I let my eyes slide closed, remembering that fear.
“When others realized what we were doing, they wanted to kill us,” Cyrus presses on. “They wanted to torture us. They tried. So we had no choice but to run, because even though we were so much stronger than them, there were only two of us, and there were thousands of them.”
Thump. Thump thump.
My heart rate increases with the fear, the recollection of those times.
“We were chased from our home country,” Cyrus says. “We had to flee hundreds of miles away. And then we found this place.” Cyrus’ voice cuts out, and the room is silent for five heartbeats. “Roter Himmel. Red Heaven. We were alone, we were isolated for dozens of years. But we finally found peace. We found a place where we could exist without fear.”
Cyrus is quiet for a long moment, and my eyes slide open. “Have you ever thought about it?” I ask. My voice is not loud, but it does carry throughout the silent room. “How few of us there are? I can’t say that I know any official numbers, but we have estimates. Only 50,000 of us throughout the world. And there are over eight billion humans in it.”
I feel sick. I literally have to swallow down bile. If I were human, my hands would tremble. “Think about those odds. You are strong. But if they all knew…if it came to fear for their survival… Do you think we would stand a chance?”
I try to read their faces, to see what they’re feeling, thinking. But I’m so terrible at that.
“This isn’t about living in fear,” I say, shaking my head. “I am not asking you to live in fear. I’m asking you to think of our species. I’m asking you to look for peace.”
Through the dead quiet, there’s the dinging of someone’s phone. A woman with dark skin and a shaved head looks embarrassed as she pulls her phone out to silence it. But she looks at something on her screen, distracted for a moment.
“Old ways of thinking have resurfaced,” Cyrus moves on. “And old enemies have come to light once more. Moab believed everything the Blood Father taught him. Lorenzo St. Claire admired the man.”
There’s another ding that sounds throughout the Great Hall. And then the sound of a vibration.
“Our way of life as we know it will end if we do not put a stop to what is happening outside our borders, now,” Cyrus presses on through the distractions.
Another vibration sounds, and this time, Cyrus’ eyes ignite red in irritation.
“Your majesties,” Malachi speaks up, his eyes slightly wild. “You need to see this.” He rises from his seat and crosses to our table. He extends his phone and I take it with sweating palms.
Sound cuts sharply through the Great Hall.
I see a frantic scene, streets crowded with people. Dozens, maybe hundreds. The noise is just a jumbled mess of sound. A man carries the camera, pointing it at himself for a moment, smiling, sticking his tongue out. He flips it back around.
There are two men fighting now. One takes a swing at the other, but he dodges out of the way. Another swing, and it knocks one of the men clean off his feet. He flies back, landing a good fifteen feet away, stopped only by the surrounding crowd.
“Where did you find this?” Cyrus demands as we continue to watch.
“It was posted online an hour ago,” Malachi says. “A member of my House just stumbled upon it and sent it to me.”
I have no doubt that this is why so many phones were going off in alarm just moments ago. It was getting discovered and shared around the world like wildfire.
The man holding the camera laughs with the crowd, and he darts off through the masses again.
I hear whimpering, and it grows louder as the man walks. “No,” a woman cries. “Please, not again.”
We see her through the crowd suddenly, and there are two other women grasping her. Suddenly they bury their faces into her neck, fangs flashing and lengthening.
“This is on the Internet?” Cyrus growls, “for anyone to see?”
I watch in horror as the woman’s face goes slack as the numbing toxins take her over. The two female vampires suck and pull. The woman grows paler.
The man holding the camera just snickers, thoroughly entertained.
The human woman’s knees just give out and she drops as the man pans the view away.
“It looks like it,” someone says. “There’s…” They swear under their breath. “There’s already ten thousand views and it’s climbing by the second.”
Cyrus grips the back of the chair he stands behind and squeezes. The wood splinters.
The man makes his way through the crowd again, and I don’t miss as here and there, we can see other humans being fed upon. He calls out, and another man suddenly looks over, right at the camera. The man says something in a language I don’t recognize. The other male laughs, and suddenly, his eyes flash brilliant red.
My heart sinks.
This man, he’s showing us everything.
The brute strength.
The blood drinking.
The red eyes.
There, for only a fraction of a second, I see a familiar face walk past in the frame.
“Lorenzo,” Cyrus hisses.
But he’s gone just as quickly.
The cameraman calls out something loudly, and a few more voices echo back the same words to him. But he carries on.
A circle of vampires stand around a pack of people that I have no doubt are human. Like they’re sheep and the vampires are guard dogs. The man says something, and a vampire turns, pulls a young man from the group and hands him over.
The cameraman pulls the young man in, and the video cuts out as he sinks his fangs into his neck.
“It’s up to twenty thousand views now,” a quiet voice says, but everyone in this big room hears it.
I want to shake my head. The words no, no are trapped in my throat.
But I’m just frozen. I’m ice. Rooted on the spot.
“Not everyone will believe what they see,” a voice says through the quiet. I recognize it was Hector Valdez.
“But with this many views…” another woman says, one I don’t know. “They’re going to wonder why this is drawing so much attention. They’ll question if it’s fake.”
I can feel him—Cyrus’ presence at my side. I feel him…growing. Filling the room.
For thousands of years, secrecy has been what he valued most. And now, here, it’s all being wrecked.
His hand clamps down on the phone, and it crushes, crackling and splitting, dropping to the table in a hundred little pieces.
“Arm yourselves, my children,” he seethes. “Come dark, we begin this war.”
Chapter 9
“There still have been no sightings of Lorenzo or Moab?” Cyrus demands again as he slings his sword around his waist.
“No, your majesty,” the spy admits. “We have our suspicions that they are staked out in the inn, but if they’ve come out, they’ve been disguised, or simply lost in the crowd.”
“They’ve obviously come out,” Cyrus seethes as he helps me cinch the vest around myself. It’s filled with weapons. “The man was caught on video.”
“My deepest apologies, my grace,” the spy says, bowing his head. I can see from the fear in his eyes, he expects to be beheaded or something worse.
But Cyrus cannot afford to lose his temper and punish those who are trying to assist him right now. This is a new game, one I know he doesn’t like playing, where he needs to stay in their favor, too.
“It would explain why all of this is so disorganized and chaotic,” I say when Cyrus finishes strapping me in. I slip a stake into one of the pockets, along with a knife. “They have to know that we’re looking to take both of them out, so of course they’re hiding. But it’s hard to manage their people and organize a war when they’re in hiding.”
Cyrus nods in agreement. “How well armed are they?”
“They’ve been making stakes,” the spy says as Cyrus and I continue to arm ourselves. “They’ve sent others out to secure weapons, but we’
ve taken every one of their runners out, so far.”
“And how many has that been?” I ask as I slip another knife in my boot.
“Eleven, my Queen,” he informs. “But those who have arrived, who seem to be allied with Moab, they arrived fully armed.”
“We need to take out the airport,” I say as I clip two grenades to my belt. “We can’t afford to let their numbers grow any larger and they’re coming in through that airport. I know they’ll find another way, but at least we can slow them down.”
The spy nods. “I will take care of it.”
The only way we can truly make the airport unusable, is to make it so no one can land on the airstrip.
Explosions are in order.
Noise will be made.
The exposure will widen.
“We will be on the march in thirty minutes,” Cyrus says, finished arming himself. “On my mark, I want every sniper we have to fire. I want what little element of surprise we have.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the spy says, taking a deep bow, and dismissing himself from the armory.
I turn to Cyrus, trying to read the expression on his face. He seems tired, but also…resolved. Prepared.
I remember that look on his face from over a thousand years ago. When we fought very nearly this same war.
“This won’t be resolved tonight,” I say. “Or tomorrow.”
Cyrus reaches for me, wrapping me in his arms. I tuck my head under his chin. “No,” he confirms. “It won’t. But we will fight it. However long it takes.”
“We need to focus on finding Moab and Lorenzo,” I say. “If we can cut the legs of this war off, maybe we can end it quicker without so many lives lost.”
Cyrus doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I feel him physically grow harder.
“Every bit of this must be ended,” Cyrus says, still holding me close. “If we do not want history to repeat itself over and over and over again, we must end every bit of this.”
The words make my stomach sink, make me feel sick. Because what he’s saying is that every one of them going against us must be killed. They all must die.
I can hardly breathe at the thought. So many lives lost. So much contention and hate. Everyone in this war wants something different, and I’m starting to find it difficult to tell who is right and who is wrong.
“It is time,” I say. Because it’s all I can do. Walk up to this, and face it nose to nose. I step away from the embrace of my fiancé, my husband, depending on who I am at the moment. I turn, and walk down the hall toward the castle gates.
We don’t have enough numbers. We really don’t.
We have 380 here now with all of the Royals who have arrived from around the world.
We’re leaving forty of them here to defend the castle.
We are 340 going up against 498.
Shit.
There are already dozens standing at the gates of the castle when Cyrus and I arrive. They’re quiet, reflective. I see determined expressions on their faces. I see death. I see wrath.
I walk out the gates, standing in the street. My eyes go to the mouth of the canyon.
There is no longer any trace of the human army. They’re long gone. Our gatekeepers have left, and now nothing stands in the way of Lorenzo and Moab.
They’re still waiting. Still gathering.
I hear footsteps gathering behind us. I hear mutters of encouragement. Mutters of disdain. They talk of politics and friends gathered and still missing.
But my eyes remain fixed on that canyon and the road I know is there, leading to a hoard who has already shifted our landscape.
“Tonight marks the beginning of a change,” I say. Not loudly. I’m mostly talking to myself. But I know the others hear me when they instantly fall quiet. “Our immortal world has remained unchanged for thousands of years. But tonight, this is the beginning of a new world.”
I turn, looking back at them. They’re all gathered now. They watch me expectantly. Ready.
“If we come out victorious or if we fall tonight or in a month, I am by your side,” I say. “And I thank you for being by my side.”
I see some of them place their fists over their hearts.
We are family here.
Through blood.
Through cause.
“For the future of peace!” Cyrus suddenly bellows, raising his sword into the air.
And as one, every single vampire sets through town, and toward that canyon.
Everything is a blur as we dart, too fast to see clearly. The town is instantly gone. And we’re rounding the lake.
Cyrus raises his radio to his lips, calling to our spies. Just as we dart into the mouth of the canyon, Cyrus makes the call.
“Now!”
We’re moving at lightning speeds. And just as I make out the crowd in the village, I hear the sky rip apart with the sounds of gunfire.
Bodies stagger back. Men and women drop to the ground.
Shot after shot is fired.
And then the Royals collide with the horde, and the guns stop.
And the night is filled with the sound of clanging metal and screams.
I swing a sword as I rush toward a man. I slice up, cutting him open from naval to chin, spilling his guts. I spin just a second later, lopping the head off of a woman with the same colored eyes as my own.
To my side, I see Cyrus, a tornado of blades and brilliantly red eyes. He causes havoc and sends blood spraying in all directions.
The line, the division between the two sides begins to bleed together. Our people push and surge their way through the line. The horde fights back, pushing their way into our ranks.
More of them are armed than I expected. I thought we would be met with stakes against swords. But many of them are armed with swords or shotguns or rifles. Shots ring out into the night.
But there, finally, I hear the sound I was waiting to hear.
An explosion. Dust rises into the air, and sirens sound for just a few moments before being silenced.
We’ve taken out the airport.
There will be no more Born arriving tonight.
A scream rips from my lungs as I turn, swinging my sword at another young man with yellow-green eyes.
“Do not fight us, sister!” he calls to me as he swings his own sword, fighting only in defense. “Join us in a new world. Do not fade away with the old one!”
“How many innocents will die in this new world?” I bellow, striking at him with blow after blow. “How much blood will be shed?”
He spins, parrying my shot. And I don’t quite jump out of the way quick enough. The tip of his sword grazes my left shoulder, splitting the skin, nicking muscle.
With a grunt, I dart forward, kicking my foot in to the center of his chest. He falls backward, hitting the ground, hard. Raising my sword, I bury it in his chest, sinking deep into his heart.
To my side, I see Edmond dart forward, lopping off the head of a woman charging toward me. I nod my head to him in thanks when he looks back at me for a brief moment.
Turning, I search for my next target, and freeze for a moment in fear.
It isn’t easy to tell who is the enemy and who is on our side. We all look the same. Are dressed similarly.
The only clear indicator is the eyes of my half-siblings.
I have no way to tell now if the others are Born or Royal.
There, sneaking up on a member of the House of Ng, I see one of my half-siblings. I drop into a slight crouch before launching myself into the air, raising my sword. On my descent, I swing it down.
It connects with the top of her head and keeps sliding down. Through her. Down through her skull. Down through her torso. Down between her legs.
She collapses to the ground, the two separate pieces of her landing with a wet slopping sound.
Find Lorenzo. Find Moab.
Those four words rattle through the back of my brain. These are the priorities. This is our main goal.
I shove my way through the
crowd. The spies suspect they’re hiding out at the inn. I have to get there.
I slash and slice my way through the crowd, and hear Cyrus fighting to get to my side. But he grows farther away.
I’ve just cut the sword arm off of one of Lorenzo’s children when the sound pricks in my ears. A rush of air. The chopping of blades. I whack down another enemy, turning to search for the source of the sound.
Suddenly, in a blaze of blinding light, a helicopter circles into view. I hold up a hand, blocking out the blinding floodlight.
I look straight up into a camera.
Huge and commercial, it aims at me clearly. Only a moment later, it pans out over the crowd.
It could be broadcasting live.
I turn to look and see what viewers might be witnessing, right now.
Hundreds of bodies. Numbering over eight hundred. They swing at one another with swords—primitive and gleaming. There are gunshots being fired. There are individuals fighting, ripping one another limb from limb with bare hands.
There are fangs everywhere.
Most eyes are lit brilliant red.
It’s a brawl, fought with inhuman strength.
And that camera is recording it all.
The battle has stilled for a moment, everyone in shock at the sight of the helicopter, hovering just twenty feet over the ground. They’re temporarily blinded by the floodlight.
And then one vampire launches at the helicopter. Tossed into the air by others, a member of Court, catches hold of the feet of the chopper. And then there’s another. Not wasting a second, they climb into the cockpit.
It tilts dangerously to the right, and launches to the side, toward the airport.
I smile. One tiny victory. We need that.
Even if the damage has already been done and it’s too late to recover.
Five seconds later, the helicopter crashes.
I turn to return to the battle, when an iron cuff clamps down over my right wrist, knocking my sword from my hand. In the same moment, something dark and flexible is pulled over my head, and cinched tight around my neck.
In my moment of surprise, taken off guard, my other wrist is wrenched behind my back, and another cuff snaps around my left wrist.
My assailants don’t hesitate a second. They knock me off my feet, and drag me off.