Page 14 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

SIX HOURS EARLIER

T ailors and designers buzz about la Reine and the Noble Family, bowing, measuring, snipping, and awing. Zander and I are situated at the other side of the Queen’s intricately decorated living room. Zander tugs unhappily on a too-tight tie while I stifle a wave of unrelenting nausea as Gabriel and Pierre sneer at me from a distance.

“What’d you do to piss ‘em off?” Zander asks quietly with his back to his brothers as he brushes a piece of lint off the shoulder of my black suit jacket.

I say nothing on the off chance my ‘brothers’ will be able to hear me over the excited chatter and hustle and bustle of the Queen’s subjects. I do widen my eyes in a way that tells Zander not to discuss the subject any further. He laughs once. Simple and subtle yet loaded, all at the same time.

“They’re asshats,” he whispers to me, finally pulling off his black tie and tossing it over his shoulder. “That’s it. I’m wearing sweats,” he proclaims.

“You will not, mon fils!”

Zander jumps a mile when Lenore hands the tie back to him. She must have caught it mid-air. I just hope she didn’t intercept our conversation too early. I don’t want her knowing there is dissension between Gabriel, Pierre, and I–and even Zander.

Zander presses his lips together and sulks plainly as Lenore pats his cheeks with her hands after slinging his tie over his shoulder. I have to say that though Zander doesn’t particularly seem to share the Vampyrs’ hatred of the other factions–he’s wary but not bloodthirsty–he definitely has a soft spot for the Queen. Then again, he’s had five years to develop a relationship with Lenore.

If someone like Zander can find something likeable about her, maybe hope is not completely lost for me forging some kind of bond with her. But there is something about her–or, much about her–that I do not trust. She knows more about my death than she lets on, yet she has never once told me anything about my abrupt demise. I stopped asking after a while, when her tight-lipped, flippant responses were lacking in information.

It still baffles me how all these Vampyrs–the Daywalkers, along with the dozens of Nightwalkers within the province–are all so unrelenting in their loyalty to the Queen. Maybe if I had been a Vampyr for a longer period of time, four years instead of four months, I may see things differently. Perhaps I would bow down to la Reine like all the others and not think twice about her clandestine plans with the King of the Magicena. But it’s impossible to ignore now.

The two leaders of their respective factions are likely plotting a massacre of the Koramas. And despite the fact that the wolves would probably concoct a similar attack against us, it doesn’t really make matters any easier to swallow. Besides, they aren’t teaming up with another race to wipe out the other. Wouldn’t Verity tell me that if she knew about it? Being a Kormo, I’m sure she would be privy to that kind of information.

I’m snapped back to this time and place when the Queen turns to look at me, sending a chill down my spine. “Et tu, mon fils?” she inquires as I scramble to recall what we’d been discussing. “Please tell me you won’t be adopting this philosophy as well.”

“I’ll be wearing a suit,” I respond in French after clearing my throat.

Lenore claps her hands together and kisses both my cheeks, giving Zander a firm glance before gesturing to me. “Listen to your brother,” she commands in French, causing Zander’s pout to increase tenfold. “You two are so handsome. Who knows, you may find true love in five days. It will be February fourteenth, after all!”

Zander frowns at her. “But Maman, we already know all the Vampyrs who’re going to be there.” He adds slowly, as if he’s misinterpreting her words, “Unless you mean Magicena and Koramas?”

La Reine giggles as if Zander’s question is amusing. She pats his face again and waltzes back to her wardrobe consultants, accepting a glass of champagne from a well-dressed waiter with a silver tray of refreshments.

“She’s probably drunk,” Zander murmurs to himself, and the Queen exclaims a dramatic ‘hmph!’ at him in response, causing Zander to chuckle.

“I suppose this jacket would work with this tie,” I muse, picking up the soft gold garment from its resting place on the table between us. The wooden surface is adorned with probably two dozen ties–the cast-offs Pierre and Gabriel threw at us while trying on garment after garment.

“Sure will. Everything goes with black.” Zander yanks a deep crimson tie from the bottom of the pile, dangling it in front of me. “Too much? Too ironic?” he jokes, causing Terry to give him an eye roll as he saunters past, a gray suit jacket slung over one arm.

“Makin’ some progress, eh?” he asks, looking at the ties in front of us.

“Yeah. I’m done.” Zander shrugs out of his white suit jacket and grabs his black dress shirt from the small chair behind him. He holds everything out to me. “You be black. I’ll be white. Don’t change your mind. I want to stand out.”

“I thought you wanted to wear sweats,” I point out.

He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll meet Miss Right, like Maman said.” He looks over at Terry. “Can I borrow your walking stick? I want to look suave .”

Terry narrows his eyes at Zander. “After you lost my favourite copy of Macbeth ?” he counters.

“ ‘Favourite’ implies you have more.” Zander grins and moves around us, clapping my back on the way.

Terry scoffs but gives Zander a smile the young man can’t see as my ‘brother’ moves for the exit, outfit for the party slung effortlessly over his shoulder. I catch Gabriel and Pierre eyeing Zander as he exits. Zander smiles and bids ‘farewell’ to the waitresses his older ‘siblings’ mocked using some grotesque ratings scale.

Zander is nothing like Pierre and Gabriel. They belittle him, shun him, and exclude him. Personally, I think they are jealous of the respect and obvious affection he’s earned from everyone here.

Pierre and Gabriel were both turned ten years ago by Lenore. They’ve had a plethora of time to connect and band against the rest of the world. It’s clear Zander is the odd one out–as am I. That’s probably one reason why Zander and I get along so well. Another is because he doesn’t seem to ignore his humanity–what’s left of it, that is. It’s the same for me.

“Ignore ‘em, mate. That’s what I do.”

I glance at Terry, who is clearly miffed by the laughing and hooting from the two Vampyrs.

“Easier said than done,” I murmur, eliciting a twinkle of amusement in Terry’s blue eyes. “Does the Queen often employ humans?” I inquire as Pierre and Gabriel continue to whisper about the human waitresses and various elicit and inappropriate exploits. Unfortunately, every Vampyr in the Queen’s large living space is privy to the disgusting exchange. The Queen’s staff, of course, are not. I fear for their safety as well as their lives.

Terry nods once. “They get paid well. Get to live in the servants’ wing. It’s usually a sweet gig.” He gestures to Gabriel and Pierre with disapproving eyes. “Except yer brothers’ll drain ‘em of blood, then use coercion to keep ‘em quiet.”

Coercion.

It’s even worse than I feared.

“That’s deplorable,” I sigh.

“That’s bein’ a Vampyr–for some of us.” Terry points to my suit jacket with his own. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without a book in hand. “Did yah settle on a monkey suit?”

“Yes,” I respond, shrugging out of my black jacket. I forgot I was still wearing it. “And on the bright side, it doesn’t have to be taken in.”

“That’s because you are a scrawny excuse of a man, Monsieur Pierce.”

Gabriel slithers past us like the mischievous snake I know him to be, with his lapdog Pierre in tow. Both Vampyrs laugh at the blank look on my face followed by one of surprise.

“Oh, rack off, both of you,” Terry startles me by snapping at them.

“ Rack off , old man?” Pierre taunts, causing Terry’s cheeks to redden. “No one wants you here. You’re old news.”

Terry looks indignant, his blue eyes swelling with offense, hands balling into fists at his sides. His suit jacket quivers under his arm, betraying his agitation

“Drinking and boorish behaviour are all you’re good for. It’s getting tiresome,” I find myself spewing at the two of them. I usually don’t partake in quarrels like these, but I care about Terry.

Pierre and Gabriel look at each other, thrown by my insertion into the fray. Then, they both laugh and saunter out of the Queen’s living room, Pierre gesturing to one of the lingering waitresses and whispering something in her ear. She leaves her silver tray on a side table and leaves with them, Pierre’s arm around her shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that for me, mate. You’re in hot water with ‘em already.” Terry smiles at me as he adjusts his formalwear against his arm. “But thank you.”

I give him a small smile in return. “You’re my friend, Terry.”

His grin widens. “You’re a good bloke, Darren.” His eyes dart to his right when we both hear someone call to him. One of the Queen’s Noble Women. “Well, duty calls. Horoo,” he bids me, slapping my arm before walking over to the redhead.

Despite Terry having being turned and adored by the former Queen, he is very much appreciated and cared for here. The Queen’s court dote on him and vice versa. I’m not sure why Gabriel and Pierre need to be so barbaric toward him, but I suspect that is in their genes. Becoming Vampyrs–immortal, powerful, and blameless–likely only exacerbated their already-hideous personalities.

ONE HOUR EARLIER

My heart is rattling in my chest like an imprisoned bird trying to escape its cage, the racket thundering in my ears as icy pellets hinder my vision.

I’ve already crossed the border.

I turn to look behind me, seeing the endless rows of trees I just passed. I’ve already traipsed through the sparse treeline that fringes the Vampyr side of the Heavenstream National Park.

Who else is in the park with us?

Verity tells me she often patrols this area. Based on the information I’ve received from Lenore, Zander, and Terry, wolves rotate in protecting their territory. I should have expected another Korama to stumble upon our meeting place at some point or other. I guess I would have assumed Verity would sense them long before we’d be discovered. Perhaps she felt the same about me.

Maybe if I was an older Vampyr, I would have been able to sense this other Korama. But newly-turned Vampyrs don't have that ‘sixth sense’–not yet. Terry says I have to ‘grow into it’–likely after multiple exposures to Koramas and Magicena. I’ve had no such luck in that way. Now it’s going to cost me dearly.

I know I can use my Vampyr speed to flee the wooded area. I know I have strength and power on my side, and though I don’t like tapping into my Vampyr ways, I know I'd be able to do so in order to survive. But the human part of me–the minuscule aspect of who I am that constantly claws in vain to get to the surface of my being–is terrified.

Terrified of the wolves.

Terrified to die.

Even if I question my existence, the will to survive, to live, is still present. I guess that’s my humanity talking. Perhaps I have more of it than I expected.

If you don’t want to die

That’s all Verity sends to me.

That’s not a good sign. Verity may be a handful, but she is definitely one for finishing her train of thought–even if she has to trample over you to do it.

She must have been interrupted.

I waste no more time.

Going back now.

I’m quick to turn on my heel and make my escape. I can’t hear anything other than the inclement weather as I use my Vampyr speed to dart around trees, fallen branches from recent rainstorms, and black ice threatening to undo me.

And then, like a boisterous blast of metal music interrupting a tranquil morning, I hear it. The crazed shuffle of footfalls that signify someone running–someone who has inhuman agility in their arsenal.

The Korama.

I can suddenly smell the wolf, sense the change on the wind and in the air. Of course, this is all too little, too late. If Verity hadn’t warned me–

No time to think about my deficiencies now.

I heave in a stressed breath as I whizz through the dying or dead vegetation, the eerie forest bowing to the snarls ripping from the throat of the wolf pursuing me in human form.

I’ve seen the fortitude of Koramas in wolf form, but I have no idea of their prowess while they are still people. From what I’ve heard from Terry and seen from Verity, I know not to underestimate the Korama hunting me.

Relief surges over me like water dousing an agitated fire as I approach the border between Korama and Vampyr Territory. As soon as I cross it, I take a moment to hunch over and catch my breath.

I’m safe.

The footfalls behind me are not receding as I thought they would. In fact, they’ve increased in pace. When I turn, I see a woman careening through the thinly populated fringes of the border, murderous eyes and a cunning smile framing her face.

She’s not stopping!

I struggle to right myself and turn, running as fast as I can to get away from her. I suppose if I ignore the Territory Law, I shouldn’t expect the opposite from Koramas.

I still have a breadth of space between my attacker and my current position. I hope this will be enough to ensure my getaway. But the breath is knocked out of me when a sudden thunk causes me to crash to the icy turf below, feeling a hand slam my head to the ground. I scream in agony when another hand thrusts through my back. Moisture erupts from my eyes as shock wars with uncontrollable pain, rendering me eerily anchored to the frozen ground.

The misery is so terrible that I yell a second time as the hand twists inside me, clearly searching for my heart. My breath hitches somewhere in my throat, cutting off my yowl of pain.

The weight on top of me doubles. The sensation doesn’t last for very long. I roll onto my back, coughing up blood. I try in vain to breathe as a ruckus erupts from close behind me. Clutching my chest, I slowly raise my torso and wearily turn my head, unable to move fluidly enough to be alert to any new threats.

Verity drags the girl away from me using her black ponytail, then shoves her a great distance. My stomach churns when I see that my attacker’s arm is saturated with my blood. Perhaps this is poetic justice based on what I am and the murder I committed. That guilt has haunted my dreams even though I know the man I killed was doing something repulsive before his death.

Verity’s voice cuts through my train of thought as the excruciating pain causes me to go into a stupor again.

“Are you fucking nuts?” she exclaims to her Korama comrade, positioning herself in front of me. I can barely see her boots through squinted eyes and hoarse choking.

“You’re on Vamp Territory , Chi! Get the hell out of here! And this is MY KILL !” Verity thunders through my dull senses.

If Verity is putting on a show to alleviate suspicion, she is very convincing. I’d be more frightened if I wasn’t already on the on-ramp to being dead all over again.

If I play my cards right, we might be able to pull this off, and pull it off well. I’ll just have to appear as though I am afraid that Verity is a threat, as well. And if I’m honest with myself, that is more than true. With a kill order hanging over my head, I’m fortunate that Verity and I have made a deal instead of her using my head as a bowling ball.

But at the same time, I truly believe she and I have more in common than just having the same fears–fear of death, fear of our comrades, fear of getting caught. I don’t want her getting into hot water with the Cold Moon Pack, so I’ll do what I can to help. I’ve never been good at acting, but–

Here goes nothing.