Not many. But with the defenses the castle offers, I have to hope that it will be enough to keep the castle from falling.
I look around at the Royals. So many of them I do not know. But there are the few familiar faces. Edmond and Hector Valdez nod at me, standing a little straighter. They will defend the castle.
<
br /> “Everything will change by morning,” Cyrus speaks up, his powerful voice filling the valley. “Lives will be lost tonight.” He steps forward, his hand held on the hilt of his sword. “The tides will shift, one way or another. But I swear to you, this is a world worth fighting for. Peace, the cloak of secrecy, is worth fighting for. We are vampires, and we will fight for our survival. Our existence.”
Someone cries out, a war cry, loud and determined. Another rips into the air, followed by a chorus of war screams.
And as one, we turn, and once more head back to the battle.
Through the streets of Roter Himmel we rip like the wind of a tornado. Across the valley we dart. Up the street to the mouth of the canyon our feet pound. We flood the road that winds through the mountains.
I hear them. The two or three hundred bodies ahead. Breathing hard, waiting. I hear the clang of metal against metal. I hear the loading of a shotgun.
But as we close in on the town, I suddenly drop to a dead stop, throwing my arms out, stopping Cyrus on my one side and Mina on the other.
There is Moab’s army.
But standing there before them, is a line of humans.
I can smell them. All two-dozen of them.
They face us, and every one of them holds a phone up, the flash shining brilliant light in our direction.
“It is time for a new age,” a woman says from the crowd. She steps forward, winding her way between people. And as she comes closer, my blood chills.
I know her.
I remember that blonde hair. Her strong frame, her tall stature. I know those capable hands. And I know that scar on her face, running from the top corner of her ear, down to the corner of her nose, cutting across her lips, and disappearing at her chin.
I gave it to her.
Well over a thousand years ago.
“Kala.” Her name slips over mine and Cyrus’ lips at the same time.
Our second grandchild. Born just after Moab. Just like him in every way.
We thought she had died in the great war.
“The world needs to know what we have been forced to hide for over two thousand years now,” she says, standing between two of the humans who hold their phones up. “They need to see what we are. What we can do. What we are capable of. They need to know that there is so much more to this world than them.”
