Page 4 of Blood Sings (Beyond the Gloom #1)

Fighting a pounding headache and roiling nausea, I elbowed my way through the throng of projectors crammed into the palace’s bustling foyer. The white marble walls glared under crystal chandeliers, each sparkle a dagger to my eyes.

Oomph.

“Watch it!” A woman in a white coat—from the Healing Corps, no doubt—stumbled as I collided with her. She landed hard, letting loose a torrent of curses.

Hundreds of curious glares bore into me, twisting my insides into knots. Fire licked at my cheeks as I raised a hand to shield my face, mumbling “Sorry!” and hurrying past Derzelas’ alabaster statue toward the exit.

My pulse pounded as I pushed through the heavy doors, desperate for escape.

Finally breaking free of the stifling foyer, I gulped in the cool night air, hoping for relief—only to gag on the rotten stench of dead animals wafting from the Eternal Blood National Park.

My insides revolted.

The taste of decay and copper filled my mouth as I doubled over, losing the battle with my insides. Visions of crushed corpses and vile ichor flooded my mind, forcing a violent heave.

My stomach emptied onto the pristine steps, a scarlet stream trickling down toward the stone fountain below. I swiped at my mouth and droplets coated the back of my hand.

Water jets hissed and danced in front of me, reaching for the sky between three ivory busts—our revered Creators, Derzelas’ sons: Dracula, Lucian, and Marcus.

The squeak of boots had me tensing like a drawn bowstring. Dammit. The last thing I needed was an audience.

“Well, well. Ain’t this a pretty picture?” a harsh male voice grated against my ears like nails on rusted metal. Three others chimed in with discordant laughter.

Just what I needed. Perfect.

I wiped my mouth once more and spun around, dismissing Matei’s lackeys with a scathing glance before locking eyes with their ringleader. That gaunt face, those beady eyes… and dear god, that hair. Cropped short on the sides and back, but sprouting a good two inches on top like some demented yellow shrub.

Matei Covacs. Wurdulak loyalist with an over-inflated ego—and a bad dye job. My unfortunate colleague .

As the Ninth Ward First Defensive Guild’s commanding officer, we were forced to work together more often than I cared for. Like today’s nightmare of a mission. And with each encounter, I became increasingly convinced that evolution had taken a wrong turn with this one.

“Come on, boys,” he drawled, flashing crooked teeth. “Let’s give the halfblood-loving princess a proper greeting.”

On cue, the four of them executed the most ludicrous bows I’d ever seen. The reek of antiseptic and sickly sweet liquor wafted over me. Palinka. That piss-poor excuse for booze the Wurdulaks peddled.

White-hot anger sparked within me, burning the nausea into something more violent. This idiot had just lost a quarter of his outliers, and he was in the mood for jokes?

“Tell me you weren’t playing cards in your control room while the Stalkers nearly wiped out your guild,” I hissed, grinding my teeth.

Matei shrugged, and something in me snapped.

“You bastard!” I lunged forward, seizing the lapels of his leather coat. Tears of fury streaked down my cheeks. “You could have helped! Why? So many lives… we could have saved them!”

He pouted. Onyx eyes danced with cruel amusement as he cocked his head. “Aw, don’t cry, little Tepes. Filth breeds like rabbits. Plenty more where they came from.” His thumb swiped at one of my tears.

Red crept into my vision.

Still gripping him tightly, I swung my fist. Etiquette be damned.

It connected with a satisfying crack, but he shifted at the last second. My knuckles met teeth instead of jaw, pain shooting through my hand as the skin ripped against bone.

“You’re repulsive,” I spat, rising on my toes to get in his face. “I hope you choke on your own ignorance!”

I shoved him hard.

He staggered back, spitting blood. The amusement on his face vanished, replaced by murderous rage.

I bared my fangs and hissed, beyond caring that he towered over me like a muscle-bound mountain. “Scram, you worthless maggots!”

Like a force of nature, Selena materialized beside me, her elegant blood-red pantsuit screaming ‘hot date.’ A restless energy crackled from her, making me giddy. At five-foot-three, my best friend packed enough venom in her voice to corrode stone and more courage than half the army combined.

Raven-black hair slipped over her pointed ears as she fixed Matei with a glare that could wilt flowers at fifty paces.

Without missing a beat, her lip curled with the same disdain one might reserve for week-old roadkill.

His pulse quickened, a vein throbbing in his neck, and I suppressed a triumphant smirk. Selena had a way of making even the toughest men simultaneously fear and crave her approval.

Her obsidian eyes flicked to his lackeys, and they froze like deer in headlights. “Are you deaf? Or simply stupid?” she snarled. “Walk away before I code your Nexuses to self-destruct on your next activation.”

Matei hesitated, ping-ponging his gaze between us as blood trickled down his sharp chin.

Selena’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits. “Hey!” She snapped her fingers. “Did I stutter? Beat it!”

With a final sneer in my direction, Matei signaled his goons. “Let’s go.”

They skulked away, and a Cheshire cat grin spread across my face. “Can you really do that?” I muttered, half-hoping to see them slip and break their necks. They’d heal in minutes, but their egos wouldn’t.

“Of course,” Selena drawled, rolling her eyes. “But I wouldn’t risk my job on those morons.”

Fair point.

Selena held the same rank as me, but as head of R&D in the Healing Corps, she had a code to uphold. As a medical lieutenant, she’d gone for the big brain career—and the fat paycheck that came with it. Every Nexus in the past decade had passed through her brilliant hands in one form or another.

“I knew you weren’t just a pretty face,” I teased, nudging her shoulder.

She smirked. “Don’t you forget it.”

I looped my arm through hers, and we sank onto the top stair. Away from my vomit. Exhaustion hit me, weighing down my shoulders. The night had caught up to me, and it wasn’t even close to being over.

“A?” Sel asked after a brief pause.

“Hmm?”

Her thousand-watt smile lit up the darkness. “Did you really punch Matei Covacs in the face?”

I shrugged, unable to hide my satisfied grin. “Guess I did. Bastard had it coming.”

“They always do,” she said sagely. Then her head tipped back, and that infectious laugh of hers spilled into the night. I couldn’t resist joining in, my shoulders shaking.

“Oh man,” she wheezed, “if Elena finds out, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Sel always had an off, kind of brutal, way of lightening my heart.

I groaned, jabbing a finger at my face. “Take a good look. If she does, I’ll be Miss Harambea’s prisoner for the next decade.”

“The manners teacher?” She chuckled.

“Shh!” I hissed, glancing around in jest. “Don’t let her hear you call her that. But yeah, who else?”

Sel’s body went rigid, her brows knitting together. She leaned in close, rudely pinching the skin under my eyes. “Wait a minute… Is that…?” Her voice turned to ice. “Did you Transpect again?”

Shame burned my cheeks as I averted my gaze to the pocket of her jacket. The last time I’d admitted to using the Astral Visor was three years ago, and she’d nearly lost her mind. So I’d kept it to myself.

What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt us, right?

Selena pulled back, and we both turned to stare at the sprawling park. A wall of uncomfortable silence rose between us as she fixed her gaze on the busy street below, while I focused on the distant aerodrome nestled among the trees.

It was still early for takeoff, but the pilot flying today’s zeppelin into the combat zone had agreed to overlook the extra supply crates I’d snuck into the cargo. At least my Sparrows would have warm clothes and new mattresses to stave off the biting cold.

Unable to bear her cold shoulder any longer, I met Sel’s eyes. “I had to,” I admitted, my voice meek. “The Limuses were tearing through them. Sharing their pain… it was the least I could do.” Fresh tears stung my eyes as Blaze’s strained farewell echoed in my mind.

She sighed, raking a hand through her hair. Her heart raced like a galloping horse, but her face could have been carved in stone from all the emotions she let show.

“What happened today?” she asked flatly.

Huh. Looks like I’m not the only one keeping secrets.

Deciding to let it slide, for now, I dove into rehashing the mission. By the time I reached Harbinger’s guild engaging the Glacies, her pulse had settled.

Interesting.

“A,” Sel said, her voice carefully neutral, “in nine decades of war, the Stalkers have never shown signs of intelligence. Are you sure you didn’t imagine it? Maybe the stress—”

I shot her a look. “The scanners don’t lie.” Clasping my hands behind my neck, I exhaled and stared at the clear sky. “You should have seen them, Sel. Their reaction was instantaneous. They moved like a single unit, coordinating perfectly to intercept the outliers’ advance.” My voice faltered, a shudder running through me. “It was almost like… a hive mind.”

If I was right, if the Stalkers were evolving, things could get a whole lot worse. An intelligent enemy with seemingly endless beasts to replace the ones we felled. The consequences were horrific.

Sel’s heart rate spiked again, and I lowered my arms, studying her closely. It wasn’t the Stalkers’ potential evolution that had her on edge. She’d been calm throughout that part of my story. No, this was something else entirely.

I cut straight to the chase. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sel’s pupils dilated. She hugged herself, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“I don’t want you using the Astral Visor again,” she finally said. “It’s not good for your… your mental health. It affects you.”

A snort escaped my lips. “Come on, Sel. We both lied tonight. Be honest with me.”

The vein in her neck had a pulse on its own now. It had always been her tell. “You’re too involved,” she blurted out. “Outliers are expendable. They don’t last long on the battlefield.”

My heart clenched, an iron anchor dragging me down. I swallowed hard, willing the night to hide the tears pooling in my eyes. “I know that,” I muttered.

Hundreds of notebooks, filled with the names of the fallen, lined my bookshelves and the space beneath my bed. If the Republic wouldn’t honor their memory, I would. I had to.

Selena pulled me close, her cheek resting on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I just… don’t want you getting hurt. The Republic sees them as resources, A. Resources to be used up.”

I tried to pull away, but she held tight.

Then she continued, “You can’t afford to get attached. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Words failed me, so I settled for a nod. It must have convinced her, because she hauled me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink. A Blood Pact and a few pints of blood will fix that broken heart of yours.”

I grimaced inwardly. The thought of another meaningless one-night stand made my stomach churn. I hadn’t shared this with her yet, but lately, I’d craved more—someone who understood duty came first and would be there to hold me after a long night. But what my heart desired wasn’t easily attainable. Few purebloods would accept playing second fiddle, and I couldn’t blame them.

“Can’t,” I managed, my voice thick. “Mother summoned me to dinner.”

“Want me to swoop in for a rescue?”

That forced a smile out of me. “Now that would start a war we couldn’t win.”

She grinned, winking. “That’s my girl.”

Just like always, she’d pulled me back from the edge.

A waft of jasmine trailed behind her as she sashayed back toward the palace entrance, her stilettos tapping sharply. “You know where to find me,” she called, flashing a final smile before vanishing through the towering doors.

My smile evaporated. The leaden weight in my stomach refused to budge, and I realized I hadn’t even asked about her date. Some friend I was.

The iron hands of the tower clock crept toward three, each tick bringing me closer to the inevitable: starched napkins, stilted conversation, and Mother’s disapproving gaze.

But first, I needed to see the zeppelin off. The distant roar of engines thrummed through my chest as I stood on Aviators Boulevard, fingers curled inside my pockets.

A sharp hiss sliced the night air as the aircraft detached from its mooring tower. I watched the zeppelin ascend, its golden hull gleaming in the moonlight like a delicate film of water catching the glow of distant flames. My lips moved in a silent prayer to our Dark Father, begging for protection on its journey.

The Stalkers were nothing if not unpredictable.

Tearing my eyes from the sky, I spun on my heel and strode down the bustling avenue toward the din of laughter. Near the palace, blood dens thrived, their red-and-white tablecloths and glowing string lights stretching across the road.

I ducked between a gnarled trunk and an old street sign pointing to Liberty Street in faded letters and caught a whiff of HemaTech-9—my favorite blend of synthetic blood—above the sweet perfume of jacaranda blooms.

My mouth watered, fangs itching beneath my gums.

Right on cue, the giant screen across the intersection crackled to life, static giving way to Andrei Stoica’s chiseled features. The Republic’s official newscaster smiled with perfect, gleaming teeth, his burgundy eyes a shade too dark for an original. Somewhere along his line, an ancestor had strayed from the conjugal bed and sought pleasure in the arms of a pureblood.

Behind him, the Republic’s five-blazoned flag glowed in the spotlight, its bold colors overshadowing the unconvincing bookshelf backdrop.

“We have news from the front,” he announced, his syrupy voice drawing people like moths to flame.

An excited murmur rippled through the crowd. I gripped Father’s pocket watch, my collar feeling too restrictive suddenly.

“Today, a group of Stalkers known as Limuses and Glacies infiltrated the Ninth Ward,” Andrei intoned, his face a mask of rehearsed concern. “Our brave projectors, the pride of the Crowned Republic, intercepted and forced the enemy to retreat. Once again, we emerged unscathed, reporting no casualties.”

I ran a hand over my face and glowered at the moon, frustration burning in my chest. My superiors had ignored my reports yet again—

“Did you hear that, Mommy? We won,” a young girl chirped from nearby.

I snapped my eyes to her, all corduroy and innocence, strolling hand-in-hand with picture-perfect parents.

The mother crouched, tapping her daughter’s tiny nose. “Yes, my love. The heroes of this country, the projectors, are protecting us. We have nothing to fear.”

Nothing to fear.

A groan clawed up my throat, but I swallowed it down. Only the fear of Mother’s wrath kept me from hurling a rock at Andrei’s smug face.

Unable to bear the spectacle any longer, I turned my gaze to the monolith at the end of Aviators Boulevard. Corvin Palace loomed over the First Ward, a colossal white structure stretching two-hundred-and-seventy-six feet into the sky. The sheer number of windows could keep you counting for an entire night.

On the rooftop, the Republic’s flag fluttered in the wind, its stripes bearing witness to our fractured nation. Red and gold—the colors of the purebloods—dominated the fabric, but thin ribbons of blue, green, yellow, and brown wove through the design, a fading reminder of our mixed-breed citizens.

The sight tugged at my heart.

When had we abandoned our values? Was it when we cast them aside? Or when the government imposed Total Rendition, branding them enemies of the state? Their national colors still threaded into our very standard—prominent enough to be seen, but too thin to truly matter.

Andrei Stoica’s voice boomed over the crowd, “Our skilled projectors efficiently vanquish the Stalkers, guarding our nation and sparing precious pureblood lives!” His arms rose in a rallying cry. “The Tsardom of Russkaya’s downfall draws near. Hail the Crowned Republic of Transylvania! Long live our nation! Glory to the five-blazoned flag!”

“Long live the Republic! Glory to the five-blazoned flag!” they echoed.

I watched the crowd, torn between contempt and pity.

Except for Bogdan Enescu, my godfather and commander, no purebloods in the military had seen actual combat. We hid behind fortified walls while outliers faced death. We weren’t heroes—just cowards in sanitized chambers.

Our Republic, once a sanctuary where mortals found strength and longevity—living up to five hundred years—was crumbling. We’d strayed from our original role as advocates for democracy, seduced by greed and power, aided by technology.

This wasn’t the Republic of my childhood.

My superiors deemed the outliers unworthy of the ink needed to fill up the reports. In their eyes, there were no casualties on the battlefield today.

No official records of their sacrifice. No witnesses to their bravery. And my own accounting felt even more necessary now.

A searing agony shot through my chest, and haunting images of the battlefront flashed through my mind—crimson-eyed Limuses tearing into fallen outliers with yellowed, sharp fangs. Shredded clothes and viscera littered the ground, punctuated by desperate, gurgling screams.

I rubbed my knuckles over my heart, trying to ease the ache.

Fourteen…

Fourteen people died today on the Ninth Ward’s front.