Page 2 of Seared Fates

My sword sinks ever deeper as I lean on it for support, but I won’t fall to my knees. I kneel for no man.

“Very well then.” I sway, the darkValkyriearms at the corner of my vision drawing closer, but they won’t have me yet. My life might be draining, but the spark of possibility grows hungrier than ever, and I will not be denied. “Show me your magic.”

In a blink—half an intake of breath—he’s before me. I nearly stumble, but my force of will keeps my feet planted.

When did he move? Did I black out and miss it?

“What’s your name?” he asks, voice like singing flutes compared to the deep war drum of my own.

“Vidar Haraldsson,” I bite out, pushing back my narrowing vision. My screaming pain replaced with something cold and numb. “And yours?”

This close, I see sharp teeth slicing between his grinning lips.

“Your Maker.”

Chapter one

Kai

Present day, England

My tyres squeak when I park outside Vampire Manor, as I’ve come to call it.

It’s a squat mansion that stretches into the darkness and is half-hidden by trees, with five stone points jutting from the roof like bare arms begging for some serious tattoo sleeves.

‘Bird tattoos would look cool,’ I think.

Maybe hawks or falcons, splashes of them in motion along the reaching pillars. You’ve gotta think about the contours of the body when you're inking someone, but more than that, you gotta think about what fits, too.

Birds of prey still, so maybe…

“Owls,” I say aloud, nodding to myself. Night creatures for Vampire Manor. Silent predators and a lot of them mate for life, too.

Once I’ve got that sorted in my head, I check my rearview mirror to make sure my twisted, bleached braids are covering the white mottled skin on the left side of my face. The burn scars start at the corner of my forehead, then drip down like thick paint around the corner of my eye to finish at my jaw. If it didn’t bring up memories that wanted to burn me alive, I’d think it was cool.

I can’t say the same for the dark circles under my green eyes, however. I consider dabbing the concealer I’ve got chucked somewhere in my glove compartment, but I purchased the now-expired makeup in a moment of insecurity, and while no one’s going to mistake me for the iconic beautyFrida Kahloany time soon, it took a whole childhood to find comfort living in my scarred skin.

I quickly make sure I’ve got everything in my messenger bag, glancing at my to-do list, and shoot my little brother, Thomas, a message to take his meds, then check theFind My Friendsapp just to confirm he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere.

He replies with a pill emoji at the same time the app shows he’s at a restaurant somewhere in Tokyo.

Once that’s sorted, satisfaction fills me as I get to cross out something on my to-do list with my purple unicorn pencil, which I keep tucked behind my ear; it's about four inches long, and I’ve had it forever. I should get a new one, but I don’t have the heart.

I jump out of my car, but as I shut the door and lock my blue Mini Cooper, which has seen better days but is the love of my life, a familiar cold panic settles in my stomach. Leeching all the warmth from my body until, piece by piece, I’m frozen solid.

I used to love my blue angel, but now every time I look at it, or any car for that matter, I’m reminded ofEdvard Munch’s paintingThe Scream.

I always wondered if that twisted face represents what’s happening on the inside, while on the outside, he’s as normal as the people in the background. And in this moment, I’m like that painting as memories of Lucero, Golden’s mate, was driving until he wasn't—we’ve been hit by another car, and we’re spinning out of control, only stopping because the car's flipping. Then crashing back down to Earth roof-first with a shrieking crunch.

‘Lucky’ was the word my friend Ramy used when I came away from that accident with a few scratches and a bad headache.

I didn’t feel lucky when I woke to find Golden covered in blood, screaming over Lucero’s unmoving body and all I could do was stand there, being completely fucking useless.

And that theme followed when we were attacked by Golden’s psychotic ex-brother, Jace, and I couldn’t help. Or when Golden literally died in front of me as Lucero turned him into a vampire.

‘Yeah, real fucking lucky,’ I think, clutching my keys and struggling to get my breathing under control.

I catch a glimpse of myself in my window, or rather, my favourite black leather jacket covered in painted purple symbols. It’s a nonsense alphabet I never created but haven’t seen anywhere else, and yet somehow I’ve spent my life tracing each confident line or elegant curve into every sketchbook I’ve owned. I should be scared of this unknown thing that has such a hold on me.