Page 25 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

K iran doesn’t listen as he continues to drain Verity of her life force. The Nightwalker next to him is now focused on Terry, bracing himself for attack. Terry’s blue eyes are widened and full of fear, staring at the Nightwalker and backing away from the fight. He looks caught between saving Verity (though I doubt he knows she is the wolf dying before us) and protecting his own life.

I made a vow to never take another life. Up until this point, I’ve stayed true to that promise. I fought, I defended, but I haven’t slain. But Zander’s death, combined with Verity’s impending demise, are rattling loose my principles like fraying threads succumbing to the inevitable.

I’ve lost so much. My family lost me. One of my only friends in this new life was brutally murdered–all because I had to involve him in this ridiculous war!

This is my fault!

I don’t have to think much longer to come to a new conclusion.

I won’t be the cause of anyone else’s death or suffering–not someone who doesn’t deserve such a fate.

I can’t lose another person, especially to such a callous circumstance.

I lunge forward, knocking into Kiran and catching him by surprise. Verity stumbles into a helpless heap underneath us as I attempt to block Kiran’s homicidal advances toward her.

“Get off of her!” I exclaim, hoping that a stern warning will dissuade him. But I can see the hatred Kiran has for the Korama boiling beneath the surface of his hazel eyes–and the same hatred turns on me when he realizes I'm in league with the wolves.

“Her?” he gasps between clenched teeth. He throws out his hands in an attempt to thwart my approach. “You traitor! How dare you betray la Reine! When I’m done with this monstrous whore, I’ll–”

He doesn’t have the chance to finish his threat. I slam my hand through his chest, pulling out his heart before I can change my mind.

I ignore the fact that I am just as brutal as Gabriel, killing Kiran the same way he killed Zander.

He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill her, as well as any other Korama he could get his hands on. He surely would have murdered Terry and I for our change in allegiance. The humans scattering away from this mess were also in danger–especially because of their injuries, which weigh on top of my trauma, grief, and self-control like bricks against glass.

It needed to be done.

Kiran’s knees slump to the icy terrain, freezing rain piercing his dullened and lifeless eyes. I suck in a tortured breath as I let go of him, letting his motionless body slip through my fingers and cascade onto the ground.

I know I’ll feel remorse for this. But that can come later.

What has happened to me? I fret as I wheel around in place, stooping before a dying Verity. Her eyes are shut, her body rippling slightly. Bones are breaking in disjointed thrusts, causing her to twitch unnaturally.

“She’s dying, mate. Shifting back to human form.”

I turn to look up at Terry with tear-filled eyes. My hands are shaking, wanting to do something, anything, to save her, but panic and fear are halting my mind and body.

“You can save her. Heal her like I taught you.”

Terry’s words are calm and soft despite the crisis happening around us–shifted Koramas who are more skilled in battle than the ones already in the clearing jumping into the fray to defend their own, distracting Kiran’s partner. His sentiment snaps me back to reality.

I bite into the tingling flesh of my wrist, ignoring the flames of pain licking my self-inflicted injury. I pry open Verity’s muzzle with my opposite hand, forcing the crimson liquid onto her tongue by digging my knuckles into my wound as hurriedly as possible.

My heart is hammering in my ears. My breath is coming out in strangled gasps as Verity’s limp black body continues to contort back to her human state. Her heartbeat is slow–downright agonizing to hear. I don’t know which beat could be her last. If she doesn’t stop her transition from wolf to human, I’m assuming that means that she will still die.

I can’t bear to watch her like this. It hasn’t been that long since we first met–and it wasn’t at all like other relationships I’ve had because as a general rule, kill orders weren’t on my head as a human being–but I know I won’t be able to live with her absence from this reality.

What does this mean? Am I developing feelings for her? Or is this just my expression of friendship for her, which I already know is quite strong?

It’s hard to untangle my feelings for the dying Korama in front of me, but I also feel like doing so now is pointless. What use is labelling my attachment to her if she doesn’t survive? What’s most important is Verity getting through this.

“Good on yah. You did it.” Terry pats my back as the snapping gets louder–or maybe it’s just my fear of Verity dying that is making my senses overwhelm me. “Be patient. It takes a tick,” he adds as I wipe my brow.

My pulse is racing. My skin is hot and clammy despite the wintry chill.

All I can think about is Verity. Will she survive? What if Terry is wrong and my blood didn’t get to her in time?

The ruckus from behind us makes us turn slightly to see Koramas decapitating and murdering Vampyrs. Terry sighs, causing me to turn my attention to him. Even a brief departure from the girl behind me is making my stomach churn.

“I don’t even know which bloody side to take anymore,” Terry grunts, swivelling to regard Verity.

Her body is unmoving amidst the bloodied snow and ice, her eyes closed. I no longer hear her slowly-thumping heart.

My stomach crashes through the frigid earth when I ponder the unthinkable.

I was too late.

“My God,” I breathe, barely able to get the words out through the overwhelming heat stinging my eyes. “Is she–”

A large crash from the foliage behind us breaks through my question, revealing an enormous black wolf several hands taller than Verity. Its large eyes are livid as it descends upon us.

“Blimey! It’s the Korma!” Terry yelps as we back away, the Korma (Paxton, I believe) landing in front of Verity and snapping his jaws at us.

“We were just trying to help her,” I try to explain as something knocks me on the back of the head.

A dull ache spreads through my body. I drop to the ground like a sack of bricks, remembering my final altercation as a human all too well.

It sounds like Terry is in a heap of trouble as well: I hear him protesting as scuffling sounds join the blackness impeding my vision.

I force myself to be alert with every ounce of my draining consciousness, dragging myself over to a wounded Terry, rousing him awake by shaking his shoulders. His temple is bleeding. I’m afraid to move him, even if he is a Vampyr.

Just as Terry is coming to, I turn to see five Vampyrs surrounding Paxton and his Kormo. As they leap for him, Paxton attacks in a frenzy. He kicks one Vampyr behind him using his hind legs, crashing her through a tree trunk. Another Vampyr leaps onto his back, yanking out fur and biting the skin between his shoulders.

When I know Terry is safe, I use my Vampyr speed to grab hold of the Vampyr on Paxton’s back, throwing him off of the Korma as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the other three Vampyrs just close in on him further. The tearing of flesh, Paxton’s howls of pain, and the occasional cackle of glee from the Vampyrs make my skin crawl.

I’m just about to assist Paxton when the Vampyr I threw darts for Verity. It’s not difficult for me to choose between the Korma and Verity, despite not wanting harm to come to either of them.

I crouch in front of her, facing my opponent, and snap his neck. His eagerness to ‘finish the job’ made him dismiss the fact that I could sneak up on him. At least he is out cold for a time–not dead, but nonlethal for the time being.

I sink to my knees in front of Verity. Thank God she is still a wolf, but I don't know if she succumbed to her injuries before she could become human once again. I still can’t hear her heartbeat.

“Verity!” I yell, grabbing hold of her shoulder that is sticky with blood and matted fur. “Verity! Please wake up!”

Her relentless but endearing snark, her endless slew of insults at my expense, the glimmer of sensitivity brewing just under the surface of her tough-as-nails persona…

Her kiss, the way we danced together…

I hold my breath, wondering if this is the end.

I look up just in time to see one of the Vampyrs plough their hand back as if they were throwing a baseball, slicing Paxton's head off his shoulders.

“No!” I scream.

But that’s not the only scream I hear.

A black blur zooms from within my peripheral vision. Verity lands on the Vampyr who just killed her Korma, closing her muzzle over her head.

Crunch.

Verity spits out the head and kicks it in one fluid yet eerily graceful motion at one of the Vampyrs charging her. The force of the blow cuts the Vampyr’s body in half. The last Vampyr doesn’t give up his pursuit of Verity. She stands on her back paws, raising her arm back just like the dead Vampyr did to Paxton. She swings her paw forward, and gore splatters across the warzone.

Verity thuds onto all four paws and rushes to Paxton’s decapitated body, throwing her head back and howling mournfully. The sound reverberates through the entire National Park. The grief in her cry is almost tangible.

Before Terry or I can even move, Verity begins to spiral. She lunges for the nearest Vampyr and decapitates her before she can even turn her head to see the oncoming threat.

“Verity!” I attempt to holler, but Terry grabs hold of my arm before I can stop her.

“Don’t do it, Darren!” he warns me, blue eyes full of fear. “When a Korma dies, their pack is bent on revenge! She’s on a killing spree! Don’t get in her way!”

She’d never try to kill me.

I know her better now.

Terry and I are abruptly engulfed by Koramas–fully-shifted wolves who are destroying Vampyrs at every turn. The humans who are still alive are screaming and running for cover. All the blood, the mayhem, the dying–

I squeeze my eyes shut, the ringing in my ears, the pooling saliva on my tongue, the frantic drumming of my heartbeat telling me to give in to my Vampyr urges and join in on the killing, the shared bloodlust of my contemporaries, who are still murdering humans and wolves alike instead of getting to safety…

All this threatens to overwhelm me.

One thought cuts through my almost impenetrable desire for human blood:

She needs me.

I pull my arm free, trying to make firm but earnest eye contact with Terry in my frenzied state. “She needs help!” I press.

Terry looks taken aback by my sentiment. “Darren, do you–” He trails off as we both narrowly avoid a collision involving a Vampyr and an enraged Korama. “Do you know her?” he tries again.

I hesitate. If I let on that I know Verity–that we have a relationship, whatever it may be at this point–I’d be putting us both in danger. I’ll have to choose my words very carefully. But at the same time, how else can my behaviour be explained?

Our conversation gets interrupted when Terry is yanked forward, a Korama ready to chomp him to bits. “Terry!” I holler.

His blue eyes are filled with horror as he screams in anticipation of his own slaughter. The wolf has his neck gripped between its jaws, balancing on its hind legs with one of its front paws holding the Vampyr in place. I’m lunging for him, knowing I’ll have to do the unthinkable to save my friend.

A sudden growl erupting from behind the Korama causes it to turn its large beige head, trailing its jaws along Terry’s throat along the way. He whimpers in agony.

I recognize Verity through the thick and uncompromising sheets of freezing rain, but something is different about her now.

She’s bigger.

Leaner.

Her brown eyes are more experienced.

She snarls again, opening her muzzle. The Korama drops Terry instantly. He sinks to the snowy and blood-soaked earth, rolling lopsidedly to get out of the way. I’m quick to grab hold of him and help him up, steering him away from the two wolves. We somehow avoid the black ice as we back away from the chaos.

“Bloody hell!” Terry wheezes, choking up blood as I assist us both in standing.

The two Koramas dart away, ending what seems to be a now-winning war against the Vampyrs. Humans have completely deserted the battleground. Some didn’t survive the ordeal. I wonder what horrors await the rest.

Vampyrs lay dead and mutilated all around us. Koramas are beheaded, drained of blood, or tossed recklessly aside by Vampyrs. Paxton’s headless body is currently being guarded by two angry Koramas, snapping their jaws at anyone who comes close to their fallen ruler.

“Darren! We gotta leave, now !”

I hear Terry’s words attempting to penetrate what feels like thick and unruly fog. I understand why he would say that. The Koramas are no longer in danger here. The Vampyrs getting annihilated are those who wished war, betrayal, and vengeance on their enemies. We owe them nothing, harsh as it is to think. To stay would also mean giving the grieving and agitated Koramas a clear shot at the already-dwindling Vampyr nobility. I’m unsure if they will heed Verity’s command to leave us be.

But Terry doesn’t understand. I can’t leave. Not when she’s in trouble like this. Verity abandons reason and control when she gives in to her anger. I don’t want her to get killed in the process–though, looking at the enormous black wolf ripping into screaming Vampyrs’ throats, it doesn’t look as though she needs my help.

“Darren!”

The severity of Terry’s tone combined with the frosty wind causes me to look at him in surprise.

“The Magicena are working with the Vampyrs!” he tells me earnestly.

Shock ripples through my being at the notion that he now believes the same as I do–but I don't have time to capitalize on it because he is continuing the conversation, and I need to keep up with him. “They’re doing something to keep us invisible! If you want to help your mate”–his blue eyes churn anxiously at his use of the term–“then we need to find ‘em and stop their magic!”

I realize that Terry is right, despite the fact that I want to stay in this bloodbath–something I’d never do under normal circumstances for fear of succumbing to my desire for blood. When I turn to look back at the fray, I’m surprised to see an empty arena.

The wolves have left.

All who remain are dead or in the throes of it. The tumbling shards from the ebony sky and the crimson splattered across frenzied snow and cracked ice are an eerie backdrop to what could have been our demise.

We were spared.

The freezing rain intensifies as Terry and I make our way back to Clair de Lune. I feel like I left my heart somewhere back in the National Park. My anxiety skyrockets with each passing moment. I just hope we’re not too late. More souls could perish before we get to the bottom of this cruel chaos.

I’ve informed Terry of everything–the sage, the secret meetings, the spelled objects theory. He seems to think that the Magicena would have met up with the Vampyr resistance at the Queen’s mansion.

Zander (I can’t even think of his name without stumbling in the snow, lost in grief) and I never saw or sensed any Magicena out and about when we were patrolling the manor, but perhaps they arrived when most of the other Vampyrs were given their orders to ravage the city. The Magicena’s powers are vast. Perhaps they can cloak themselves? That is Terry’s theory as we rush back to our side of town.

We know that Lenore meets with Andre and the rest of the Magicena faction behind closed doors, and her locale of choice is her chambers.

We’re banking on this possibility. It might be a long shot, but it would explain why the Magicena have been oddly missing from the skirmish. They are behind the scenes, colluding with the Queen from a safe haven while the rest of us toil and die out in the trenches.

Time is of the essence. Now that the Koramas are rudderless without their leader and are bent on vengeance, we have to attempt to end this conflict once and for all–or at least stall it.

We burst through the doors of the mansion, walking right past the guards at the foyer, who look at us quizzically. For a moment, I wonder if they will try and stop us–but we are a part of the Vampyr elite. Despite my misgivings about being a Vampyr, at least our social standing gives us some kind of immunity.

What’s more, are these guards putting on a show for our benefit–a ruse of bewilderment when they truly know the score? Lenore has her hand in everything that takes place within these walls and beyond. It wouldn’t surprise me if these Vampyrs knew exactly what was transpiring outside the tranquil confines of this gated community.

We reach the Queen’s level after what feels like an eternity, neither of us saying a word as we approach the door to the fifth level of the manor. We share an uneasy glance when something strange and unnerving assaults the air around us just as Terry’s hand grips the ornate golden doorknob. It’s not a scent or tangible sensation–but it pebbles my skin with goosebumps and causes my heart to pick up its tempo.

“D’you feel that?” Terry inquires, releasing the metal, blue eyes churning with displeasure.

When I make contact with the doorknob, a sudden swelling of nausea overwhelms my stomach. I haven’t eaten or fed in hours–not since Zander and I ‘powered up’ before the evening’s events–so bile spews up my throat instead of any previously-digested food. Vampyrs absorb blood faster than they do food, as it gives them more nourishment. This is also why we crave it so often. What a vicious cycle.

But I digress.

I also release the doorknob, frowning at Terry. “Do you think–”

“Oh, yeah. It’s been bloody spelled, mate.” Terry glances up at the dark wooden door. “She knew someone would come snoopin’,” he whispers.

My heart stops for a brief moment when I realize something else about the Queen’s spelled corridors. “I can’t hear anything,” I remark. “And I smell–”

“Sage.” Terry nods once. “We’ll need to–”

The door flies open. We step back in alarm.

My heart skids to a second painful halt when I see that none other than Lenore herself is before us, green eyes wide with alarm. Her crimson dress matches her hair, tied into a hasty braid. It looks like she was asleep until just now.

“Ah, mon fils!” she cries desperately, shocking me by grasping me into a tight embrace. “Qu’est-ce que tu passes? I heard about the commotion.”

I frown, hesitantly placing my hands on her back in response, knowing I can’t show any kind of foreknowledge around her. Either she is putting on an act, knowing Terry and I are more aware than we seem, or she truly doesn’t know we are uncovering the truth about her and the Magicena. Either way, we need to remain composed against her.

“We came back to protect you, ma Reine,” Terry tells her softly, placing his hand on my shoulder as I step away from the Queen. “We were out for a stroll when the–the killing–”

“Ah, please sit and rest, mon frère.” Lenore consoles Terry in a tone that I can only describe as ‘sickeningly sweet.’ She places an arm around him as Terry wipes his brow with a trembling hand, white as a ghost.

Lenore leads us over the threshold and onto the cold but intricately decorated fifth floor. The unease we felt before has vanished entirely.

Was that her doing? Did she give a signal to the Magicena, who were clearly here assisting in the battle from a place of safety? Have they retreated to their lavish mansion to relish in the chaos they’ve caused?

We’ll never know now.

“Maman, the deaths–” I begin to assert, knowing I’ll garner more pull with her if I make her think I’ve warmed up to her.

Doing this makes my stomach churn; she’s not my mother. She’s the furthest thing from maternal–especially if she secretly ordered the slaughter of families, children, under the guise of a peace treaty. But if I want to find out anything about this affair, anything at all, it’s up to me to take the initiative.

Sure enough, the Queen leans her head against my shoulder and then pats my cheek affectionately. Just the touch of her smooth fingers against my face makes me want to recoil. I do my best to look grief-stricken and not disgusted.

“I know, mon chou. There was a rogue uprising. I just found out about it myself. I’ve sent, er–reinforcements to rectify the issue.”

Terry and I share a covert and disbelieving look from either side of the Queen as we follow her from her foyer adorned with hues of red and gold to her personal chambers. She throws open both doors, revealing an empty and immaculate living space. Not a single object is out of place.

Despite all this, I don’t believe we are truly alone. Lenore may be realizing that we know more than we are letting on. The faint twinge of sage in the room does nothing to alleviate my thumping heart or my anxious glances about the room, looking for danger cloaked in the mundane.

“Asseyez-vous,” Lenore encourages us, gesturing to the small parlour area to the left of her chambers. It’s as if she wants to have a midnight rendez-vous with us and not calm us down after the horrors we’ve endured.

Terry sinks into one of the plush red chairs, distraught and disheveled. The act of war must be plaguing him. He’s had very little time to process any of this.

I take a shaky seat across from him. Lenore breezes over to the liquor tray behind Terry, playing hostess.

“What would you like?” she inquires as she picks up a crystal glass.

There has been a brutal and bloody massacre that swept through the entirety of Vancouver, and she’s asking us for our alcohol preferences?

You need to play along. No matter how awful you feel about all of it.

“Or would you prefer something else?” she adds, green eyes landing on the antique crystal jug filled with a thick crimson substance. My nerves came alive when I smelled it more strongly upon entering her living space. I resisted then, and I will continue to deny the impulse to the best of my ability.

My resolve is waning after viewing all the blood–however horrific–from the battlefield beyond these ornate walls. Still, I can't bring myself to succumb to it. My nerves may feel as brittle as sandpaper, but I refuse to break.

“Scotch, s’il vous pla?t,” I respond quietly.

“The same.” Terry nods.

Lenore fills our glasses, dropping small ice cubes into the golden liquid. The small squares drift leisurely into the sparkling vials. My stomach sinks when my mind links the ice cubes with Zander’s body. Helpless tears fall down my face.

Lenore hands our drinks to us, wiping my damp cheek with the back of her hand. “What is troubling you, mon fils?” she queries, backing up to take a seat beside Terry. “I am sure this awful bataille is not sitting well with you.”

I suck in a full breath, my trembling hand barely able to balance my scotch on my knee. “Zander is–”

A brisk knock interrupts me. I didn’t even hear the footsteps of Lenore’s unknown visitor, so deep was I in my grief for my fallen friend. Terry looks startled by it, as well. I suppose I’m maturing in my new life as a Vampyr because I can clearly sense that another of my kind is on the other side of the door, waiting to be invited into the Queen’s more intimate space.

If we can hear the Vampyr on the other side of the ornate wood, there is no further need to worry about the sage.

“Entrez,” Lenore calls casually, casting a glance behind me as the door opens in response.

One of la Reine’s ladies in waiting, Rose, is standing in the doorway. She was Benoit’s partner, and as such, an honorary member of the Nobility. She hasn’t had much to do with me since my arrival–which is the norm, quite frankly–so when her cold blue eyes land on me, I am surprised.

“Ma Reine, I have distressing news,” she murmurs, now regarding Lenore as she closes the door absently.

Lenore rises from her seat, placing her glass of liquor on top of the antique side table nestled between the two chairs. Her expression is unreadable–which makes me all the more unnerved.

I tap my fingers against the crystal glass atop my knee, anticipating Rose’s report. She’s going to tell Lenore that she’s heard through some vague source that Prince Zander and Prince Gabriel have perished in the ‘rogue uprising.’

As Verity would say, ‘rogue uprising, my ass.’

But Rose proves me wrong.

“Prince Pierre, Zander, and Gabriel have all been… Ils sont morts, ma Reine.”

Terry’s jaw drops in utter shock. My free hand scrunches against my thigh, distress pulsating through my body in the form of a shudder.

Of course, we both knew about Zander and Gabriel. But Pierre–

Every Vampyr Prince has died.

Except me.

Lenore’s green eyes are drowning in tragedy. I’ve seen and experienced grief first-hand. Whatever creature Lenore is, the tears that swell and run down her cheeks are real. She may not be a mother by my definition, but her raw reaction to Rose’s words is, dare I say it, maternal .

“Mon Dieu,” she gasps.

“Most of the Cold Moon Pack came out of the skirmish unscathed. Save for the Korma.”

I despise the icy glint of glee that dances just beneath the faux-sympathetic surface of Rose’s eyes. It’s clear she is revelling in this bit of ‘good news.’ Lenore doesn’t react to the news of Paxton’s death, so wrapped up is she in the deaths of her sons. I’m startled when she reaches out and grasps my shoulder, as if for support.

“You are all I have left, mon chou,” she weeps, closing in on me with such emotion it makes my heart leap into my throat.

Squashing down my fear, I finally stand and put my arms around her. Lenore brings her face into my neck, sobbing uncontrollably at Rose’s revelation.

The numbness of Zander’s demise becomes submerged in a floodgate of agony that drowns my very soul. Relentless tendrils of uncontrollable nausea twine within my stomach.

Zander’s death was pointless, cruel, and devastating. Gabriel killing him in the water is a disgusting irony, as Zander loved swimming for exercise. Had Gabriel planned this all along, or was it a crime of passion? I will never know the answer.

I can’t deal with this. Zander’s blood is on my hands. If I hadn’t gotten him involved in this awful mess–

“We’ll make the appropriate arrangements for those blokes, ma Reine,” I hear Terry reassuring Lenore in a solemn tone. When I meet his blue eyes, they change ever so slightly, and he gives me a tiny nod.

Terry and I will carry on where the others couldn’t.

Their deaths won’t be in vain.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Fourteen days have passed since Zander’s death. Fourteen days that have trapped me inside my own grief, the savage wound in my chest never healing. It seems so pointedly unfair that the world keeps turning, people keep on living, while the spark of my loved one’s life gradually fades.

Lenore has been especially somber since the bloody battle, retreating to her chambers and rarely venturing out into the manor. Whispers from the ladies in waiting and the rest of the Vampyr elite carry worry and sympathy. As for me, I feel anger and condemnation. If Lenore and Andre hadn’t orchestrated this raid–which wasn’t a revolt staged by rogue Nightwalkers, much as the other Vampyrs have sung that song over the past two weeks–Zander and the others would have survived. Vampyrs, Koramas, and humans alike would have been spared. It’s their shared hatred for the other that was ultimately responsible for the ripple effects that were mass murders, traumatization, and cruel wrongdoing.

I can’t ignore the blood on my hands as I straighten the deep crimson tie that Zander chose to wear to the peace party. How painfully ironic that we all signed that treaty in vain. It’s one thing to be suspicious of a tumultuous accord–but it’s another thing entirely when it’s thrown in your face.

A soft knock on my bedroom door captures my attention. Like Lenore, I’ve been shut up in my room for most of the two-week period. The only person I’ve really interacted with thus far has been Terry. We’ve made a few trips to the library. We sat outside on the terrace one lonely and cold Saturday night. Despite the Spring weather in Vancouver, that eerie Saturday was a frightful reminder of March’s warzone.

“Come in,” I respond, releasing my hold on the tie around my neck.

I expect Terry to be on the other side of the dark wood. I suspect we will be spending more time together this morning. But when the door opens, I am shocked at my visitor.

“Bonne matin, mon fils.”

Lenore is standing in the doorway, regal despite the heavy bags under her sunken green eyes. It’s clear she hasn’t had a moment’s sleep in the past two weeks. Her long red hair falls down her back in waves, a stark contrast to her black knee-length dress. I’m stunned, though I suppose I shouldn’t be, by the black crown with red rubies nestled against her hair. I knew the Queen possessed this trinket but had yet to see her make use of it until today.

How ironic that the very thing she treasured most–her queenship, her authority, her greed for conquest–cost her what truly mattered. And I will never forgive her for it.

“Bonne matin, Maman,” I greet her, swallowing back bile at my words. I need to keep up this charade of affection if I am to discover anything else about her alliance–and to keep myself safe, to boot.

She smiles, but it never reaches her eyes. “I wanted to check on you. I hear you’ve been spending most of your time here. May I come in?”

What else have you heard? I wonder frantically, but her eyes are concerned, her stance easy, casual. Still, I am wary. The fact that Lenore knows what transpires within the four walls of Clair de Lune despite her own reclusive state is baffling yet simultaneously horrifying.

“Of course,” I respond, attempting to conceal my uneasiness by nodding grandly.

Lenore steps over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her.

“I miss Zander,” is all I confess to her in answer to her previous comment about my well-being.

It’s not as if that is a lie. My entire being is out of sorts, as if Zander’s absence has truly made me ill, like his death has made part of me malfunction. It reminds me of Structural Functionalism: one fault, one break in the system, and the entirety of the institution starts to crumble.

My essence is splintering apart into irreparable pieces. I’ve grieved the loss of my family, and now I am mourning the murder of one of the only ties to my sanity in this new life.

Zander didn’t deserve this fate.

I never should have involved him!

I may blame Lenore for this, but I, too, share some of the guilt. And I will never forgive myself for putting Zander in harm’s way.

Lenore’s green eyes fill with tears. I realize now that I was wrong before: while she doted on all of us, it is clear that Zander held a special place in her heart. He was the youngest as far as human years were concerned–I imagine she looked to him as more of a son than the rest of the Vampyr Princes. From what I observed of their interactions, Zander was also the most affectionate with Lenore.

“Moi, aussi.” Lenore seems to hesitate, then crosses over to one of the two antique black chairs positioned next to a small side table at the other side of my room, taking a seat and gesturing with her hand to the opposite piece of furniture. “That is what I wanted to discuss with you,” she prompts.

If what she has to say to me has anything to do with Zander, I’m all ears. I make my way over to the chair and sink onto the cushion, rubbing at the stubble on my chin that I forgot to shave.

“I… I do not want to lose any more loved ones,” Lenore asserts, crossing her legs and staring at me, her body at an angle. Her eyes seem loving, fiercely protective–so much so that it unnerves me. If I ever got on the wrong side of her–

I flash a small smile, doing my best to act normal, caring. “You won’t lose me, Maman.”

“That is what I thought of my other three sons,” she interjects, wiping a quick tear from her cheek. “Those unruly Vampyrs have been dealt with. There will be no more trouble from our kind. The wolves, however…”

Interesting how she seems to blame the Koramas for what happened when, from where I’m standing, they were merely defending themselves, the innocent members of their community. It’s also very telling that Lenore never mentioned the Magicena in her little spiel. She must think Terry and I are dense, that we didn’t discover that we were somehow invisible to the humans–who also suffered greatly at the hands of ‘our kind.’ Yet, somehow, Lenore is painting the Vampyrs as the victims, the vulnerable. What’s more, the ‘unruly Vampyrs’ she is referring to are actually the Nightwalkers she employed to carry out the raid in the first place.

What a hypocrite!

Play along.

You also need to try and uncover more about the raid.

“I know.” I shift uncomfortably before running an uneasy hand through my styled hair. “They are not to be trusted, that is for certain.”

Lenore nods once. “Oui . My sources tell me that Monsieur Costas has indeed perished, meaning Mademoiselle Silverman et Mademoiselle Eadaoin have been promoted.”

An icy chill spreads down my spine at her mention of Verity–how Lenore seems to know so much about the Cold Moon Pack despite her prejudices and her seclusion in her chambers. Dread hits me in the form of a damp sweat at the thought of Lenore sending out whatever troops she deems necessary to eliminate Verity and her pack.

I haven’t heard from Verity since the raid. I’ve tried calling her, messaging her, but to no avail. At this point, I’m quite certain she wants nothing more to do with me–and after what happened to the Koramas two weeks prior, I can’t say I blame her. But at the same time–

“Ah,” I remark, cutting off my own spiralling thoughts of my murky feelings for Verity. “I suppose they will be indoctrinating a third member into their Nobility.”

“Mais, oui. But we do not know who as of yet.”

The way Lenore references these Koramas–even the unknown third member of the Nobility–

“I am certain wolves killed my sons, your brothers, in cold blood.” Lenore’s green eyes pierce me, and for a moment, I think she has uncovered everything.

My heartrate quickens. I know she will be able to hear my fear plain as day. But the mood in the room shifts when she finishes, “I will stop at nothing to avenge their deaths.”

I nod determinedly but can’t bring myself to answer her. Lenore only knows half the truth. Her precious ‘son,’ Gabriel, was the one who murdered Zander. He would have killed me, too, had Verity not stepped in to stop him.

Lenore’s precious family, her cherished Vampyr race–myself included–aren’t as blameless as she wishes to believe. Is she ignorant or just plain delusional?

She leans forward without warning, breaking me out of my prison of private musings. “This is why I want to protect you above all, mon fils. I have already arranged for un garde du corps to keep you safe in any eventuality. He will even die for you if necessary.”

I frown, leaning back slightly. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Maman.”

“Absurdité!” she snaps, staring at me in a way that tells me I won’t win this debate. “I will not lose you as well!” She stands, straightening her dress. “I have already made plans to welcome a new member of our family. You will meet her at the fête.”

With that, Lenore turns on her heel and walks toward the door, opening it and turning to look at me. “Do not worry, mon fils. I will have a hand in the safety of this family.”

An icy shiver crawls down my spine when she closes the door behind her. Something tells me this ‘hand in our family’s safety’ will mean destruction for anyone and everyone, regardless of their degree of culpability or innocence.

What’s more, it seems as though Lenore is already turning other humans–probably innocent victims–into Vampyrs (why else would she use the term ‘plans’?). But to what end? Is it just to replace her deceased ‘children,’ likening them to pawns on a chessboard, or is it something more sinister? Either way, I’m sickened.

I’m also reminded of my own murder and the notion that Lenore seems to know more about my death than she deigns to tell me. Maybe getting closer to her will enable me to discover more about what happened to me in my hometown of Saguenay.

Once this funeral is over, I’m going to do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of all this.

And there’s only one person who will be able to help me.