Page 16 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

T uesday evening is uneventful, aside from Gabriel and Pierre concocting some kind of ‘raid’ in the kitchen when Zander and I came to have a late ‘supper.’ I still have no desire to make use of blood bags, but Terry and Zander have both warned me that a lack of blood will not only affect my abilities but also desiccate me if I am not careful.

“What are they planning?” I ask of Zander as we hastily exit the kitchen, blood bags in hand. Pierre and Gabriel soon leave on our heels, thankfully turning in the opposite direction.

Zander seems to enjoy any manner of blood offered to him, but he tells me that some Vampyrs have a preference–warm from the vein; cold from the fridge; or different types, such as O positive.

I still can’t wrap my mind around all of this. Some Vampyrs actually prefer to drink blood straight from the vein, essentially mortally injuring innocent people?

Ironically, my dark thoughts foreshadow Zander’s response.

“They’re probably going to hunt down some innocent people tonight–‘gearing up’ before the party,” Zander responds, adjusting his black jacket as we head out into the blackness of the night. We’re going to the back gardens for some fresh air, ‘to drink in peace. It’s too crowded in there!’ to quote Zander.

“Isn’t that–” I begin.

“Wrong? Cruel? Dick-ish?” Zander attempts to finish for me, shrugging as he bites the cap off his blood bag and then spits it out. “Yep.” He reaches down to pick up the plastic piece before shoving it into his pocket. “But there’s no use trying to stop them.”

The way Zander is discussing this with me now tells me that there must have been a time or two when he attempted to stop his older ‘brothers’ but to no avail.

“Doesn’t la Reine have specific rules about hunting humans?” I ask. “I thought she told all of us to be discreet.”

Zander shrugs again, brown eyes churning with disdain. It’s an odd look for him–usually, he’s quite happy. Laughing and joking come easily for Zander, despite the bloodthirsty monster beneath the surface. I admire that about him. I used to think that was an act to camouflage his guilt and self-hatred (why would anyone actually want to be a Vampyr?), but after all this time, I know it isn’t.

“Sure she does. But she turns a blind eye to her favourites. She’ll give them a finger-wagging after she sees the newspaper headlines of some random ‘drug-involved deaths,’ and then they’ll get back to it in a couple of weeks.”

I frown as we approach the dead rose bushes that were so important to the previous Queen. “I suppose cover-ups work some of the time–but what if they attack wealthy tourists?”

Zander sighs after taking a healthy swig from his blood bag. The scent of blood on his breath nauseates me but also makes my nerves crackle, as if my body is slowly lighting itself on fire. I’ll have to feed soon–much as I despise it.

“Bad news for us–sort of,” Zander responds as I finally twist the cap on my own blood bag. “Every once in a while, a tourist will be able to get away before getting psychically coerced. The Queen has had to pay off a few people. It still risks our exposure, though.”

I shake my head in disbelief and revulsion, but then again, am I so different? I’ve killed someone in cold blood. Someone who could have had a partner, children. Someone who had a job, an identity, a life. And I took all that away from them.

“Let me guess,” Zander groans as I take a slow, hesitant sip from my blood bag, my fingers involuntarily squeezing more blood into my mouth, surprising and horrifying me in equal measure. “You wanna track them down and make sure they don’t do anything stupid?”

I bring the plastic spout to my lips, taking in the enthralling yet terrifying whiff of the crimson substance before taking another wary swig. “Maybe,” I concur, my stomach ablaze with the warmth, the power, the energy that the blood has given me.

Zander turns his head from side to side, considering. “Didn’t you say Gabriel threatened you to stay out of his way?”

I pull up the collar of my leather jacket against the frosty Winter gales. “Yes. But I want to protect as many people as I can from this.”

Zander fiddles with his blood bag for a time, making me wonder if he has something ‘heavy’ he wishes to tell me. He finally meets my eyes, his own looking sorrowful.

“Look, man,” he murmurs solemnly against the dead foliage that acts as an eerie backdrop to our conversation. “Vampyrs are predatory creatures. We hunt. We enjoy it. Some of us don’t like that we do, but it’s in our DNA now. We just can’t help it. Bunny diets never work. Human blood is what does it for us.”

“Bunny diets?” I repeat, scrunching my brows in bewilderment.

Zander laughs at my confusion. “Giving our love to the squirrels doesn’t help, either.” He’s grinning ear to ear, but I don’t understand his reference.

“Haven’t you caught any of the Vampyr TV shows?” he inquires. “I binged a bunch when I turned.”

“Sierra watched a few. I remember a redheaded man named Klaus. That’s about it.” I try to recall. It hurts to talk about Sierra, but it also feels good, at the same time–as if mentioning her now makes her a part of my new existence.

Zander lets out a peel of laughter as I sip the blood that’s electrifying my body with a charge of happiness, satisfaction, and pleasure. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, and invigorating. It makes me dizzy. It makes me calm. But all of these positive feelings make me dread having more. What if the euphoria I’m experiencing now is enough to eclipse the negative aspects of drinking human blood? I can’t let that happen.

“Klaus is a fictitious dude, alright,” Zander chortles. “We can’t be half-anything. And no one from our side of the tracks dares to get it on with a Korama.”

I don’t really understand what he’s alluding to here, but I’m sure Sierra would understand. I block her out of my mind the best I can, trying instead to focus on Zander’s reference to the Koramas. It brings me back to my partnership with Verity and the strange incident with the Queen four days prior. Lenore has been her usual self since I didn’t overhear her private counsel Friday afternoon.

Perhaps Zander knows something about her meeting, about the strangely vague scent I experienced upon closing in on la Reine’s chambers? He enjoys researching all things Magicena, so perhaps Zander knows more than he lets on.

“Where are you going?” I call when I realize Zander is halfway through the aisle of deceased shrubberies, going in the opposite direction.

He turns to frown at me. “Aren’t we killing their buzz?” he questions, referring to Pierre and Gabriel, I assume.

I swallow nervously. “Right.” I begin to follow him, downing the rest of my blood bag so I can stop thinking about the meal, the high, the warmth it leaves within me. But I know now that it never goes away. For over four months, the hunger for blood has coloured every thought, every action, and every movement I make, even while sleeping.

“They shouldn’t be doing anything like this before the big party, anyway,” Zander carries on as we circle the enormous side of the Clair de Lune Manor. “It’ll send a bad message. The Magicena are way more discreet than us. Causing shit like this the night before we go over there is just a bad idea.”

I clear my throat, remorse blanketing my resolve to ask Zander about the Queen’s secret meeting in as roundabout a way as possible. Involving him in this risky and potentially deadly partnership with Verity makes me feel nauseous all over again.

But if I don’t tell him everything, perhaps I can spare him, just cause him to think I am asking out of curiosity and not necessity. I also keep reminding myself that what I am doing will actually save Zander, Terry, and Zain. If the Magicena and Vampyrs are secretly in collusion with each other and murder dozens of Koramas, the wolves will in turn slaughter as many of the allied factions as possible. Pacifists like Terry and kind-hearted individuals like Zander would be caught in the crossfire.

“You enjoy researching the Magicena way of life, don’t you?” I query as we pass the front of the estate. No one seems to be out here, though my ‘Vampyr senses’ are still adjusting. I’m a bit better at discovering different scents–the Korama who almost killed me, as an example–but even still, I only really discovered her when she was almost on top of me.

Zander glances this way and that, likely checking for potential eavesdroppers before looking back at me. “Yeah,” he concurs, excitement colouring his features. “The only person who actually cares about my research is Maman. But even then, I’m careful what I tell her.”

Oh my God. The Queen takes an interest in his Magicena knowledge.

This is getting bigger and bigger.

“I don’t know much about them,” I admit. “Are they like the witches and warlocks in literature, the media? Using herbs and such?”

Zander smiles at me, waving his index finger at me in reprimand. “Shame on you, Darren,” he tsks . “Going to a big party and not knowing a thing about your hosts?”

I can’t help but smile as we cut through the snow-crusted lawn on the fringes of the Queen’s property. As we meander onto the road, Zander turns to look back at the manor. Maybe he’s checking one last time for Vampyrs before continuing. Despite his senses, he’s still wary. I’m bothered by this. Perhaps asking him about the Magicena wasn’t a wise course of action.

“But yeah,” Zander breathes as we pass by a neighbouring estate with twinkling lights and a wintry wreath hung against its double doors. “They’re pretty bad-ass, to be honest. Some of them dabble with herbs and plant life even if they’re prone to using ancestral magic or necromancy.”

“Hmm,” is the genius response I give.

Zander rubs his temples. “God, I have a headache,” he grumbles. “I need more blood. Should’ve picked up another bag on my way out.”

“We can always turn around,” I offer despite the fact that seeing more blood will either tempt or destroy me.

Zander shakes his head in dismissal. “I’m fine. I’ll get more when we come back– if we come back,” he jokes. “Gabe and Pierre hate us enough as it is, and now we’re ruining their fun.”

“We don’t have to–” I begin.

“No. We have to at least try to do some damage control. I can teach you the art of coercion, too.”

I swallow an uneasy lump in my throat at the thought of manipulating a human being. If I hate being controlled by the Queen and my Vampyr urges, why would I exert that same level of force over someone else? But what if that ‘someone else’ was being tortured, practically bled dry by a monster, potentially left to deal with years of trauma and lifelong fear?

Maybe things aren’t as black and white as I initially thought…

“I’ve never wanted to use these mind control powers ,” I confess quietly as we wait to cross the nearest intersection. “But I can see that it’s a different story if the person in question has been abused.”

For the first time, I wonder if my powers of coercion could have saved Verity the pain of almost getting raped. I wonder how many times she thinks about that over the course of a day–if it plagues her dreams, her confidence, her soul.

“Can Koramas be coerced? Or Magicena?” I find myself adding hastily in case he grows suspicious.

“Magicena–yes. Koramas–no,” Zander responds. “Apparently, a vamp found that out the hard way a couple of centuries back. Anyway, humans are susceptible.”

I mull over coercion and then the idea that instead of asking Zander about Magicena and herbs outright, I could’ve asked him if he had been in the Queen’s chambers on Wednesday and had smelled that scent for himself. I guess there was an easier way to involve him without getting this far, but at least now I know a little more about Magicena. Zander is correct about knowing your enemy–or hosts–better before entering their domicile.

We’re silent as we traipse through several icy blocks. It takes me a while to realize that I am actually following Zander. He must be able to sense Gabriel and Pierre. When I force myself, I can almost catch a hint of their essence–but not much of it to really make a difference in my direction or pace. I only truly feel it because of my desperation to be useful, my intense concentration.

“When will I be able to sense other factions–even my own–more effectively?” I finally inquire, annoyed with myself. It’s surprising: now I’m actually hoping for my Vampyr senses to kick in?

Zander throws his head back and laughs. “It’s different for everyone. Subjective. You’ll get it soon enough.” He looks across the way at a nearby tavern. “They’re only a few minutes ahead of us. I feel like we’re close.”

We then notice a few women stumbling out of the pub, laughing and joyful–overly joyful. Pierre and Gabriel slink around them, chortling and boisterous, as always.

“Ah-ha. Of course,” Zander grumbles.

“It does make sense,” I agree sourly.

Taking advantage of intoxicated women is akin to breathing for the two Vampyrs. It’s no small wonder that we would find them here.

We follow them to a narrow alley around the corner from the tavern. The smell of garbage, dead animals, and spilled beer burns my nostrils. It brings back horrific memories of the night I killed that degenerate who was trying to violate Verity. I try to suppress the guilt by way of a shudder. I do not have the time to focus on my traumas–not when there are innocent women here who can fall victim to other predators.

We hesitate. We’re at the tail-end of the bar, knowing if we move any closer, Pierre and Gabriel will be suspicious. Patrons travel around us, laughing, back-slapping, shouting erratically.

“There’s always a chance they’ll just–” Zander begins, but then we hear a sudden howl of pain from around the bend. The drunken partiers don’t even hear it–or if they do, they’re too inebriated to understand its significance.

Zander and I rush for the curve in the block, my eyes widening at the scene before me. Gabriel has the redhead he’d been with before pushed against the wall, hands and body weight restraining her. His face is pressed into the side of her neck, her screams growing more pronounced as his head moves against her in an unnatural way.

Suddenly, her shrieks stop. She’s still, her green eyes rolling to the back of her head, eyelids heavy and eventually giving in to fatigue. Perhaps passersby would have thought they were merely in the throes of passion. However, the smell of blood, the glittering crimson substance trailing down her neck but hidden by shadows to the human eye, are unmistakable clues to Gabriel’s real intentions.

Pierre is next to his ‘sibling,’ the terrified blond from earlier staggering under his oppressive presence. It’s clear she is trying to get away, but Pierre has her arms pinned against the peeling brick, relishing in her fear.

“Darren!”

Zander is shaking me, shouting my name. It takes me a long and painful moment to realize I’m not moving. All I can hear is my heart thumping in my chest; all I can see is the delicious blood dripping down the redhead’s blouse. Saliva pools in my mouth. All I can think about is the blood–and wanting a taste, myself.

“I need to help the other girl! Get yourself together!” Zander yells in my face, but I’m still completely frozen, unable to truly understand my friend or think clearly about the situation. For the life of me, I can’t remember why I was rushing here, why I wanted to intervene.

Sounds of a struggle echo on the fringes of my mind, unable to penetrate the hunger and desire that have corrupted me. I only become more lucid when I hear Zander cry out in pain. I quickly turn my head, seeing Pierre tossing his now-dead victim aside, grabbing Zander, and slamming him into the dark brick wall.

“You’re killing my vibe, little brother!” he taunts, grabbing Zander by his neck and twisting. A hideous snap occurs. Zander’s body lies limp against the asphalt littered with broken beer bottles and used napkins. The blond Pierre was drinking from is next to him, the colour already drained from her face.

“Zander!” I holler. His motionless body sends shockwaves down my spine. Vomit spews into my mouth, my gnashed teeth stopping the liquid from spilling through my lips.

Is he dead, too? Could I have done anything to stop it?

Before I can even blink, Gabriel is in my face. He grabs me by the collar of my jacket and glances over at Pierre, his rash actions causing the redhead to stumble and collapse in a lethargic heap on the ground. Her green eyes are open, but I can see the life slowly draining out of her body. My concern for her is eclipsing my desire to drink from her–but only by inches.

But there’s no time for self-loathing now because Gabriel is clearly plotting my demise. I hold my breath, mind spinning with worry for Zander, the girls, and even for myself.

“What should we do with Monsieur Pierce, brother?” Gabriel sneers, not taking his eyes off me. “Snap his neck? Or just kill him?”

Snap his neck? Or just kill him?

Yes. That means Zander isn’t dead. In my terror of losing him, I couldn’t recall the specifics regarding how a Vampyr dies. Neck snapping will temporarily immobolize a Vampyr, but it won’t kill them.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

I’ve heard a lot of frightening things in my twenty-six years of life–but no other five-word phrase compares to the cunning murmur from Pierre’s grinning mouth as he approaches Gabriel. Pierre’s hazel eyes meet Gabriel’s dark brown ones, and without another word spoken between them, they seem to know exactly what the other is thinking.

Without any further nonverbal communication, Gabriel shoves me against the wall while Pierre grabs the barely conscious female by gripping under her shoulders. She whimpers at the contact, as if Pierre’s movements have given her more sobriety.

“Please don’t!” She trembles as Pierre’s sneer spreads across his face like he’s some kind of sadistic serial killer. He shoves her over to Gabriel and me.

The look Gabriel wears sends a chill throughout my body unparalleled to the Winter temperature as he grips the arm of the terrified woman and yanks her over to us. Pierre gives her one final push as Gabriel tows her toward me, her green eyes staring up at me pleadingly, as if I’m the only person who can save her now.

Gabriel tugs the woman’s long and matted hair away from the side of her neck, her red locks stained with the sticky substance that makes saliva pool in my mouth. My jaw is clenched so tightly that the ache in my temples graduates to unrelenting agony. I’m trying to keep my teeth, my growing fangs, away from her at all costs–but as soon as I see the blood seeping down her wounds, ringing blares in my ears. My lower lip curls under, my teeth sinking into my own flesh as a last-ditch effort to stop myself.

“Aw, come on, you big baby!” Pierre laughs, slapping me on the back as the woman continues to sob in fear. “Have you even made a kill yet, Darren?”

My mind flashes back to another alley, another horrific evening: my first murder.

The floodgates reopen. The guilt, trauma, the taste of that man’s blood on my tongue–

It’s raw. It’s real.

My first murder.

It sounds so unfathomable that it’s illogical–but it happened.

And it might happen again.

Without Zander as a buffer or an ally, with my dwindling self-control, and Pierre and Gabriel closing in on me with the frightened redhead in tow, it’s just so hard to resist.

You need to fight it.

You need to fight it!

I shut my eyes, hoping if I don’t see her, the blood, the temptation, I won’t crave her essence.

I’m wrong.

I can smell it, sense it, practically taste it .

“Look at her!” Gabriel exclaims, crushing his hand into my chest, causing my eyes to spring open. I choke, reeling backward as Gabriel breaks my ribs in an attempt to keep me trapped and alert.

“Come on, she looks so good , doesn’t she?” Pierre drawls, trailing his fingers down the woman’s damp throat. Her pulse is like a bass drum hammering in my ears.

“You know you want her, Monsieur Pierce,” Gabriel whispers to me, his lips practically touching my ear. The blood on his breath pushes me further into the asphalt. I know I’m blanched and zombie-like without having to see myself as proof.

“She looks delicious…” Pierre smiles at the woman, who is now begging him to leave her alone. He digs his fingernails into her wounds, causing her to yelp. “And she tastes even better!” he cries out, smearing her blood against my face in one swift and cruel gesture.

My jaw unlocks, my fangs complete their growth, and I lunge for her in a blind dash. I sink my teeth into her neck. She screams, but her cries for help are drowned out by her pulse, her heartbeat, her warm blood splashing into my mouth. I swallow, greedy for more. I think I hear Pierre and Gabriel laughing in the distance but I’m unsure if that is truly the case.

I stagger to a halt when a sudden crack stops my thirst. I gasp when the female’s head rolls down the dirty alleyway. I let go of her lifeless body in horror.

Gabriel and Pierre continue to chortle. “Oh my God, he ripped her!” Pierre slaps his knee like he was just told some flimsy knock-knock joke by a drunken friend.

“You should play with us more often, Monsieur Pierce!” Gabriel hoots, clapping in between his hysterical laughter. I suppose he let go of my chest at some point, but I was too consumed by that poor woman’s blood to notice.

My God.

I killed her.

She’s gone.

I can’t bring her back.

If I hadn’t gone so far, I could’ve used my blood to heal her.

This is my fault.

I am the monster who ended her–not Pierre. Not Gabriel. Me.

I sink to my knees, grabbing hold of her headless body, trying in vain to revive her. This only increases the Vampyr Princes’ hysterics. They turn from me and saunter off, likely looking for their next kill.

And I’m just as bad–if not worse. They’re outwardly devilish. I put on this front of gentility and morality, but on the inside, I’m just as much of a murderer as they are. At least they’re upfront about their intentions.

Tears stream down my face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I sob, but I know there’s no amount of apologizing or remorse that will change what I’ve done.

Large raindrops pelt my vulnerable skin like frosty bullets, but I don’t care. All I care about is the dead woman in front of me. She died in vain, full of anguish and fright. And I caused all of it.