Page 9

I glance forward to see the massive doors to the council chamber rising above us.

We finally made it to the end of the magical corridor.

The doors loom fifteen feet tall, carved from oak and inlaid with iron and silver.

My skin itches in warning not to touch the metal.

I catch Costin’s scent on the other side of the door.

He’s not alone, but he’s all I can focus on.

I desperately want to be with him, but I fear my feelings are a manifestation of the sire bond.

“What’s in there?” I can’t help but ask.

I don’t want to go in.

“Welcome to Amphitheater Subterraneum,” Sully mutters.

“Like gladiators?” I look at Anthony for help.

Sully chuckles.

I wasn’t making a joke.

I don’t want to fight.

Well, fine, I do, but I’m trying hard to suppress that rage.

Anthony places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“It’s just a meeting place. Neutral territory.”

Astrid lifts her hand and pushes magic at the doors.

They swing open silently despite their massive size, revealing the council chamber beyond.

She leads me forward, forcing me to step in front of Sully to cut him off.

The room is circular and vast, with a domed ceiling painted to resemble the night sky, complete with luminescent stars that twinkle.

Tiered seating surrounds a central floor of white marble inlaid with a complex pattern of gold supernatural symbols.

Around the underground amphitheater, sitting above where I stand in what I can now only think of as a gladiator pit, are the most powerful supernatural beings from North America and the Old Country.

Their collective power makes the air feel thick and charged.

Or maybe it’s my imagination.

Either way, I find it hard to breathe.

I slowly turn, looking my judges over.

I recognize some of the North American contingent.

Of course, Costin is there, master vampire and my sire.

He’s not meeting my gaze.

Madam Britannia, the witch whose botanical shop in Maine disguises her role as head of the Eastern Seaboard covens’ alliance.

Elder Birch, the gruff wizard representative from the Appalachian mountains who’s been to our estate for my father’s hunting parties.

He carries potion bottles he calls moonshine, but I don’t think they’re filled with liquor by the way he always smirks when he says it.

Conrad once told me Birch is a prison warden, locking away the worst supernatural criminals.

I have no idea if that’s true.

The Old Country representatives are, largely, unfamiliar to me.

I might have glimpsed their faces at formal gatherings, but I was never introduced to them.

A pale woman with hair so blonde it appears white, her eyes an unnatural violet, watches me with clinical interest from what I can only assume is the vampire section, since she’s close to Costin.

She parts her lips to show fangs.

Beside the vampires sits a man whose features seem to shift subtly, as if he can’t decide which face to wear.

I have no clue what he is.

My father sits with Birch and the other magics.

He’s dressed in a formal charcoal suit designed to project authority and command respect.

Mortimer leaves our group to join him.

Next to them is an elderly man in elaborate robes covered in moving constellations.

His beard almost reaches the floor, and his skin is like parchment stretched over bone, with eyes milky with age yet somehow piercing.

My eyes turn back to Costin, his face unreadable as he finally looks at me.

He’s dressed in formal attire befitting his station as Master Vampire, a deep black suit with subtle crimson embroidery at the cuffs and collar.

I feel the sire bond pulling between us, a silent acknowledgment of our connection.

A chill sweeps through me.

I didn’t see Elizabeth enter, but she’s suddenly there.

She’s in a gown of blood-red velvet that clings like a second skin, the plunging neckline more tease than fashion.

The color makes her luminous pale skin look like she was sculpted from moonlight.

Her hair is twisted into some obscenely perfect updo with rubies (at least I think they’re rubies) woven through the strands.

She looks like a queen from some ancient, bloodthirsty empire, the kind that didn’t bother with trials before executions.

She takes a seat beside her brother as if it’s the most natural thing for her to do.

Costin stiffens at her presence but doesn’t move.

I wait for him to throw her across the room, to do something, anything to show he disapproves of her being here.

He doesn’t.

Elizabeth smiles a predator’s greeting, and I realize whatever game she’s playing has already started.

I feel the sire bond with Costin.

I don’t think I could really hurt him even if I wanted to.

Is that part of what keeps him from attacking his sister?

Simple vampire biology?

Some ancient bloodline magic rule to keep children from devouring their vampire parents?

The silence in the chamber feels deliberate, a pressure against my ears as all eyes focus on our unusual procession.

All eyes but my father’s.

He looks at the floor in front of me.

He’s ashamed of me.

I don’t fit the narrative he’s made for himself.

Having a human bastard was quaint.

Forgivable.

Having a hybrid monster with werewolf blood…

not so much.

I never asked for any of this.

I feel the rage stirring inside me.

Astrid leans closer.

I feel the tension in her, though her face betrays nothing.

The milky-eyed wizard by my father stands.

“I, Decimus, will speak for this council,” he intones, his voice surprisingly strong despite his fragile appearance.

“We recognize the Devine family and,” he pauses, his blind eyes somehow finding me, “the hybrid.”

The word ripples through the chamber, causing a stir among the supernatural elites.

I hear whispers in languages I don’t recognize.

I see pointed fingers and raised eyebrows.

Anthony appears at my other side.

His hand hovers near his ceremonial dagger.

It’s a gesture that would look casual to most, but I recognize it as preparing for trouble.

His eyes meet mine, and I give a slight shake of my head.

I don’t want him fighting for me.

“Anthony, go take your place by your father,” Astrid says.

He frowns and starts to protest.

“Go,” Astrid insists under her breath.

“Now.”

Anthony moves toward the seats, dragging his feet.

“We did not, however…” Decimus’ gaze shifts to Sully, who stands his ground without flinching.

“…extend an invitation to the wolf pack.”

“With respect, Elder Decimus,” Sully responds, his tone sounding anything but respectful, “the hybrid carries Thane’s blood. Any judgment of her is a judgment of werewolf interests. Since there are no wolves present on your council, we demand our historic right to be here.”

“Is that so?” Madam Britannia demands, her accent thick with an Old World cadence.

“And do you speak for all werewolves now, young one? The Alpha is dead.”

I find it amusing anyone would call Sully young when he’s clearly been around a long time.

“I speak for those who matter,” Sully replies.

“Until the Alpha is chosen, I command the wolves.”

“Enough,” Decimus orders.

Before Decimus can continue, the marble floor trembles and opens.

A wizard ascends from below onto the central dais.

Zephronis.

His robes move like oil poured over starlight.

The shifting constellations sewn into the fabric undulate as though alive.

The gold inlay beneath his feet pulses once in acknowledgment, as if serving as an introduction of his importance.

I feel a small glimmer of hope to see him.

His long, silver beard nearly brushes the floor and is exactly as I remember it.

His skin is pale but not frail, and his eyes glow with a faint violet.

It’s the same haunting hue that once bore into my soul before he called off my forced engagement to Chester Freemont with a single word: impossible .

That day, Zephronis had overridden every power in the room, including Uncle Mortimer.

He literally saved my life.

I could never have survived Chester.

I found out later that the wizard is older than most of the council’s bloodlines.

A true neutral.

A high arbiter of balance.

He doesn’t play politics.

He doesn’t take sides.

Except he did.

He took my side .

And then he vanished.

To see him now gives me hope.

His presence commands the chamber like gravity.

Some of the council members seem surprised to see him.

Decimus says in a patronizing voice, “Old friend, we did not expect?—”

Zephronis lifts one hand.

That’s all it takes.

Decimus shuts up and sits down.

The air tightens.

Silence deepens.

Zephronis sighs.

The sound releases slowly like a frustrated parent trying to compose himself before scolding his children.

“Balance,” Zephronis says, his voice smooth as glass.

The one word reverberates in a way that makes me think of an echo through time.

The wizard had seen much in his life, and I wonder at how tired he must be of the endless supernatural chaos.

As if hearing my frantic thoughts, he turns toward me.

“This Council convenes under ancient law, guided not by politics or blood, but by the eternal need for balance. And balance,” he pauses, and those glowing eyes lock on mine.

A ripple of tension passes through the tiers, but no one speaks.

No one dares.

I feel their eyes.

Their skepticism.

Their judgment.

“Balance is not a struggle between mortals and gods,” Zephronis continues, “or werewolves and vampires, or magics and monsters, but an agreement amongst us all. It is a pact to share all that we have, all that we are, and all we can be.”

Zephronis turns toward Sully.

“We’re not leaving,” Sully says before he can be kicked out.

“This session concerns the hybrid’s nature and the potential threat she poses. It’s not an open forum,” Decimus counters.

“The werewolves may stay as quiet observers,” Zephronis decides, as he gestures toward the empty seats.

Sully motions for the wolves to follow him.

They make their way above to watch.

I’m left alone with Astrid, and naturally lean closer to her.

I don’t want her to leave me too.

“My daughter poses no threat,” Astrid states firmly, remaining in the pit with me.

“She is a Devine, and as such falls under our responsibility. We will take care of her.”

“Your daughter,” Elizabeth interjects, looking down at us, “tore apart three goblins with her bare hands and tried to consume a fourth. All within my brother’s residence. I think it’s obvious she can’t handle her new powers.”

I feel rather than see Costin’s reaction through our bond as he quickly suppresses a flicker of rage.

“Goblins who wouldn’t normally dare enter a master vampire’s home. Goblins who, I suspect, were sent to attack her just as they were when she was a baby. She was defending herself, as any of us would have.”

“Sent by whom?” Decimus demands.

A moment of silence follows his question.

I can feel Costin’s reluctance to speak the name aloud in this chamber.

“Davis?” Decimus forces the attention onto my father.

“What do you know of these attacks on your daughter?”

“Nothing but speculation,” my father answers.

He glances at me but doesn’t keep my gaze.

“We have reason to believe Leviathan is involved,” Astrid puts forth, causing another ripple of murmurs through the assembly.

“The necromancer?” Decimus scoffs.

“He has been quiet for centuries. Why would he concern himself with a hybrid?”

“Perhaps because she is unprecedented,” Elizabeth offers.

“A successful hybrid of vampire and werewolf has never existed before. Such a creature would naturally attract attention.”

“Why is the vampire whore allowed to speak?” Madam Britannia asks.

“She is the cause of this magical imbalance.”

“It was a werewolf spell,” Elizabeth dismisses the accusation.

“I’m the one who stopped Thane. You should be thanking me.”

I start to call out the lie, but Rhea beats me to it.

“Liar! Murderer! It was your spell!” Rhea jumps to her feet and tries to charge toward Elizabeth.

Sully restrains her, struggling as she snarls and starts to shift.

He growls loudly and throws her so hard against her seat that it cracks beneath her weight.

He points his finger in warning, forcing her to stay on the ground.

The chamber erupts in chaos as everyone begins to argue.

Energy ripples in warning from the magics while the vampires push up from their seats and bare their fangs.

The witch holds up a bottle of green potion as if ready to throw it.

Decimus materializes a long staff.

Zephronis again lifts both hands, and everyone instantly stops.

I feel a subtle ripple of magic wash over me from the gesture.

He waits for everyone to settle before slowly lowering his arms to rest at his sides.

“If I may,” I speak for the first time, my voice steadier than I expected.

All eyes turn to me, some curious, but most openly hostile.

“I didn’t ask to be turned. I didn’t ask for any of this. But I’m standing before you, in control of myself, willing to answer your questions. That’s why we’re here, right? To see if I’m a mindless monster?”

Elizabeth smirks.

She’s enjoying herself.

I can practically see her mind calculating ways to push my buttons.

I remember her offer for a cure.

Is that her plan?

To force me into a corner so I have to beg her for help?

Madam Britannia holds her potion but no longer threatens to throw it.

She leans forward.

“Control is relative, child. My sources tell me you’ve been restrained for days. That you attacked your own sire.”

“It wasn’t…” I think of sex with Costin and can’t bring myself to explain.

I mean, come on, my parents and every elder on the continent are right here staring at me.

“It wasn’t an attack.”

It wasn’t just an attack, but something far more primal.

Heat rises to my cheeks, remembering in exact details what happened between Costin and me.

Even now, the bond between us pulses when his eyes meet mine.

“I was newly turned and confused,” I answer carefully.

“I’ve since learned better control.”

“With the aid of suppression potions,” Decimus notes, his eyes flicking to Astrid.

“Not true control. What happens without it?”

“We were all young once,” Elizabeth says with a laugh.

“Who here hasn’t gone on a violent sexual rampage?” She laughs harder and points at Madam Britannia.

“Well, clearly you haven’t. Even a dead goblin wouldn’t fuck that sour?—”

“Enough,” Decimus orders.

“Vampire whore,” Britannia grumbles.

“Dusty spinster prude,” Elizabeth answers.

“Lord Constantine,” Decimus demands, “control your sister.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrow, and her smile becomes stiff.

Zephronis raises a hand, calling for silence.

He looks weary.

“Lord Constantine. You are her vampire sire and well-respected by this council. I would hear you speak as to her nature.”

“Her true nature,” Costin says softly, “is complex. She is both vampire and werewolf, and something more entirely. She saved the lives of many. She tamed Draakmar and kept him from ending the world. She faced the labyrinth as a mortal. She stopped magic from being stripped from the world?—”

I watch Elizabeth’s stiff face and frozen gaze.

I can practically feel her invisible rage.

“—and redistributed to those who would destroy centuries of tradition. And she survived death to become something magnificent.” Costin’s lip twitches subtly, breaking his stoic demeanor.

It was slight, but I can tell I’m not the only one who caught the expression.

Zephronis looks at Sully.

“Since Thane is not here to claim his place as her maker, I would hear from his second. Sullivan, speak.”

Sully stands, his chest puffing up with his own importance.

“Thane bit her before the vampire. The wolf blood in her is strong. Alpha blood. It calls to her true nature.”

“She is an abomination,” a voice calls from the far side of the chamber.

It takes me a moment, but I see Birch is the one talking.

“She should be imprisoned.”

Anthony glares at him as Mortimer holds my brother by his shoulder to keep him seated.

“Such hybrids have been forbidden for good reason,” Birch continues.

“They cannot maintain the balance between natures. They inevitably go mad.”

“Yet here she stands,” Astrid counters, her voice cutting through the growing tension.

Zephronis looks toward Birch, Mortimer, Anthony, and my father before turning to where Astrid stands beside me.

“Lady Astrid, speak on behalf of the Devines.”

“I will speak for my family,” my father says, standing as Mortimer pushes him up by the arm.

“Lady Astrid,” Zephronis prompts, dismissing his interruption.

“My daughter has always defied expectations.” The way she calls me her daughter carries weight.

“She should not belong to the vampires or the werewolves. She is a Devine. We take care of our own. She belongs with us.”

“She is a wolf,” Sully protests.

“She belongs with me,” Costin says, his voice smooth as it carries over the chamber.

Zephronis raises his hand, and again the chamber immediately quiets.

He steps off his raised platform and comes toward me.

Touching my cheeks, he holds my face as he looks into my eyes.

I feel a steady pull of magic from his fingers.

I have no clue how long I stand there, being studied, but when he lets go he lowers his head for a long moment.

“We have not gathered to cast judgment, but to assess the threat to balance. The hybrid will be tested.”

“Tested how?” Anthony asks.

“Her control. Her loyalty. Her nature.” Zephronis gestures to the center of the floor, where the marble pedestal he just abandoned pulses with light.

“Step forward, Tamara Devine. Stand in the circle of truth.”

I hesitate, looking at my father, at Astrid, at Costin.

None of them seems surprised by this request.

Sully gives a small growl to get my attention.

He lowers his jaw and slightly shakes his head as if to tell me, “Don’t do it.”

Astrid takes me by the shoulders, blocking Sully from view.

Very softly, she explains, “The circle strips away all magical influence, including the potion you took.”

I swallow nervously, understanding the implication.

Without the potion suppressing my wolf side, with all the heightened emotions of this chamber, I might lose control.

Exactly what the council wants to see.

“If I refuse,” I whisper back.

“They’ll assume the worst?”

She nods.

I can hear her words echoing in my head, “ Remember who you are. ”

Taking a deep breath, I step forward.

My silk dress whispers against the marble as I walk toward the platform.

I feel their eyes on me, the weight of their judgment, their curiosity, their fear, their need for control.

When I approach the circle, I see the symbols more clearly.

The ancient runes represent all supernatural factions, intertwined in a complex pattern that vibrates with power.

When my foot crosses the boundary, I feel a sharp tingle that races up my leg and spreads throughout my body.

The suppression potion burns off like water on fire-heated stone.

The itchy necklace breaks and falls.

Suddenly, every sense is heightened.

I can hear heartbeats around the room.

I smell the distinct scents of different supernatural beings.

Power presses against my skin like heat before lightning.

The wolf inside me stretches, no longer muted, and the vampire responds in kind.

I am fully myself for the first time since the attack, both natures present and demanding attention.

And I am standing in front of the most powerful supernatural beings in the world, expected to prove I’m not a monster.