Page 6 of Of Hearts and Hunters (Fallen Crowns Duet #1)

DARREN

I t’s Sunday. I’ve been feeling aimless and stuck all day. Lenore sent for me bright and early this morning to lecture me about vulnerability and my responsibilities as the new Prince. Most of her tangents were in French, my second language. I may be fluent, but her speed and frustration made some of what she was saying difficult to follow. But I got the gist: I need to man up.

I exited her chambers feeling downtrodden, and that feeling didn’t go away. I was too afraid to go outside after what happened to me—right outside the manor, no less–so I holed myself up in my room.

Hours later, I find myself trudging downstairs to go to the kitchen, seeing if there is something in the fridge I can heat up. The cooking staff have gone home for the day. It’s odd: there are plenty of humans under the Queen’s employ, yet they don’t bat an eye at the goings-on in the Clair de Lune Manor. In fact, some of the Vampyrs will feed off them without any trouble. Zander said something about ‘mind control.’ What’s more, Vampyrs will often feed their blood to humans and subsequently murder them, causing their victims to turn.

Part of me wonders which fate will befall the humans who dwell within these four walls.

The mores and customs surrounding Vampyrs and their behaviour are baffling to me. I could never justify taking away someone else’s free will–especially since the very same thing was done to me.

Once I enter the immaculate kitchen, none other than Gabriel Dubois-turned-Crané is rummaging through the liquor cabinet. He is the oldest ‘brother.’ He was turned ten years ago, but I believe he is in his thirties. Regardless, he is the most powerful Prince here and is second to the Queen, despite the faction being matriarchal in kind. Gabriel is elitist and pompous–the kind of person I avoided while human.

He turns at movement from the entrance to the kitchen, a bottle of Chardonnay in one hand. His dark brown eyes harden when he discovers me. They match his perfectly coiffed black hair: guarded and uncompromising.

“So, you finally make an appearance,” he states through a pretentious French accent. It’s like I’m a troublesome fly or rodent he’s been waiting to squash, and now he has his opportunity.

I don’t know what to say. Though I’ve been around Gabriel for over four months, it’s not as if I know anything deep and personal about him. I don’t feel good around him. Even though we’re of the same race, I’m sure he would snap my neck if he could. The only thing that’s stopping him is Lenore–another reason to keep her happy, even if I’m questioning whether or not I truly want to exist.

I nod toward the bottle. “A decent choice,” I remark, hoping to get rid of some of this tension by discussing something he enjoys.

But it doesn’t work.

“What would you know about wine?” he asks as he pops the previously-opened cork and pours the liquid into the wine glass on the wooden island beside him.

The sloshing liquid in the crystal wine glass is the only sound in the kitchen. Anxiety claws at my temples. I’m getting a migraine. The stress of the moment isn’t the only culprit for the ache. Terry told me months ago that abstinence would result in withdrawal pains.

Gabriel’s eyes narrow as if he knows I haven’t been partaking in my new diet. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those pacifist Vampyrs, Monsieur Pierce,” he proclaims as he sets the bottle onto the island, bringing the wine glass to his lips.

I notice that despite the formality of him calling me by name, it’s laced with sarcasm. And he uses my surname from birth and not the adoptive one of the Vampyr Noble Family. I personally prefer the former, but it’s clear Gabriel is trying to make a point–or multiple ones.

He doesn’t consider me one of them.

He wants nothing more than to point out the differences between us.

He’s establishing himself as more powerful, more intelligent, than me. Of course, I already knew he possessed all those qualities.

What’s more, I will never be like him. I will never be one of them. I highly doubt Gabriel and I will be sharing a bottle of Chardonnay anytime soon.

I clear my throat, realizing too late that I never answered him. “I just don’t believe in hurting innocent people,” I admit.

Gabriel cocks his head to the side, showing me that he is receiving my statement as a new idea yet to be pondered. “Hm. I guess there are some of you out there.” He takes a contented sip of his wine, swallows, then adds, “But mark my words, Monsieur Pierce. You will kill. And you will like it.”

That’s who you are now.

He doesn’t say that, but it’s always between the lines in each and every conversation I have with other Vampyrs in the Clair de Lune Manor. Drinking blood, the urge to kill, to feed, to attack– that’s who I am now .

I don’t answer him, which makes Gabriel smirk and lean casually against the counter next to the stainless-steel fridge. “I would recommend trying not to get killed, yourself,” he suggests, not looking at me as he swishes the light yellow beverage from within the confines of the crystal wine glass. “Maman can’t take another fatalité.”

Abrupt rage fills my chest. I can’t believe Gabriel is saying that Lenore can’t take another death. What about my own mother–my real mother? And what about his own family? Surely Gabriel doesn’t hold Lenore and this Vampyr hierarchy in the same regard as his flesh and blood.

Blood.

My stomach churns with the thought, causing me to tear my eyes away from Gabriel and walk out of the kitchen. I know there are blood bags in the fridge, and the smell is making my appetite increase tenfold–but I’m not craving food this time.

I hear Gabriel muttering under his breath about bébés but I tune him out. That is infinitely harder to do thanks to my heightened hearing. I overhear every little cruel word spoken about me.

I need to go for a walk.

Maybe due to the late hour, there will be less of a chance that I will run into crowds of sightseers. I can’t risk putting myself in a situation where I could hurt someone–but I also can’t stay here knowing how unwelcome I am.

I would have asked Terry to accompany me, but he retires to his chambers early. Zander goes to the gym six days a week, so I know he is unavailable.

I must do this alone.

I wander the dark and deserted streets of elitist Vancouver, the sprawling estates and towering homes mixing with the moonlight in an ominous hue. At least I was correct in assuming that there won’t be many humans out and about. The time to myself will do me some good–though I know it’s only a temporary fix, not a permanent solution to my inner turmoil.

The only thing that will cure that is death–a second death.

According to Terry, death for a Vampyr is supposedly difficult but can be achieved via beheading. The heart is also the Vampyr’s Achilles heel: it can be yanked out of their chest, or a stake can be driven straight through the organ. Thanks to the full moon this weekend, I know all too well how easily a Vampyr can die. Even one as strong and old as Henry is no match against a Korama bent on destruction.

I’m lost in my dark abyss as I pass house upon house adorned with winding verandas, expensive cars parked in driveways, and twinkling front yard lights. Eventually, I stop paying attention. I only worry about whether I will actually run into someone–and, most importantly, whether I’ll be able to stay in control.

I lift my head for the first time in a while, noticing that the fancy houses and large front lawns have disappeared. I’m not familiar with Vancouver, but it looks as though I’ve entered the more frequented part of town, where tattoo parlours, bars, and the like are scattered in perfect sequence for optimal nightlife.

Months earlier, people-watching would have been enjoyable for me. Now, I’m filled with dread in the form of sweat clinging to the back of my neck.

What if I lose control?

I see people–potential victims–meandering in and out of bars and clubs across the street from me. A few of them happen to look in my direction, and I’m surprised to see scowls on their faces. Am I looking like a bewildered tourist?

I continue on my way, alarmed when a woman jaywalks to get to my block, looking at her phone. The Winter wind causes her brown hair to fall away from her neck, her scent so delicious, it’s almost tangible. I feel saliva poking at my gums despite my self-loathing. I can hear her calm and even heartbeat, the pulse thudding gently against her neck. A deep, uncontrollable part of me wants to disrupt that gentility, make her scream, take away that life force that makes her able to cross the street with abandon.

She’s coming closer. I shut my eyes and brace myself. Still looking at her phone, she must sense someone else is about to pass her on the street and glides out of my way. I turn to watch her, every bone in my body tensing for a lunge. It takes all of my strength and resolve to hold back.

Thankfully, she hails a slow-moving cab and jumps inside, unaware that her life almost just ended. I turn around fully, holding my flaring temples as I make my way down the block.

Venturing out was not a good idea.

I need to go back.

I jump when I hear strange scuffling sounds coming from my right. They’re unnatural and conspicuous in the nighttime air.

“Get the fuck off me!” a woman’s voice commands as more noise breaks into the used-to-be deserted block.

I look to the right, seeing a black-as-Hell alley that I wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for ominous ruckus paired with the cries of protest from a woman who is clearly in trouble.

Is she being ? —

I tense when I overhear the woman hitting her attacker, likely in vain attempts to get them off of her.

I walk into the darkness, my vision illuminating the shadows and eerie nothingness. Such a feat wouldn’t have been possible for a human being. I lay eyes on a brunette who is pushed up against the brick wall, surrounded by knocked-over trash cans and garbage bags. A tall man about her age has his hands on her, refusing to let go despite her orders to the contrary.

“Come on, you ask for it every fucking night!” he laughs, placing a rough hand over her mouth to silence her as his other hand grabs hold of the space between her legs. The girl is swinging her arms, clawing and punching his chest.

Before I can even think, my arm is around the man’s neck, swinging him backward and away from her. She topples to the ground, immediately trying to get to her feet. Her attacker yells in surprise as I grab hold of his collar and throw him out of the way. He sails across the alley and slams into the other brick wall across from me. He collapses to the dirty asphalt, coughing due to lack of oxygen.

“What’s a fucking vamp doing out in–” he begins, but he never gets the chance to finish his sentence or accusation.

I’ve descended upon him, sinking my fangs into his jugular. He screams and flails as I mindlessly disarm him. He slumps to the ground, the light abruptly draining from his eyes.

I fall onto my backside, kicking myself away from the body–the body of a person who was very much alive just a moment ago.

My God. I meant to get him off of her, not kill him!

Part of me is disgusted with myself, hating that I hurt a person–whether they were moral or innocent notwithstanding. The other part is gnawing at me to continue, to finish draining him of his blood.

I wipe my face which feels wet and warm–from his blood –and turn, hoping that I didn’t frighten the girl who was already terrified to begin with.

All I see is dilapidated garbage bags and an open dumpster. Where did she–

Someone grabs my neck from behind and throws me against the wall. I stumble in the process, and my throat is collapsed again, from the front this time.

The brunette is in front of me, staring up at me with vindictive brown eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she demands hotly.

I struggle under her grip–a change from before, when she was powerless under the strength of the dead man beside us.

“I–I was saving you,” I try to explain.

That doesn’t seem to be the right answer.

“The joke’s on you, Vamp Prince. I didn’t need your fucking help!” she snarls, increasing her pressure on me. The uncompromising brick is crushing my back.

How does she know who I am?

“How do you–” I cough.

I stagger in fear when her eyes suddenly change, becoming ovals. I recognize them. This helpless girl who was in the throes of being violated is the Korama from last night!

“You really don’t have a clue about anything, do you?” she smiles, but it doesn’t make me a hair less terrified.

“Please, I didn’t come here to cause trouble,” I defend.

She raises an eyebrow. “So, you waltzed into Wolf Territory just for shits and giggles? Not to track me down to kill me when I’m at a tactical disadvantage?”

“No!” I protest, but it’s not good enough because she increases her grip on me. She’ll break my neck if I don’t do something.

“I was just trying–to help you. I didn’t even know–who you were!” I grunt and choke, grimacing through the pain.

A spark of surprise flashes in her brown eyes. They revert back to a human shape. She then rolls them. “God, you’re a newbie vamp,” she spits, thrusting me against the brick. I slump down to the ground soaked with rotten aromas and look up at her.

For someone so small, it looks like she has an insatiable temper. I can’t believe she’s the one who almost ended my life–and killed at least three other Vampyrs–last night.

She frowns at me. “Give me one good reason why I should spare you, Princey,” she snaps.

I look down at my shaking hands, unsure what to tell her. She’s likely toying with me. She has no intention of letting me go–that’s obvious.

I have no good reason for her to spare my life. Moreover, I just killed someone–my very first kill–without even meaning to.

My eyes land on the golden bracelet on my right wrist–not for any particular reason. Maybe the moonlight breaking through the broken shingles of the roof behind us made it catch my eye.

“What?” she asks, her eyes snagging on the bracelet. “You think giving me shit will make me go away?”

One look at her murder-hungry brown eyes makes an irrepressible shiver trickle down my spine. She notices this and smiles wickedly.

“No,” I stammer. “That’s not what–”

My explanation gets cut off when she grabs me by my neck, lifting me up so I’m on my knees. She takes hold of the side of my head. It takes me a brief second to realize that she’s about to snap my neck. It won’t kill me, but once I’ve passed out, she could easily rip my heart from my chest or behead me.

I don’t belong in this world. The Koramas want me dead. The Vampyrs plot against me. Only Zander and Terry seem to be decent. The Magicena remain threatening in an overarching, vague sort of way.

Maybe I should welcome this death.

But at the same time, just like before, I struggle with the thought of dying. And now that I’ve made my first kill–accidental or otherwise–what will happen when I cross over to the other side?

What fate rests for people–no, creatures –like me?

“What do you want?” I finally splutter out in a feeble attempt to save my own hide. “There must be something you desire more than killing me. I’m not even worth it,” I supply, knowing I’m right.

She cocks her head to the side, calculating. “Sure you’re not. That’s why it’s fun.”

She rips the hand clutching my neck to the side, making it harder for me to see her. Black splotches dance across my vision.

She stops halfway and glances up at the night sky with just her eyes. “Hmm.” She lets go of me. I collapse to the ground once more, wheezing and startled by her release.

“I don’t make deals with vamps. You’d have to make it worth my while, Princey.”

I clear my ravaged throat, quick to struggle to my feet in case she decides to attack again. The space in front of me tilts unnaturally, and I falter, causing her to chuckle.

I don’t know the ramifications of making a deal with a bloodthirsty (bad choice of words) Korama, but at the same time, I don’t have a prayer of surviving this altercation otherwise. And despite the fact that I’m one of them–a Vampyr, whether I like it or not–none of them have truly accepted me. Even Lenore, who jumped to my aid this weekend, still seems to be using me as some kind of pawn in her scheming. She’s never answered any of my questions.

Why did you turn me?

What did you see when you found me?

Why was I murdered?

All this makes me think la Reine knows more about my disturbing past and frightening present than she lets on. She’s refusing to tell me, for some reason or other. Is it possible that this Korama could help me instead?

“We might be of use to one another,” I propose, somehow finding the courage to add quietly but firmly, “but if we do make a deal, you need to spare the lives of my friends.”

The Korama laughs once. “Friends? Vamps have friends?” She kicks the garbage bag near me, and I jump a mile. “You still need to give me some fucking good leverage,” she reminds me.

I remember my bracelet. “I know how we can walk in the day,” I admit shakily, still conflicted about whether I should confess such a thing to her.

Am I betraying my Vampyr contemporaries by sharing this? Absolutely. But didn’t they use me as bait to try and kill as many Koramas as possible? Is that what I am to them–disposable, fresh meat to put out to ravenous wolves?

The Korama arches a devious eyebrow. “What?” She’s immediately interested. “That changes a few things.”

When I inhale, she shoves me. “Don’t get cocky, Princey. I can still rip your head off when you stop being useful.”

I suck in a frightened breath and finally glance down at my bracelet. She follows my gaze.

“Huh,” she breathes, grabbing hold of my wrist. She drops it immediately, like I gave her a one-way electrocution. Maybe I did. I’m not sure what contact with Vampyrs does to Koramas.

“Congratulations, Princey,” she tells me. “You just became useful. First time for everything, I guess.”

“Alright,” I sigh. “I don’t feel very good about this, but…” I run my hand through my disheveled hair. “So long as you honour the terms of our agreement, I’ll do what I can to help you.”

She frowns up at me. “An ethical vamp? Now I’ve heard everything.”

When I stay quiet, she groans. “Fine. I won’t hurt your little friends. Low men on the totem pole aren’t the problem, anyway.” She folds her arms. “Fuck. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“That makes two of us,” I concur.

“Shut up,” she commands, clearly unhappy that we’re agreeing on something. She points to the bracelet. “So, what? This bracelet has powers or something?”

I nod. “I don’t know how, but it keeps us safe from the sun’s rays.”

She gapes as if she truly did get struck by lightning.

Now it’s my turn to ask, “What?”

She gapes up at me–but in a different way this time. “Are you a moron?” she asks as if I’m going to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ “This fucking changes everything.”

“Why?” I ask. “Tell me.”

“Shut it,” she repeats, looking to the side, deep in thought. “This is bigger than we thought. We’re in deep shit. My God.”

When I reach out a hand, she pushes me away without even looking at me. “We should’ve figured. Assholes,” she grumbles, clearly in a one-sided conversation with herself.

The Korama looks up at me. “Fine. Just get back to Vamp HQ before anyone else finds you here. Have they?” she asks dubiously, as if I can’t walk down the street without getting discovered. And maybe she’s right.

“Maybe,” I confess.

She rolls her eyes. “Just get out of here. I don’t need to be seen letting you go.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“None of your business,” she snaps.

We may be working together, but she doesn’t trust me.

“Find out as much as you can about this daylight shit. Spy if you have to. And don’t screw up,” she threatens ominously, leaning closer to me, causing my heartbeat to quicken like that of an erratic hummingbird, “or I’ll use your head as a soccer ball.”

With malicious eyes, she adds venomously, “Mama Vamp can’t keep you under lock and key forever, Princey. If you think you can hide out or double-cross me, I’ll send my entire pack after you. Your little friends too.”

I swallow unevenly, terror causing my fingertips to quiver. “I promise to do what I can, so long as you–”

“Keep up my end. I get it,” she reiterates, annoyed.

I skitter away from her, aiming for the exit to the alley. Her brown eyes watch my every move. She’s anticipating a betrayal.

I won’t tell her, but I agree with her about this too. Anyone and everyone can betray you in this new life that I never chose for myself. Maybe that’s why I was quick to make a deal with her. I’ve been shown contempt and dismissal from my own community. It looks as though she may not be as trusting of her own contemporaries, especially if she doesn’t want them to discover us here.

“How will I find you?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me. “Please,” is all she dismisses.

I hear an unnatural sound from behind me. When I turn, it’s just a discarded newspaper blowing in the cold wind, dragging along the floor of the alley.

“What’s your name?” I ask, wheeling around quickly to face her.

For a long while, I don’t think she’ll tell me. Maybe giving me this small but pertinent piece of information is making her wary. But she shrugs, as if the moment of contemplation never happened.

“It doesn’t matter,” she responds. “All you have to worry about is staying alive.” She laughs at the word ‘alive,’ which is hurtful, but I don’t comment on it.

“I’d like to have it so I can communicate better with you,” I finally admit.

She frowns up at me. “You’re a weird vamp,” she comments. “We’re just monsters to the lot of you. Why do you care?”

When I say nothing, she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Verity,” she tells me.

Verity.

Well, at least this surprising and unnatural alliance can get off the ground now that I know there is something human about her. That means we may have common ground–maybe even some trauma beneath the surface, if I don’t miss my guess. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’m disposable to her too, just like I am to my own kind.

“Darren,” I express, holding out my hand.

She looks down at it, bewildered. “I know,” she responds. She looks up at me and gestures behind me with her chin. “Better get a move on, Princey, before I change my mind.”