Blood Ties Read online

  Megan’s eyes studied the painting, and Duncan rose, moving closer to it, reaching his fingertips out and hovering above the surface. “Ever since, Darian has been given several cruel, mocking titles. Darian the careful. The ruler of stones. The most offensive, and apt, is Darian the heirless. Since Louis Phillippe, he has not taken a single human heir. His empire was larger than any other because of this. Some attribute his reticence to greed, but I cannot agree with them. I have a theory that Darian didn’t take another heir because Louis Phillippe broke him, and he realized the true risk that vampires pose to the world if the wrong individual is given power. I think he hung this painting as a self-punishment, to remind him of what he’d brought about in his rash decision to adopt Louis Phillippe, to force himself to be careful in every sense of the word. I look at this, and I wonder if things would have been different if Fausta had heeded this warning that Darian left himself. I wonder if she would have listened to it.”

  “No,” Megan said with a single shake of her head. She could feel Duncan’s eyes on her but let her gaze slip to the cold remains of her coffee mug. “I don’t think it would have mattered.”

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there was nothing to do. Perhaps there is nothing we can do, at this point.” Megan nodded solemnly, and Duncan stayed for a few more minutes, deep in thought with the painting, until he slipped out of the room and left them alone.

  Lucidia

  “The latest numbers are in,” Lucidia growled, entering the war room with a clipped pace. The fourth line strongblood in charge of delivering the report struggled to keep up with her, banking off to the fringes of the room just before Lucidia took her seat. She was wedged between Reykon and Harley, who’d gotten a promotion because of the valor she’d shown during Robin and Charlemagne’s fight, and because Lucidia had actually followed through on putting a good word in with her superiors. Chadwick sat on the other side of Robin, as out of place as she was. In the past couple of weeks, the royal vampires had become resigned to their presence here, leaving them in a tense armistice, for the moment, at least.

  “And?” Darian asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “She’s got ten thousand, between the camp to the north, and her new arrivals in the east. All wolves and vampires.”

  The room stiffened, a series of tense, frozen generals and heads of department, sitting board-straight in their chairs around the table. A massive map of the surrounding area was spread in front of them, with their placements and groupings sketched on top. All in all, about thirty individuals were centered in this room, between the table and the sidelines. Heirs and strongbloods were clustered in groupings of their previous houses, still hesitant to merge fluently. Lucidia felt the tension, and she knew Darian did as well. It made their position even more precarious. A tentative acceptance of the unbound strongbloods had settled in, seeing as they were firmly on Darian’s side and had been raised under the tradition of the royal vampire commission, but Robin’s presence was another story entirely. To the remaining royal vampires, Robin was a loose cannon, a person raised in the human world, imbued with massively destructive powers, and set to roam free among the vampires.

  “What is she waiting for?” one of the royal vampires muttered. Percival, from House Mantell, was his name.

  Darian drummed his fingers on the table. “She doesn’t want to risk her newly acquired troops just yet. She’s had the wolves for less than three months, so their loyalty is not ironclad. A massacre would jeopardize her standing with them.”

  “House Albus didn’t have much in the way of troops or war strategy, so their walls are tall and fortified,” Lucidia hummed. “Using the wolves as battering rams would never work. She must be waiting for an opportunity to overrun the castle.”

  “She won House Xander by airlifting troops over the walls and then flooding the stronghold,” Reykon added, deep in thought.

  “She wouldn’t try it again,” another royal scoffed. “We’re expecting it, and the humans are on high guard as of late.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Darian echoed. “And there’s been no talk of a parlay?”

  “None,” Hugo Deveros, a high-ranking vampire from House Nero said. Because of his strategy with opponents, he’d been placed on border patrol and security, and controlled the front line. “No attempt to communicate, and no demands.”

  “She’s trying to shake us,” Ezra chimed in. “The game she plays is mental warfare, and she does a fine job.”

  Robin was the next one to talk. “Lucidia, you said it was just wolves and vampires?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded.

  Her sister turned to Max, tapping her finger absentmindedly on the table. “What are the police scanners like?”

  “Calm,” Max said with a shrug.

  Robin’s eyebrows crunched together. “Maybe she’s not attacking because her vampires are weak. If I could get closer, I might be able to tell, but… I mean, how’s she feeding her army?”

  Lucidia could tell that the concept of feeding vampires was still touchy for her sister, but it was a remarkably good point all the same. The rest of the vampires in the room shifted, scowling or muttering to those sitting next to them.

  “She could be keeping the humans captive, taking them quietly,” Harley posed.

  “Then they’d all be clustered in the encampments,” Lucidia said. “For a vampire as old as her, it’d be a rookie mistake.”

  “But she’s acted rashly so far,” Percival muttered. “She might have risked it.”

  Reykon was the next one to speak. Lucidia watched him carefully during these meetings, finding that he normally spoke once, spending the remaining time deep in thought. However, when Reykon did speak, he almost always had the golden ticket. He had a way of thinking strategically that boggled Lucidia’s mind; it was easy to see why he’d become Magnus Demonte’s prized strongblood.

  “What about the wolves?” Harley asked. “If they’re so green, then maybe we can offer them asylum.”

  “They won’t do it,” Lucidia countered. “The only reason they’re there in the first place is because of loyalty. My guess is that Fausta took the entire pack and has the children at House Xander or spread among her other holdings. They’d die before they risked their own.” Her thoughts slipped back to Clay, to Megan, wondering what they were doing, wondering if they’d been taken to the front lines or left in prison cells to rot. Guilt crept into her conscious, biting at her mind.

  A knock on the door disrupted them. “Enter,” Darian called.

  A human servant poked his head through the door. “Lady Robin is needed, Master Darian.”

  “Very well,” the vampire said with a nod.

  Robin shot Lucidia a look and then shrugged, rising and leaving the room. There was a tense silence, and several of the vampires grew restless, until at last, Hugo leaned forward. “Should we initiate parlay?”

  “It is something to consider, though-”

  Crack-crack. Crack. Gunshots echoed off the halls and everyone in the room jumped, tensing to attack. Darian slammed a hand on the table, his face obscured in anger. “Who the hell is shooting a gun in my halls?” he snapped. Ezra blurred out of the room, letting the doors slam behind him. A moment passed in tense silence, as a sinking feeling flooded Lucidia’s stomach. She looked to Reykon for a moment, his own scowl deepening.

  “Master Darian!” the vampire called.

  Everyone moved out of the way as Darian swept across the room, into the passageway. It didn’t take long for the rest of them to follow. Amidst the scuffle, Darian’s roar cut through like an axe. “Chadwick!”

  The caster sprinted for the door, slipping past the vampires as they let him through. Lucidia’s pulse jumped to her throat as she exchanged another look with Reykon, whose eyes widened. He was next, barreling through the door with Lucidia close on his heels. As they entered the hallway, blood and gunpowder singed her nostrils, choking the air in a sickening, thick stench. Lucidia’s eyes centered on two figures sprawled out on t
he ground. One of them was a strongblood refugee that Lucidia recognized from the early days in the stronghold, and the other was her sister, laying in a pool of blood, two bright red splotches seeping out from vicious gunshot wounds.

  Reykon

  Time stopped as the world around him spun out of control. All he could see was Robin, limp on the ground, growing grayer with each second as that precious life force seeped out of her.

  And then there was red. Red coming from his own arms, red clouding his own vision, and he looked at his hands, shaking and radiating with power from his unbridled abilities. His sights turned, manically searching for the attacker, for the threat, like a wild animal. As his eyes fell on the bloody gun, a growl ripped out of him and he stormed up to the second human, only to find that the bastard had blown his own brains out after shooting Robin. He turned back, looking to the figures now hovering above her. On a rampage, he charged forward, his hands blinding him as he was singularly propelled by the need to see her, to hold her.

  “Reykon!” Lucidia snapped, stopping him in place.

  “Let me go!” he roared, shoving her out of the way. Lucidia growled from behind him and grabbed his arm, her own unbound strongblood abilities rising to the surface. Reykon turned, giving her a look of pure rage, just as she brought her fist crashing into his jaw. The world flickered, going black as he felt a crack race across his temple. Still, he blindly swung, fighting her until he was thrown up against a wall, Lucidia’s arm wedged against his throat as loose rocks crumbled around him. His breath came in short pants, his thoughts flooded with terror. Robin. She’d been shot, and he hadn’t been there to protect her, and now she was lying in a pool of her own blood on the cold marble ground. She was dying. He stopped thrashing and caught his breath, the anger giving way to despair. “I’m good,” he panted, letting his abilities fade. But still, Lucidia searched his face for a moment, refusing to release him.

  “I’m good!” he snapped, breaking her hold and rushing over to Robin. Chadwick was casting, the sharp crackle of magic stinging his skin as he looked at Robin with utter panic. Vampires hung around the scene like curious vultures, hovering around the carnage. Darian and Ezra were talking in hushed whispers, Ezra pressing an icy pale hand on the wound. Every time he lifted it, another surge of blood shot out. Reykon couldn’t help but wonder how much more was left inside, as his eyes frantically shifted to the red pool spreading further.

  “If she can draw from a creature, it will heal her,” Darian said quickly.

  “No, she’s out and we don’t have a catalyst wand,” Chadwick said, searching his brain. “Okay, hang on.”

  Chadwick closed his eyes, calling on the magic inside of him. The amulet around his neck glowed with a turquoise glint, and Reykon was thrown back to the ritual that had turned her into a conduit. In an instant, the blood pooling around her rose, just as it had with Lucidia, and slowly returned to the wounds, slipping back in as though someone had pressed rewind on the whole demented scene. With a stream of mumbled spell work, Chadwick drove his hands downward and two sparks landed on the bullet wounds. A gruesome sizzling sounded out, and Reykon grimaced at the smell of burning flesh.

  A tense moment hung, suspended, Chadwick peering at the wounds before letting out a breath. “Okay, the bleeding’s stopped.”

  Ezra shook his head. “This one passed through, but the second bullet is still inside of her.”

  Chadwick threw his hands up in the air. “This is triage, not surgery. I bought us some time, but this isn’t really my specialty.”

  “Somebody get Dawn!” Lucidia barked.

  “We must move her,” Darian said, rising and turning to his vampires. “I want answers, as quickly as possible. Whatever it takes.”

  Reykon pushed forward, falling to his knees in front of Robin, searching her pale, clammy face. He wedged his hands underneath her, gingerly, and pulled her up, cradling her limp body as they left the bloodbath and the rest of the vampires behind them.

  Chapter 12 Over the Edge

  Megan

  Duncan’s voice clung to her, haunting her. Perhaps there is nothing we can do at this point…

  She’d fallen into a shaky sleep after a few glasses of wine and some more wallowing. She hated sleeping, actually, for this exact reason. No matter what day it was, no matter how drunk she got, the second she dozed off, all she saw was Clay. Clay with his eyes full of hatred, eyes full of betrayal and his cruel, resigned words. One swing, Megan. He could see it in her, too, that cowardice. That she’d already given up. She was Fausta’s puppet, Fausta’s lapdog.

  He knew that there was no hope for her.

  Megan felt a hot rock of emotion lodge in her throat, growing with each second. She pressed her hands to her mouth, those tears springing forth. Don’t cry, she screamed at herself, the words hot and venomous. They’ll see you. And then another voice cut into her mind, the steely voice of her grandmother. What do you have to cry for, Megan? Eh? You think that you have it hard? She bit her emotions back even harder, squeezing her eyes shut, clenching her jaw together so hard that her teeth ached from the pressure. In my day, under the old law, you would have been left in the woods the second you ripped through your mother. Maybe if we’d done that, my daughter wouldn’t be the laughing stock of the pack. Don’t you ever let me see you cry for the life you shouldn’t have, not ever again. A whimper rippled out of her throat, just a peep, betraying her. She bit the side of her cheek, hard enough to sting, and smacked her hand against the side of her head. Thump. Still, that rock wouldn’t dislodge. Thump. Thump-thump. She panted, gasping for breath, wheezing like a damn idiot and trying to keep quiet about it. Megan forced her eyes open and looked around the room. It was entirely dark now, not even evening. She glanced back to the bed, finding it made, every pillow in pristine condition, the comforter smoothed over the mattress. Todd and the other humans were probably making the rounds with whatever royals were left behind. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone down a floor for a couple of days. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d be gone this time. He’d turned into a brother to her, he’d made sure she had someone to talk to, made sure she wasn’t drinking herself into a coma. Now, without him, without anybody, she felt fragile. Broken. Pathetic.

  Coward, she cried internally. Megan gripped the bottle that she’d left on the floor, right next to her bench, where it always was. She gripped it like a baby doll, and she turned it up, glugging until it hurt her throat, until it burned so badly her eyes teared up. She let out a slow breath and sunk back onto the bench. What do you have to cry for?

  Another swig. It could always be worse. But this time, as she said the words, she didn’t believe them. A bitter, acrid taste flooded her mouth, as bitter as it had been that day in the grand hall, when the remainder of Darian’s subjects had been slaughtered. The day she’d puked her guts up on Fausta’s feet. The day she was certain that she would die for it but was saved by the queen’s good graces. Megan had wondered over and over why Fausta would have spared her, why Fausta would have forgiven her and kept her alive.

  Now, she knew.

  Her blood. The same dirty blood that had earned her a lifetime of disgrace with her own pack contained the rare blood that Fausta saw value in. It was all about the blood and it had never been about her. Pathetic. Megan bit back her tears and drank some more, and then some more, until there was nothing left in the bottle. No matter what she did, it wasn’t enough to drown out her thoughts, her demons, her blood.

  Her mind gravitated to that bathtub, to that meager moment of tranquility she’d felt. Death is like a forest… Megan wondered what it would be like, wandering back into that tub, letting the water slip around her, letting the waves take her under slowly, quietly. In wolven tradition, it was only considered an honorable death if you went under the light of the moon, though that proverb had been interpreted to also include the sky, during the day, because it was seen as symbolic rather than literal. Megan’s eyes were drawn now, closer to that bright white
orb in the sky, cutting across the midnight blue clouds. It was dark outside, at least midnight, or later. It was probably quiet out there, too. Probably peaceful. She didn’t want to become Fausta’s puppet. She didn’t want to be the punisher of her people. She didn’t want to be the one wolf, the already disgraced wolf, the one that would betray her own blood just like her grandmother had predicted. She wanted to fight.

  …You are my most prized possession…

  Megan didn’t want to be Fausta’s. She didn’t want to be her mother’s illegitimate daughter, or the scourge of her people. She wanted to be free. She wanted to die with honor, and dignity. Under the full moon. Megan’s feet were moving before she knew it, rising on those shaky, drunken legs as a feeling of terror and panic wrapped its claws around her chest. Her fingers gripped the bottle hard, so hard that she knew it was close to cracking. She couldn’t break it; the vampires would hear her. She couldn’t let them stop her. This act, this ultimate act of rebellion, would be seen as disloyalty to the vampire queen, so she couldn’t risk being caught before it was done. Either way, there’d be no coming back from this.

  Maybe there is nothing we can do, at this point…

  But there was always something to do. Always the choice to opt out. To fight.

  Megan choked back another sob and set the bottle on the dining room table, softly, quietly, so nobody would hear her. She crept forward, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t decide if they were tears of terror or tears of hope. She couldn’t feel anything except dull, disjointed fear and the urgency to act, to do something, before she was lost entirely. Another step brought her closer. Another step, and she was looking at that moon, that perfect circle of white, and more tears streamed down her face, a small sob shuddering through her lips.

  “Girl,” a voice rasped.

  Megan faltered, turning back. She scanned the shadowy room, wondering where it came from, until her eyes fell on the cage. Duncan hadn’t pulled the curtain back over. She’d forgotten entirely about Magnus, forgotten that he was even in the room. She often forgot about him. Megan’s eyes drooped, blinking away the hot tears as she raked her teeth across her lower lip, trying to stop the cries, trying to stop the pain. She gave Magnus a single shake of her head, and turned back to the moon, forcing herself forward, her hands resting on those smooth door handles. The handles that would lead to her-