Fury : The Kresova Vampire Harems: Lyra

by Graceley Knox

  "No shit," I mutter, a hand over my mouth as I contemplate the ramifications of this. "Hoping for the ancient clan's support was a long shot to begin with, but if Morana is straight up annexing them . . ."

  "The ancient clans have always been independent," Carver says. "The power shift, especially if she intends to take all three . . . the lasting consequences for not just the Kresova but all the races cannot be understated. This will throw all vampire kind into political unrest."

  "The more immediate concern," I say, "is that Morana now has another entire clan to add to her army. She's consolidating power. God, this is our fault. We shouldn't have destroyed the ring before we were ready to move!"

  "We couldn't have known—" Callahan protests.

  "We knew she'd do something!" I say, cutting him off. "We didn't think she was just going to sit there waiting for us! We should have smashed the ring on her doorstep, with an army behind us. We should never have given her time to gather her strength!"

  "It's done," Aura says loudly. "There's no point arguing about what we should have done differently."

  "You're right," I agree, calming myself. "There's no point. What we should be talking about is how we're going after Morana, right now."

  "Lyra–"Callahan says in that patronizing tone he always uses when he's about to tell me I'm being stupid.

  "Do you think she'll really be satisfied with just one of the ancient clans if she can take all three?" I say before he can finish. "We have to stop her now, before she gets any stronger!"

  "We can't plan and execute an attack in a night!" Callahan protests. "We've been over this! We don't have the men, the supplies, the transportation—"

  "Well then get them! What the hell is the point of being a prophesied queen if I can't pull together a goddamn army!"

  "Lyra," Aura says, and her voice is calm but sharp in a way that cuts through the shouting and makes even me listen. "He's right. If we try to attack now, we'd just be throwing lives away."

  "We're throwing lives away if we don't," I argue. "Every person Morana kills because we've done nothing to stop her is a life we've thrown away! Just because we didn't pull the trigger doesn't make us any less responsible."

  "Not as responsible as we'd be for leading an army into a fight we aren't prepared for."

  I slam my fists on the table, fighting the urge to throw things, in part just because I'm angry that she's right.

  "You're right that this changes things," Callahan says after a moment when everyone is certain I'm not about to throw a tantrum. "We're going to need more support. We should focus on reconnaissance. If she's accelerating her plans to make up for the loss of the ring, she'll be sloppier. We may be able to learn something."

  "We already know everything we need to," I groan into my hands. "We need to do something. We can't just keep reacting to her bullshit after she's already done it!"

  "I'm sorry, Lyra," Callahan says, exasperated. "We don't have the forces for a pitched battle! Or have you forgotten that most of the men at your disposal right now are shifters? My pack and the packs of alphas who have put their trust in me to protect them. I won't be responsible for getting them all killed in a vampire war because you were too impatient to wait for the right moment!"

  I stand up suddenly, with half a mind to hit Callahan or at least give him a piece of my mind for treating me like a child. Instead, I move quickly around the table to the door before I can do anything stupid.

  "Let me know when it's the right moment to stop sitting on our asses," I say by way of a parting shot, and I storm away toward my room.

  When the twins tap on my door, I have a map of Morana's palace spread out on my bed and a bag halfway packed.

  "Going on vacation?" Moira asks casually, leaning against the doorframe.

  "Business trip," I correct her, checking the sharpness of one of my knives before chucking it onto the bed.

  "I'm guessing the timing of this trip has something to do with Carver looking like spiral-cut Sunday ham?" Maeve asks, mirroring her sister's posture against the other side of the door.

  "It's not entirely a coincidence," I confirm, chucking a handful of loose bullets from my bedside drawer into the bag.

  "You know, if we were the responsible sort, we'd be obliged to try and stop you from doing anything stupid," Moira says, giving her sister a look.

  I straighten up, ready to argue with both of them if I need to. But Maeve gives me a cocky grin.

  "Luckily, we're more of the irresponsible enabling sort," she says. "If you're off to get yourself killed, we're coming along."

  "No," I respond flatly, returning to my packing. "Not a chance in hell."

  "Did I give you the impression this was up for debate?" Maeve asks.

  "We're coming with you," Moira confirms, arms crossed over her chest. "Whether you like it or not. Sorry if that cocks up your plans for single-handedly destroying Morana and achieving legendary glory or whatever—"

  "This isn't about glory," I snap, putting down the bracers I'm holding a little too hard. "And I'm not going to risk anyone else's life for this."

  "Then what is it about?" Maeve asks. "Cause if you're just trying to off yourself, there are easier ways."

  I clench my hands at my sides and press my lips together as I control the desperate anger inside me. Unfortunately, the anger is holding me together. I'm afraid if I dismiss it, I'll fall apart. I sit on the bed next to my bag and slowly they join me on either side.

  "I can't keep sitting here doing nothing," I admit, the truth like jagged glass in my chest. "Every minute I waste feels like another person dying because of me."

  "Oh, aye," Moira replies with a sardonic expression. "It's definitely you to blame and not Morana's heinous murdering self."

  "No, she's definitely to blame, too," I say frustrated. "It's just . . . the prophecy, and everyone else expecting me to be this legendary queen. It's puts it all on me. Every person she kills, every home she destroys, every kid she steals, while I had the power to stop her and did nothing. Sitting still is unbearable. If I stop moving for a second, it all catches up to me and I remember all the people suffering and dying and that I could be doing something right now and instead I'm just . . . sitting here. Useless!"

  They're both quiet for a beat, watching me with inscrutable eyes.

  "And your plan for fixing this," Maeve says slowly, "is to charge in alone and get yourself killed?"

  "Makes sense to me," Moira says with a shrug. "We're in."

  "No," I say, groaning in irritation, my face in my hands. "I have to do this. But I can't risk anyone else's life just because I'm too . . . too stupid to sit still."

  "You are stupid," Maeve says fondly, patting my shoulder. "But you're a good stupid."

  "Earnest," Moira suggests.

  "Like an idiot in a fairy tale," Maeve agrees.

  "Thanks," I mutter dryly.

  "Hey, those idiots killed giants every once in a while," Moira points out. Maybe you'll get lucky."

  "We'll be honest," Maeve says.

  "You're being dumb as hell," they say in unison.

  "And we think you should listen to Callahan and wait," Moira adds.

  "But that doesn't mean we don't understand, or that we're going to let you do it alone," Maeve finishes. "We've been your friends too long to let you do something this stupid alone."

  I smile behind the curtain of my hair and the hands hiding my face. I'm lucky to have friends like them, even if I half want to kick their asses right now.

  "Fine," I say. "I suppose you're going to try to convince me to wait a week anyway?"

  "Oh no, not a week," Moira says immediately.

  "Just a night," they say together.

  "Moira's got a thing with this cute Daks girl tonight," Maeve confides with a conspiratorial grin.

  "It's your thing!" Moira says, turning red. "You were the one what asked her! I'm only going because she wants Thai food and you burst into tears at the sight of a bell pepper!"

  "
You're the one that confirmed the details! You could have convinced her to get pub food but you wanted her for yourself!"

  I listen to them bicker for a while, relieved to have them with me and simultaneously afraid, my confidence in my plan dwindling. I want to finish this, to end it with no one else's blood on my hands. If something happens to either of them during this . . .

  Together we plan a stealth assault on Morana's palace, quick and slapped together. But it's something at least. Better than sitting around doing nothing.

  By the next night our plan is solid. I gather my things, fully planning to slip out early without the two of them. But evening has barely fallen when a shout from the gate puts my plan out of commission. I arrive at the gate well after Aura and Callahan, as four vampires are let inside. I recognize two at once as the messengers we sent to the Alder and Blackthorn clans. The other two are strangers, but one man grabs my attention immediately, like a hook around my insides.

  All four make a beeline toward us.

  "You're the queens?" the one I can't stop staring at asks.

  "Yes," Aura answers for us. "I take it you're representatives of the Blackthorn and Alder clan?"

  "We are," he tells her. "The elders are ready to discuss an alliance."

  I should be elated, but all my attention is still on the man in front of me and the rush of strange heat I feel when his eyes meet mine. What terrible timing, I think. I think I've just found my third consort.

  Chapter 7

  He's young, with hair like honey in shadow and intense green eyes. His smile is captivating. The angles of his narrow face could easily be severe, but that constant smile, bright as sunshine, softens them.

  He's Blackthorn, and his Scots accent is thick but not impenetrable, and fortunately lacking in that particular Glaswegian turn of phrase that leaves even some Scottish folk scratching their heads, though perhaps he's just toning it down for our benefit. If he is, I'm grateful, but I would have sat listening even if I couldn't understand a word. The feeling is so immediate and intense that I find myself questioning it. It wasn't this strong with Damon or Seamus, was it? Maybe I'm mistaking something else for the feeling of meeting a destined consort. Even while I'm doubting myself, I can't stop staring at him.

  His name is Emmett.

  The meeting with the elders is on immediately. There's no time to waste for either of us. If the ancient clans are in danger, the elders want protection as quickly as possible, and for now we're the best bet for that. Aura, Carver, Damon, Reina, the Alder representative, and of course, Emmett, pile into some luxury vehicle one of the Daks had lying around. Vampires of any significant age means nothing if not accruing a despicably wasteful amount of wealth. I take a seat beside Emmett without even thinking as we begin the long drive toward the hidden location the elders have chosen for this meeting.

  "I'm Kresova through and through," Emmett tells us, answering some question of Aura's because I haven't yet pulled together the brain cells to speak to him. "My whole family is, literally. My granddad was turned when Wallace lost the battle of Falkirk, round 1300 I think, and he figured the world was ending, or at least Scotland was and hang the rest of the world. He turned my dad, my mum, my uncle and his wife, and all the grandkids. There was an almighty row about waiting to turn the youngest until they were grown. Granddad didn't think the country would last that long. But Mum won out, or else I might still be a sixteen-year-old, God forbid, and my cousin might be contemplating an eternal life under three feet tall."

  He's quick, witty, and laughing at stories about his grandfather's shenanigans through Scottish history helps me get out of my stupor a little.

  "We rambled for a bit after that," he says, finishing up some story about their involvement in the Protestant Reformation, "which wasn't all tea and biscuits, as I'm sure you can imagine. My mum was five-hundred-something years old and showed no signs yet of beginning to recognize me as a grown person with a business of my own. She still isn't, by the by, even at near seven hundred now, though I imagine she has it worse with Granddad still kicking around. But it was about those days we found the Blackthorns. They'd been around since the Romans, of course, and it turned out it had been one of them who bit Granddad in the first place. They felt fair sheepish about it when Granddad turned up near half a century later with the whole damn household in tow cause he hadn't had no sire to tell him not to do such a daft thing. So we were brought into the fold proper and we've been proud Blackthorn Kresova ever since."

  "You're pretty damn old," I say, and immediately regret it. "I mean, you're so . . . I would have thought you were younger."

  "I get that a lot," he replies with a laugh, and I'm relieved I didn't accidentally insult him. "Apparently folks expect you to get all somber and long in the face after a couple hundred years, so no one ever believes I'm over a century. I just like to keep a positive outlook on things! What's not to be positive about? I might have been in the ground seven hundred years ago to some English bastard, and instead I'm alive and get to see the Internet and space travel and them funny little floor-cleaning robots and maybe die in a vampire war instead! I'd say that's a better shake than most get."

  "You have a Roomba?" I ask.

  "I have six," he replies. "I like to strap little weapons to them and make them fight. Technology is amazing."

  Oh no. I'm in love. And he has dueling Roombas. God help me.

  "So," he says, nodding to Aura. "You're a Dak, and Abe's own, I hear. So I know this business with Morana is personal for you. What about you?" He turns to me, catching me a little off guard. "Why do you want Morana dead?"

  "Because she's a monster," I say at once, almost without thinking. "I was part of her inner circle, /Le Tireur. I deluded myself for too long that she was doing what was best for Kresova, or that I had no choice, while I helped her do unspeakable things. That blood is on my hands. I won't let her make me responsible for any more death."

  He nods, and I see something a little calculating behind his smile.

  "Then you and I are going to get along," he says. "The ancient clans return to Paris every hundred years or so to swear our continued fealty to Kresova. The first time I went to court with my clan, I saw what a monster she was. There were rumors at court that the ancient clans had been plotting against her. So she took five people at random from each clan. In front of the whole court, just took them. We were all too shocked to do anything, with no idea what she was planning, and by the time we realized, there was nothing we could do, unarmed and surrounded by her people. She picked three of those, and killed the rest in front of us. The three, she bricked into the walls of her palace. To remind us that she could."

  "Jesus," Reina whispers.

  "That sounds like her all right," I mutter, and Carver nods.

  "Blackthorn and Aspen eventually managed to bargain for the release of our people she put in the walls," Emmett continues. "I don't think Alder ever managed it. Morana has a special dislike for them. But we couldn't bring back the ones she killed. One of my cousins was chosen. I watched her kill him."

  "I'm sorry," I say, my heart sinking. It's old blood, but it's still on my hands. But he just shakes his head.

  "There's no one to blame but her," he says. "She's evil, and she needs to be stopped. She should have been stopped long ago. That's why I volunteered when Blackthorn got your message. I want to see the old bitch strung up myself."

  I nod in sympathy and agreement, the pull even stronger. I ignore it, conflicted. I'm not sure yet, not really, and I shouldn't pull anyone else into this mess unless I'm really, one hundred percent sure. Especially since Damon is right there and has barely spoken to me since he saw me with Seamus. As I look his way, he meets my stare for a moment, nods, and turns away. He's not angry, I know. He's just uncomfortable with this situation, as he has been from the start, and I'm not sure how to make it any easier for him. I could probably start by not flirting with a potential third in the car right across from him, though. So I squash the feeling down and
focus on the matter at hand. I clear my throat and address Emmett and the Alder representative; a sullen North London type whose name I didn't catch in mooning over Emmett.

  "How fast do you think your clans could be ready to fight if we can come to an agreement with your elders?" I ask.

  "Fair quick enough," Emmett replies. "Sioban, our elder, already has us preparing. She's been anticipating things coming to a boil with Morana for a while now."

  "A month perhaps," the Alder rep says with a shrug. "Hard to say. Our location makes things difficult. Can't be seen mobilizing an army in the middle of London."

  "By which he means he isn't interested in sticking his neck out, as usual," Emmett translates, rolling his eyes. "Alder's been dodging conflicts with the same excuse for centuries. Think because they're set up in a big human city nothing can touch them."

  "Oh, and Blackthorn have always been so eager to involve themselves in conflict," the Alder rep says, tone scathing. "Or does 1660 not ring a bell for you? I forgot, you should have been there for that. Did you throw your vote in to close the island off?" "That decision saved thousands of lives," Emmett says sharply, smile vanishing. "Human and vampire!"

  "And condemned thousands more!" the Alder rep roars. "The Blackthorns culled any human that so much smelled of plague, and any vampire, Kresova or not, that dared set foot on Scottish shores!"

  "As though Alder didn't cull the humans in London and worse!" Emmett shouts back, half standing from his seat.

  "Whoa, whoa!" I awkwardly get between them, as much as I can in the cramped confines of the car. "I think that's about enough politics in the car. Save it for when we get to the meeting."

  They relent with obvious reluctance, settling back into their seats. I sit down as well, a little shocked by how quickly that had escalated.

  We ride in silence a while. It is a long trip, and one with not much to see as we take back roads and circuitous routes toward the remote meeting place. I watch trees and green fields roll past the window and try not to think about Emmett next to me, or whether Damon can tell that I'm considering him. I hope not, if only because I don't want to spring another lover on him while he's still coming to terms with Seamus.