My palms sweat as we pull into the parking lot of the building. The breath hitches in my throat just a little. I look around, searching for signs of red hair, hiding in the shadows.
“He’ll be here,” Lexington says, acknowledging my fear and anxiety. “Dr. Dahl let me know she told him all the specifics. Time, location, everything.”
My skin crawls, knowing the man who stripped away my rights is lurking nearby, just waiting for the moment he can sweep in, cut my head from my shoulders, and take off with my child.
“I swear, we won’t let him touch either of you,” Cyrus says, lying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I place my hand over his, trying to feel warmth and support from him, but I know too much about him to truly believe it.
“Let’s go,” I breathe.
The three of us climb out of the car, and head into the building.
Lexington takes my hand in his, holding it strong, trying to give me reassurance through his grasp, but I only look down, filled with absolute terror.
He’s in danger too.
Because Charles is desperate, and he’ll do anything to stay alive.
Even now, I feel eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.
I remind myself that this was my plan.
This is me taking control.
Putting an end to the danger to my family.
We push the doors open, and the three of us head to the elevator.
As we rise, so does my heart rate.
“Try to calm yourself,” Cyrus says, hearing it. “The stress isn’t good for the baby.”
I place both my hands on my stomach, my eyes rising to the ceiling. I take a deep breath, in and out.
I’m afraid.
Because I’m back in that basement in Vermont. My wrists strapped and tied. My ankles restrained, pulled apart on the table.
I’m screaming.
I’m crying.
I’m hoarse and going numb, the fight seeping out of me, because no one is coming to my rescue.
A smug smile beams at me from beneath red hair.
“It’s going to be okay,” Lexington says, wrapping his arms around me. The worry and fear is rolling off of him in tangible waves. He can tell what’s going through my head, but in reality, he could never really understand just how horrifying it all was.
The elevator levels out, and the door dings before it slides open.
Down the hall, I see Dr. Dahl. She waits in the doorway, dressed as if for surgery, her hands folded in front of her.
I know I’m not really about to undergo a c-section. But still, I feel a flash of pain slice across my abdomen. I feel the cold of a medical table under my back. I smell the forced oxygen being blown into my nose.
With a little help from my husband and a king, I take a step forward, off the elevator. One stiff step at a time, I make my way down the hall.
I don’t care that Jonathan is out there somewhere, a very real threat that could lead to the exposure of all my friends and family. I want them all here. I want Ian and Alivia by my side. I want Eva and Julie outside those doors, standing guard. I even want Robert and Po-Sun down this hall, waiting for the moment I know things are going to go wrong.
“Hello, Elle,” Dr. Dahl says, forcing a pleasant smile. But the wideness of her eyes tells me the truth. She knows everything is wrong. She senses the danger. “Let’s get you changed and we’ll get started.”
We have to act out every part of this, because there can’t be any detail that tips Charles off that something is wrong. We must act this out until the very last moment when he finally shows his face.
I nod, and walk down the hall to the room Dr. Dahl indicates, so that I can change into the gown she hands me. Alone, I shiver in the small room, stripping out of my clothes.
And I realize that I’m not cold only because of the tile floors. It’s not just the air conditioning.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
A chill creeps down my veins.
Something tingles in my stomach.
It’s started.
The curse is being lowered.
My breathing picks up just a little bit.
Rose told me it would take them about twenty minutes to fully lower it.
The clock is ticking.
I slip the surgical gown on, tying it carefully so I don’t expose anything when I walk out these doors.
I let my eyes slide closed, bracing my hands on the door, giving myself just a few moments.
This is part of being a parent, an emotion I’m going to have to get used to. Fear. Fear that something will happen to my daughter. Fear that bad things will happen and that I won’t be able to shield this little family of mine from them.
But this was my idea. My choice.
There have always been bad things in my life, and I will take charge over them. I will do everything in my power to control them.
I take one more deep breath, and despite the coldness that continues to creep through my body, I feel calm collecting in my blood. I feel the strength in me gather from the tips of my toes, spreading up, racing to my fingertips.
I can do this.
I have planned for this.
I grip the doorknob, and pull it open.
Everything is quiet when I step back out into the hall. My socked feet walk over the cold tiles, heading back toward the delivery room. I listen for Lexington, talking to Dr. Dahl or Cyrus, but all I hear is the echoes of my own footsteps.
Ice spreads in my veins. Goose bumps flash across my arms.
I listen, only the silence is deafening.
I don’t dare breathe, and my pace slows.
My hands begin to shake. My knees feel just a little weak.
I round the corner, and every fear I’ve had comes to a peak.
There’s no sign of Dr. Dahl in the surgical room.
There’s no trace of Lexington or King Cyrus in the hall.
But there are splinters of wood on the floor. A table in the surgical room is tipped over, tools spread across the floor. There’s a small smear of blood going from the room, down the hall. Back toward the door leading into the facility.
I back up a step, shaking my head.
My left hand comes to my stomach.
And I feel the cold spreading down my entire body, from my fingertips to my toes, releasing the curse.
Leaving me exposed.
And alone.
I move down the hall to where my bag lies tipped over on the floor. There’s a change of clothes in there, and at the very bottom is…
“No,” I breathe. I shuffle the clothes once more, frantically digging through them. “No, no, no.”
I know, without a doubt, that I placed ten doses of vampire toxins in it before we left the house. That I had five stakes in it. Everything I needed to defend myself for when things went wrong.
And things have gone wrong. In a way so, so much worse than I ever could have imagined.
The sound of a set of footsteps echoes softly through the top floor, and I instantly freeze. I am ice and my body is no longer a functioning live thing.
“If I’ve learned anything about you Elle,” a voice cuts through the empty building. I hear footsteps take another step forward. “It is that you always like to be prepared.” There’s the sound of breaking glass, and I know he’s just shattered my toxins that he stole from my bag. It’s followed by the sound of wood splintering. There go my stakes. “But you’re still human, and the Born have always been five steps ahead of your mortal kind.”
My hands tremble violently, but I blink twice.
Think.
Don’t shut down.
You’re going to have to fight.
My eyes wildly search the room for a weapon. As silent as I can, I dart for a cart, which holds half a dozen scalpels.
I grab two of them, but looking down, they’re abysmally small.
Better than nothing.
I creep back to the doorway, peering around the corner. The hallways
appear clear. I listen, desperate to get a fix on his location.
My heart screaming in my throat, I dart down the hallway to my left, back toward the room I changed in.
“Your crew gave a valiant effort, attempting to track me down,” Charles’ voice echoes from down by the elevator now. “But I haven’t been called a slippery snake for no reason. And this is certainly the disadvantage of setting up House in a large city. Plenty of places to hide.”
I feel ready to pass out. I’ve been holding my breath as I try to quietly run down the hall. My body is screaming, going into panic mode, and I just can’t think about what it’s doing to my daughter right now.
I have to get us out of here alive, first.
I reach the window at the end of hall, but my heart sinks.
A sheet of solid steel has been welded over it. Trapping Charles, and me, inside.
I turn, surveying the options, and head down another hall. This floor is set up as a big square of halls, with rooms branching off of the squares, the elevator and stairs on one corner of the square.
If my ears aren’t betraying me, Charles is walking along the opposite leg of the square.
Slowly, I creep down the hall, my eyes desperately searching for an alternative escape route.
Every window is welded shut, and I have to remind myself, this trap was designed to keep Charles in. He wasn’t supposed to escape once he walked in.
“I didn’t see the curveball of the curse coming into play though,” Charles voice cuts through the quiet again. “I’ve never been the subject of a curse before. I’m still a little confused on how it happened. I’d very much like to talk to your special friend again. She seems fascinating.”
There’s a picture of a calm seaside, featuring some kind of sailboat, hanging on the wall. I hoist it down, examining the frame.
Just as I hoped. It’s cheaply made, but made from real wood.
My heart threatens to pound out of my chest, and I have to face the fact that I haven’t wanted to think about.
Charles is a Born vampire. He can hear every pound of my heart. Hear every one of my footsteps. I’m aware of his general location. He knows precisely where I am.
I’m still alive. So either he’s toying with me, or there’s just a tiny bit of the curse lingering. Enough to keep him a few dozen yards away from me.
Having to take the risk, I hold the picture high above my head, before bringing it crashing down to the tile floor on the corner of it.
Just as I prayed it would, the frame pops apart, shattering into four equal pieces. Each end is cut to a ninety-degree angle, a perfect stake.
Footsteps dart, for just a moment. Panicked, I grab two of my newly formed stakes, and turn to take off down the hall, when Charles instantly appears into view.
He flies backwards onto his back, as if running into an invisible shield. I scramble back, away from him, but my body isn’t functioning properly. My feet can’t move fast enough. I can’t look away from him.
Charles sits up, and I see the black veins growing on his body, creeping out to his fingertips. His eyes glow brilliant red, his fangs fully extended.
“Quite the plan you hatched here,” he says as he slowly climbs to his feet. One carefully tested step at a time, he walks forward, testing the barrier that is rapidly diminishing. “I believed every word the good doctor fed me. You can’t even imagine the panic I endured, thinking there was a chance my one opportunity to redeem myself was in danger of not surviving. I’m not sure if I’m impressed, or just all the more eager to rip your head from your shoulders.”
I back away, all of my limbs trembling.
“You’re a dead man,” I say, and thankfully it comes out strong. “Even if you killed me now, there’s not a chance you’d make it out of the city alive.”
Charles laughs, pushing his red hair off his forehead. “I’ve somehow managed to evade your hunters for the past fourteen weeks. Somehow I’m fairly confident I can do it again.”
I shake my head. “It’s too late. You’ve screwed yourself over too hard, Charles. King Cyrus has already stripped the House from you. You’ll never rule again.”
The anger, the hatred brightens the red of his eyes. His mouth twists into a line of malice and murder.
I scramble back faster, trying to put more distance between us, but he takes equally quick steps forward, and I notice he’s able to come closer than just a few moments ago.
Finally, I turn, and I run.
The elevator is at the end of the hall. I press the button, and grab for the door that leads down to the stairs, only it’s barred off. I yank, tugging, but it doesn’t budge.
I’m trapped.
Charles cuts around the corner, his expression mad with glee.
“You can’t kill me, Charles,” I say as I start down the hallway, away from him. “You kill me now and the baby won’t survive.”
“Oh, I’ve done my research,” he says as he slowly follows after me. I dart down the hall, frantically searching for a way out. A vent. Another doorway. Anything. “It certainly isn’t healthy for the child to be born so pre-maturely, but it certainly will live. All I have to do is grab you, find another facility who will do anything with a big enough payoff, and I won’t need you any longer.”
Tears spring into my eyes. My hands come to my stomach as I round another corner, imagining this twisted man taking my daughter, and me no longer around to protect her from him.
I dart to the right, grabbing a handle and pushing the door open. I duck inside, forcing it closed behind me, locking it.
It won’t keep him out. Not for long.
I rest my back against it, heaving deep, heavy breaths.
Something cramps in my lower back.
The muscles in my stomach tighten.
A tear springs free onto my cheek as I look down. A small hand or foot presses against my stomach from the inside.
Another cramp tightens my lower body and I have to stifle the gasp of pain.
No.
No.
This was all supposed to be pretend today.
This was all fake.
But those contractions were anything but.
I hear footsteps still outside the door, and there’s a low chuckle.
“Maybe we don’t have to pay anyone to do anything after all,” he says, and I want to rip the smug smile I know is there from his face with my fingernails.
Charles starts whistling some song, and I hear his footsteps start to walk away.
He’s circling me, just like I’m prey.
More tears break onto my cheeks, but they morph. They aren’t just scared anymore.
They’re angry.
I’m done.
I’m tired of being the prey.
I am a vulture. I am wolfsbane. I am the poison willow.
I straighten, adjusting my grip on the broken frame. I take a deep breath. Two.
I can only just barely hear the sound of Charles’ whistling. He rounds the farthest corner, and then it’s gone.
I wait five more seconds, and then the sound of it picks back up, and he begins rounding back toward me.
I rest my hand on the doorknob.
Listen, listen so hard my ears hurt, until they feel as if they are bleeding.
As I yank the door open, I hear the sound of the elevator ding.
Calm, I step out, just as Charles rounds the corner.
Our eyes lock. A smug smile grows on his lips and he takes a step forward, matching my own steps.
“You could have lived to be so much more,” I say calmly. I grip the stake in my hand, tightening my fingers. “Your birthright gave you so much potential. And you’ve wasted your entire life.”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” Charles says, every ounce of his focus on me.
I watch for it, and there I see it, the change, the glint that flashes in his eyes.
He lunges for me, but I dart forward.
The last traces of the curse send Charles flying back from
me at the exact right moment. Michael swings. And Charles is thrown back, impaling himself on the metal spikes of the flail.
My momentum does not slow.
A scream rips from my chest as another contraction hits me, and using all the laws of nature, I hurl myself at Charles. And swing. My hand comes down, burying the stake into Charles Allaway’s heart.
He makes a quiet, choked off sound, his eyes growing wide. He stumbles back, being pulled backward by the weight of the flail.
“You will never exist to this child,” I promise him as he collapses back to the ground. “You will be erased from this world, and no one will ever speak of you again.”
Charles looks up at me, his eyes brilliant red. Wide in disbelief.
“And I will teach this child to be good and kind and everything you never were,” I say quietly as I hold my stomach, leaning against a wall to support myself. “Go to hell, Charles.”
He slumps back, further impaling himself on the flail. His eyes slide closed, his mouth open in shock, and his skin grows ashen gray.
I stumble, all the strength in me giving out as the adrenaline subsides.
Michael darts forward, catching me before I can hit the ground.
“I got you, little bird,” he says softly.
“Where…” I struggle to speak. Waves of emotion are crashing through me, crushing me. Even as my stomach tightens into a hard ball as another contraction hits. “Where is everyone? What’s going on?”
“Some bad shit, I’m afraid,” he says. But his voice sounds further away. Quiet and muffled.
My instincts scream at me to fight, that the battle isn’t really over.
But I’m so tired.
And I just don’t have anything left in me.
“I got you, little bird,” I hear Michael say from far away, before the dark closes in.
It’s my very heartbeat that rips me from sleep.
I jolt up in bed, my hand immediately sweeping out, searching for something to use as a weapon.
But a lightning quick hand darts out, catching my wrist.
“Hey, hey,” a soothing voice coos. “It’s okay. It’s all over.”
The room begins to come into focus and I search for the source of the voice as comforting peace forces down my anxiety.