by Lizzy Ford
My throat is too tight to respond.
“Tristan executed ten of his fae after his week with you, and Ben somewhere around twenty of his wolves.”
Oh, god. His words cause physical pain, and I wipe my face and then stand, starting to pace. It’s my fault they both had to take such measures. I now understand how much pain it causes them to make such decisions, too.
The Book of Secrets claimed I have a secondary supernatural gift. I’m more convinced now than ever it’s the ability to cause chaos and pain wherever I go.
“And I’m the bad guy,” Myca says and stands. He makes no move towards me, though, for which I’m grateful.
“Maybe you should stop talking,” I suggest. Since meeting, I’ve been a fucking mess every time he opens his mouth.
“I don’t have Ben’s really weird knack for knowing what you’re thinking or Tristan’s gift for feeling your emotions. I have to ask, Leslie. How can you dismiss Tristan and Ben from being the bad guy,” he says the words with accompanying air quotes, “and not give me a chance to prove I’m not?”
“Tristan is beautiful inside and out,” I reply. “He feels every decision he makes, and it’s torture for him. He can’t be evil or want to hurt me, or anyone else, of his own free will. I was privileged enough to see his soul. I know what he is, and I know what he’s not. There is no part of him capable of this level of evil.”
“Definitely accurate.” Myca snorts and sits on the bed. “He’s the most powerful empath the fae have produced in thousands of years. His attempt to fix the drug problem was creative, if naïve. It backfired, but I have to give him credit for trying when his predecessors refused to admit they had a real problem. What about Ben? He’s a predator like me. How can you overlook what he is, if you can’t forgive me for what I am?”
“Ben …” Every time I think of Ben, I become frustrated and angry and recall the letter Ben’s brother, Jason, wrote me after my first trial. I can’t process Ben, the shock of my first trial, or what I think of either, let alone explain it. There’s too much emotion, too much personal embarrassment, bordering on shame, in the way. I’ve been working hard not to deal with either of the men I left behind and keeping my distance from my emotions.
“Your silence says a lot,” Myca observes. “Did you consider the Book might be wrong?” He pats the bed beside him.
“It’s not that simple, Myca.”
“Your father chose us. Do you think he’d put someone in the equation who wouldn’t carry out his last wish?”
“No. Never.” Not after seeing the memory, anyway. I sigh and sit beside him, exhausted, hungry, and wanting nothing more than to hit reset on this year and find a way to make things happen differently.
“Maybe it’s okay to trust the three of us,” Myca ventures. “Even if the Book tries to tell you otherwise.”
“It’s not you, Myca. It’s me,” I joke lamely. “I don’t want to hurt any of you, but if I have to do something bad, if it turns out I’m the real bad guy, I can’t hurt someone I care about. I care about them both. I can’t afford to care about you.”
“The truth at last.”
I glance at him, sensing he probably already knew what I didn’t want to admit.
“Maybe trusting the three of us will help you not become the bad guy,” he adds softly.
“If I had a fucking clue about any of this, do you think I’d be here?” I retort.
“Nope,” he agrees. “You may not know what to do, but we just might be trying to help you.”
I meet his gaze, not sure what to think about his admission. He claims to have a key to breaking the curse I still know so little about. Each of them does and so do I. Yet how can I know what my key is when I don’t understand the curse or the purpose behind the trials? When my key might be something I can’t stomach, such as the banishment of an entire clan?
My father chose and entrusted all three men with secrets to help them break the curse. He trusted everyone but me.
“Your part is simple for now,” Myca says. “You just need to trust me and follow your instincts. They’ve served you well so far. What are they telling you?”
It’s a dangerous question, one that sends me close to the edge of the magical slide I’ve found myself clawing desperately on the way down over and over. I want to repel downward with no second thought, but there’s a tiny voice telling me to resist.
My internal battle has always baffled me. How can I tumble into love with each candidate while resisting my fate all the same? Why do I want to trust Myca and simultaneously panic at the thought?
Myca holds my gaze with his gorgeous blue eyes. He has the answers. Already, he’s revealed more than I thought possible. He’s easy to talk to, easier to be around, and I don’t think this is magic. This is simply him. The remaining traces of fae empathy are trying to convince me he’s a good guy.
But … doesn’t someone have to be the bad guy?
“They’re telling me I’m going to regret ever meeting any of you,” I say with some dismay. “Can Ben really read minds?”
“Seems that way. He won’t admit to it. He’s the sharpest wolf I’ve ever met,” Myca says with a laugh. “Definitely does not like answering questions, either, especially not from a curious vampire.”
“Or from a Kingmaker,” I second, unable to help the smile starting to form.
“What did he do that has you so twisted up, you can’t talk about him?”
I sigh and look away. “Nothing. Everything.”
The quiet stretches between us, comfortable yet charged. I’m too physically aware of Myca yet don’t feel emotionally ready to handle falling for another supernatural. Something about the way Myca tries to lead me to answers I don’t want to acknowledge disturbs me. He’s not blunt like Ben, or layered like Tristan. He’s … waiting. For what, I don’t know. His façade is razor thin. I think he’d drop it in a heartbeat if I pushed, not because I’d break through it, but because he’s waiting for me to reach the point where I’m ready for him.
It’s a strange sense, being gently led by him, utterly compelled by his magic, and fearing what happens if I do as he says and trust him.
Why fear? I didn’t fear Ben or Tristan. Why would I fear Myca, who is clearly going to wait for me to come to him, despite his hunger and the magic?
“Come on.” He stands and goes to the door of the guest bedroom. “I’ll take you somewhere only vampires can go.”
I perk up, needing a distraction from my thoughts and the looming sense my resolve to keep my distance from Myca is going to melt by morning.
Chapter Five
The second I exit Myca’s car in the middle of town an hour later, I smell … cheese enchiladas, chocolate mousse, and unfamiliar memories I innately know aren’t mine that make me think other vampires are present.
“What is this place?” I ask, puzzled by the combination of human and vampire scents emanating from the doorway behind a beefy bouncer.
A sign marked, Private Entry, glows above the doorway. Quiet music thumps from within, and a man and a woman in chic clubbing clothing walk in ahead of us. We’re in the nice part of town, on a hill overlooking the bay.
“This is one of the illegal underground dens,” Myca says with a wink.
“Illegal?”
“The vampire council approves blood dens for general use. This one is more than blood. Thus, it’s not legally approved to operate.”
I have no idea what that means and trail him to the door. The massive bouncer, who smells like salmon slathered in garlic butter and roasted over a cedar plank, glances at us as we pass. I slow down, unable to look away from him or stop my mouth from watering.
“You’ll want to stick close to me,” Myca says, waiting for me to blink out of the spell. “We’re not fully bonded yet. You might eat someone.” His eyes are laughing, and he holds out a hand.
I don’t think he’s joking, even if he is laughing. I take his warm hand and walk with him into the den. A long hallway leads past
cozy rooms filled with seating and private minibars. Some are occupied by small parties, others vacant, and still others blocked from view by silk doors that ripple beneath the breeze caused by the air conditioners. The lighting is low, the music soft, and the smells soon overwhelming.
The main floor of the den appears to be a trendy bar, a central point from which no less than six hallways, each lined with the pocket-sized rooms, extend into the building.
I clutch Myca’s hand, sensing he’s buffering me from the full impact of everyone around me. Even so, I’m starting to shake and struggling not to become sucked into the rich aromas and floating memories.
Anyone near us stops to stare at Myca’s approach, and people scurry out of his path. I’m guessing a vampire his age is kind of rare. Unless they’re afraid of me, the Kingmaker, which is always a possibility, too.
We reach the bar and sit down on stools at the counter.
“Can I have an autograph?” A young, female vampire asks nervously as she approaches. Her eyes are huge and pinned to Myca.
I almost laugh.
Myca isn’t fazed at all. He smiles, asks her name and then signs the napkin she’s holding out. She darts away to a table with several other vampires with a squeal.
“Autograph?” I ask, looking at him.
He shrugs. “I’m a vampire prince. We’re minor celebrities when we come around.”
“Seriously?”
“My clan retains its original, archaic caste system, unlike the other clans that have modernized,” he explains. “My family is at the top of the clan’s complicated pantheon. We’re working on breaking the old mentalities and ways of doing things.”
“You’re a progressive vampire prince.” For some reason, I find that funny and laugh.
“Exactly.” Myca hands me a cold bottle of beer. “I call this blood booze. You can eat or drink anything, if it’s mixed with blood.”
I take a sip. The flavor is pretty normal for a light beer.
“My father wants us to evolve,” Myca continues. “It’s why I’m here.”
“You’re like the enforcer who makes sure his orders are carried out or something?”
“No.” Myca grins. “I’m the wild child of the family. He put my brothers and sisters in charge of the businesses that sustain the society, because he needs conservative minds to run them. But to change a society that’s done things the same way for tens of thousand of years, it takes someone like me – someone wild enough, and crazy enough, to do whatever it takes.”
I listen, fascinated by the insight into the latest of the candidates. Each was chosen by his clan for a reason, and thus far, each has been incredibly gifted and suited to his respective role. “Your father must be really old,” I say thoughtfully.
“Yeah. It took some few hundred years of convincing for me to get him to the point where he saw the need for change. I’ve made quite a few changes already in the weeks I’ve taken over to try to break the caste system so the younger vampires have a chance to progress in the businesses and mate with whomever they want in the society.” He tips his beer towards the table full of young vampires. “Hence the autograph requests.”
“You’re a rock star to them,” I murmur.
“It’s the first time in my life my father let me loose and agreed to look the other way while I fix things.” Myca takes a long drink. “My younger vampires love me for it and the older generations hate me. If I’ve learned anything the past millennia, it’s that people tend to resist change. They’ll come around.”
Hmm. I’m not so sure, given the reactions people have to me, a little Kingmaker. “And if they don’t? What happens?”
“Then they won’t be around to see the evolution.” The words are simple and firm, spoken without an ounce of regret or sympathy for those who won’t fall into line.
Myca isn’t complicated, even if he confuses me. He may claim to be wild, but he possesses a trait I’ve yearned for my entire life: an internal compass that guides him towards his purpose, both of which he’s fully aware. Maybe that’s why he’s so calm and easygoing. He’s not conflicted about who he is like I am.
I’ve floundered around for the entirety of my existence, or so it seems. Even now, when I’m supposed to be choosing the next Community leader, I’m wandering blindly through a minefield, starting to trust a human predator I swore a few hours ago I’d never let down my guard to.
“Your father is from the really old school vampires?” I ask, thought on what my father wrote about the vampire clan having one known hierarchy and a potential secondary shadow hierarchy, whose existence no Kingmaker has ever confirmed.
“We have three general layers of vampires in the hierarchy,” he replies. “My father’s generation is the oldest. His children, and the children of the other members of his generation, are the middle layer. My mother was the first vampire, created or born – no one knows for sure – so long ago, no one knows when. She created my father and several others, gave birth to twenty children and then passed away two thousand years ago, the first victim of the curse, whose death helped secure the magic and make it virtually unbreakable. It was then we knew the Kingmaker magic was going to destroy us all, if we didn’t find a way to counter it.”
“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry, Myca,” I say, startled to learn the truth behind his mother’s death. “What happened?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Of course not. No one can, and neither can I read any more clues in the Book of Secrets.
“But I can tell you we tried to break it once before, a thousand years ago,” he adds. “It backfired and wiped out half the clan and made it so no vampire has been born or created since. Our numbers have been declining for ten centuries.”
Ugh. I swirl my bottle, pensive and frustrated to become the latest in a long line of bad luck pennies haunting the Community.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt as helpless as I do whenever I learn the truth about the population decline in each of the three clans I’ve spent time with. Ben’s wolves suffer from infertility, Tristan’s from a near one hundred percent infant mortality, and Myca’s from a punishment tied to the clan’s attempt to break the Kingmaker curse.
Everyone is suffering. It’s not just me, and it makes all this so much worse to learn how bad things really are.
I spin to face the den, and Myca follows my lead.
My eyes fall to a dark corner, where I can barely make out the limbs attached to no less than four writhing bodies, a small orgy, from the looks of it. It dawns on me what kind of den this is, and I glance around to see other couples in the throes of sex and orgies occurring in the shadowy parts of the den.
“Blood and sex,” Myca says, as if reading my mind. “The council thinks it’s scandalous to mix more than one lust.” He offers me a second beer, and I take it. “I tend to think you might as well indulge both. Drinking someone’s blood is an intimate experience. Sex makes it enjoyable for both parties instead of just one.”
“You’re very … I don’t know. Considerate for a vampire,” I tell him.
“I’ve mellowed out. I was the rebel in my family.” He smiles. “Daddy locked me up for a thousand years. That’ll teach anyone a lesson.”
“That’s why Ben said in your memory that you were living under a rock before you became the vampire leader?” I ask.
“Yeah. Literally.”
I’m not sure I want to know more. A handsome vampire who’s both laid back and lethal, if he chooses to be? Myca’s a strange mix. It’s easy to relax around him, as if we’re two normal people at a bar after a long day, just trying to figure out the world.
“Is there a story behind this?” he asks and rests a hand at the side of my neck. His thumb brushes one of the many scars on my body, a permanent memory from my time with Tristan.
I briefly explain how Tristan’s people vivisected me and show him the scars running along my inner arms. Myca’s hand stays at the back of my neck, either out of possessiveness or in an a
ttempt to keep me from eating any of the human drink servers who come too close.
I’m eyeing one with complete disregard for what anyone thinks. She smells like toasted coconut cupcakes with vanilla frosting.
When I finish my story, Myca grins. “Like Sally from –”
“Don’t you dare!” I snap at him. “I know my father told you all my favorite things. It’s completely unfair for you to gang up on me!”
He laughs.
“Why do people smell like food and vampires not smell like food?” I ask, managing to wrench my gaze away from the waitress.
“Vampires were predators of humans. Still are at heart,” Myca explains. “We’ve managed to breed in some restraint, but some of that shit is hardwired into us. We’ll always be predators.”
“You don’t smell like other vampires,” I say and twist the stool to face him. “You smell like peace feels, if that makes sense.”
“Because we’re mated.”
“What do I smell like?”
He offers a half-smile without answering, eyes on the people in the bar.
“Myca.” I punch his arm. “What do I smell like?”
No answer.
“Do Kingmakers smell terrible?”
“No.”
Sometimes, he’s helpful. Other times, he’s a dick. Unlike Ben, who was likewise unpredictable, Myca isn’t moody. I’m not sure what to think of him, except that my curiosity about these men is what ultimately lands me in their beds. It’s dangerous to wonder about him.
I study his profile. His features are strong and chiseled, his golden skin showing no signs of his true age. He appears to be around twenty five, though his presence and soulful gaze give him away as something more.
“Whatever. I’m going to the restroom.” I hop off the stool.
“You sure you want to go alone?”
“I’m not five!” I snap.”
“I warned you.” He tosses his head in the direction of one hallway. “That way.”
I leave him at the bar. A few steps later, I start to feel it, the weightiness of the need that’s tugging me into my senses. If I give into it, I’m pretty sure I’ll eat the lady who smells like cupcakes first.
