Then she had turned to the pile of parchment and journals. Going by the dates on the top, she began to read through the parchments that started in the year one thousand and forty. Within the pages, she'd discovered the story of a young woman who had lived a difficult life. No matter how much Genny struggled, she went at her life with optimism and a determination to make it better for her and the sister she cherished.
Within the pages, she uncovered the life of a young woman who had fallen in love with a man that Aria had only known as a vicious monster that had beaten the humans down. A man who had tortured her and relished in every second of making her life a living hell. A man she had always known only hatred for and whom she had assumed had been born a heartless bastard. Through Genny's words and life though, Aria began to realize that he'd once been a man and he had loved Genny deeply.
When Genny's life was abruptly cut short after finally finding happiness and some security, Aria had found herself openly weeping for the unfairness of it all. Finally regaining control of her emotions, she'd turned to the parchments that were written in the far more rigid hand of the wounded man that had been left behind. In those parchments, and later in the numerous journals Atticus had kept, she uncovered his steady descent into madness. She read about the unraveling of a man who had been good and caring before he'd been broken by his father's cruel betrayal. A man who hadn't known how to go on with a life as only a shell of the vampire he'd once been.
Never once had she felt even an ounce of pity for the former king, now she found herself weeping openly as she read the last words he'd ever written. For the first time she truly realized that Atticus had once been a man with compassion, and someone who had loved those around him. Atticus had done such awful things in his lengthy life but he hadn't started out as a mad man. He'd been denied a life of happiness that should have been his, by his father. A man that though he hadn't been close to, he had trusted.
Her heart ached even more as she recalled the time she'd been forced to spend with Atticus in his throne room. The image of all those people and vampires gathered as trophies within it still haunted her, but none more so than Merle when Atticus had held her bleeding wrist over his malnourished form. It made the moment all the more painful now that she knew who Merle had been to the king.
Life was so horribly sad sometimes. One tragic turn of events had started another that had turned Atticus from a loving friend, husband, and cousin to the raging monster he'd been at his death.
Wiping away her tears, she carefully gathered the documents spread about her, placed them back into the glass box and lifted it. She closed the room off again before hurrying down the hall. She'd spent so many hours within Atticus's room that she hadn't realized night had descended until now.
Stepping into the rooms she shared with Braith, she wasn't surprised to find him sitting at his desk. The candlelight played off of the black hair of his bent head. She stopped in her tracks, more tears filled her eyes as she stood and studied his chiseled face and broad shoulders. The thought of losing him was enough to make something inside of her shrivel up. To actually lose him was something she couldn't imagine having to endure. Oh yes, she completely understood what had destroyed Atticus as her gaze remained riveted upon her husband.
Braith smiled when he lifted his head to look at her. The smile instantly vanished from his face, he stood so abruptly that the chair fell over and she barely processed his movement. "What is wrong?" he demanded as he came toward her.
"I discovered something today," she whispered.
"What is it? Are you ok?"
"I'm fine." She hastily assured him when his eyes began to turn a reddish hue and his gaze went beyond her to the door. "I grew curious about your father's rooms."
His face instantly became shuddered, his eyes distant and cold as he stopped walking. Talk of his father was the one thing that could still make him look as severe and unyielding as the first day they'd met. "You shouldn't have gone in there; there is nothing good in there."
"But there was." His eyes swirled with confusion when she held the box out toward him. "You have to read what is in here."
His upper lip curled into a sneer as he shook his head. "I don't want to read anything he wrote."
"Yes Braith, you do." He went to turn away from her but she grabbed hold of his arm, halting him in place. "I'm asking you to read these. There are answers in here that you have to know. Answers you never even knew there were questions to." She didn't mention Melinda's parentage, he would uncover that secret soon enough.
His gaze fell to the glass box, an eyebrow arched up as he studied it. "What is in there?"
"They start as the written accounts of a woman named Genny and they end with your father's own words over the centuries."
Braith still appeared confused but at least he wasn't looking at the box like it was a handful of poison she was trying to feed him anymore. "Who is Genny?"
Tears brimmed in Aria's eyes again and she couldn't stop the one that slid free for the young woman that had lived such a short, brutal life. A woman who had been in love with one man, had sacrificed herself to save her sister, and been the cause of a war she never could have imagined would unfold.
"She's the key to it all," Aria whispered. "Please Braith. I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think it was important and I think it will help you to understand him better."
"Nothing could help me understand that man," he muttered as he reluctantly took the box from her hands.
She didn't tell him that she'd felt the same way upon waking this morning but no longer did after reading over Genny and Atticus's words. Braith would learn it on his own, and soon. He sat at his desk again and began to carefully remove the documents from the box.
"Start at the beginning," she told him and kissed the top of his head. Walking away from him, she settled onto the window seat that overlooked the stunning gardens below. Though it was night out, with her enhanced vision she could still see the fountain in the center of the garden from where she sat. She'd always loved that fountain but she understood it even better now.
Braith didn't speak but after an hour, he rose from his chair and moved to the sofa. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed as he sat on the edge of the piece of furniture. His shoulders were taut with tension; his hair had become disheveled from running his hand through it while he read. Aria dropped her head against the glass when he rose and began to pace sometime later.
The night wore on and he began to move through the documents at a much more rapid pace. She didn't speak as he read through first one journal of his father's and then another. There had been so many entries over the years that most of them were a blur to her, but many still stood out sharply in her mind, many she knew she would never forget.
Though she'd meant to stay awake, she drifted off as the night progressed toward morning. Large arms wrapping securely around her caused her to stir again. She sensed Braith's desperation as he crushed her against his broad chest. His mouth brushed heatedly over her forehead and cheeks before finally claiming her mouth. She clung to him as he kissed her with a feral urgency that she responded to instantly. His hands slid into her hair and turned her head so that he had better access to her mouth.
Grasping his shoulders, she held onto him as he walked with her into the bedroom. He placed her tenderly upon the bed and came down on top of her swiftly. Aria tried to ease the fervent need in him as she held him close to her and gave herself over to him. The press of his fangs scraping against her flesh caused her body to thrum with excitement seconds before they pierced her skin. A gasp of pleasure escaped her; she cradled his head against her neck while he fed from her. Her own fangs sank into his shoulder; the heated flow of his blood filled her mouth. A feeling of belonging stole through her as they were linked together.
He was calmer when he rolled away from her but she sensed something savage inside of him when he wrapped his large body around hers. Cradling her back to his chest, he brushed the hair away from her face
and kissed her cheek. "It could have been me," he whispered in her ear.
"No Braith, it could never have been you. Your father didn't understand what was happening to him. He didn't even know what it was between them until centuries later. By the time he knew, it was too late for him. You're not your father."
"No, I'm not," he agreed. "But you are my greatest love, my only love."
She smiled as she rolled over to look at him. "And you are mine. I keep recalling that look on your father's face, when he died. I never quite knew what to make of it, but now I think it was actually relief."
Braith's striking gray and blue eyes focused on the wall on the other side of the room. He seemed to be looking back to that long ago, horrid day as he spoke. "So do I."
"But he seemed so happy when he came back again."
"I think he had finally snapped," Braith murmured. "I think whatever sanity he still possessed completely came undone when he realized that he wasn't dead. That he may be forced to forever walk this earth with no end to his misery."
"That would be enough to drive me mad," she whispered.
"Me also."
"Even if he doubted it was possible, I think he and Genny are together now. At least I hope they are. He did awful things throughout the years, but I want to believe that whatever there is after this life, would allow him to find the peace in death that was denied to him so cruelly in life."
Braith kissed her again as he cradled her against him. "I hope you're right."
Aria held his hand firmly against her chest, over the place of the heart that he owned. She drifted to sleep wrapped in the cocoon of the love he had for her.
THE END
Author's Note
This is not the type of story I like to write. I may not write fairy tales but I love a happy ending. I enjoy a love conquers all novel best but when I started this novel I knew there was no possibility of that ever happening. There never could have been a happy ending for Atticus. Though I can say that while writing this story, I very much wished I could change the rest of The Captive Series in order to give Atticus the love I think he deserves.
So why did I write this story even though it ripped out my heart, and more times than not I wanted to get up, walk away, and never look at it again? Because once it got inside my head, it wouldn't let me go.
I can remember exactly where I was when the idea for this story hit me. I was driving to my dad's in New York and had just gotten off the Mass Pike. I was heading toward I-84 through Connecticut. Anyone who has ever driven this road knows how long this stretch of highway can be, not to mention just how awful and miserable traffic can be between these two highways.
I was in the middle of this stretch of in-between when it hit me what had made Atticus the way he was. What had made him so twisted and broken. This story was so vivid in my mind that I immediately knew Genny's name, something that a lot of times I will batter back and forth with for a few chapters and sometimes even a whole book. She was so vivid in my mind that she wrote herself. By the time I drove the next two and a half hours, I had the whole story plotted out in my head.
When I started this book, I knew how it was going to end, what would happen between them, and I told myself not to get too attached. That wasn't to be though; I don't think I could ever not get attached. I fell in love with Genny. I've never cried as hard for a character as I did when she died. I even grew to love Atticus, a character I'd never had an ounce of sympathy for before. I put this story aside multiple times because of how hard it was for me to write it but Atticus wouldn't let go.
This isn't the kind of story I enjoy telling but as hard as it was on me, I am so glad that I did tell it. Atticus needed and deserved his turn. That doesn't mean I ever want to write another book like this, but who knows one day another doomed character might grab hold of me and not let go too. That's the best part about writing, the not knowing, and the strange characters who demand to be heard.
Even though this book could never have been a happy one, I hope you enjoyed it and came to love or at least understand Atticus more. In my mind, he and Genny have been reunited and they have found the happiness they deserve.
Also, it will be revealed what became of Camille in future books.
VENGEANCE
- PROLOGUE -
The wind and snow whipped around him, beating against the exposed skin of his cheeks and nose. He never should have left the cave in this storm, but he’d been cooped up for the past two days and needed to escape the gray stone walls, if only for a little bit. He should have at least left his horse behind, but Achilles had been getting restless too and needed to move around just as much as he did.
Now Achilles had his head bent against the storm, and William could feel the snow building up on his shoulders as they rode forward through drifts that came to Achilles’ knees. After this little trip through the snow, he would not make the mistake of taking the horse out again until the storm finally blew over.
They were almost to the cave when he saw someone trudging through the blowing wind and whipping snow. His eyes honed in on the lone figure struggling through the blizzard. He almost put his head down and continued on. What did he care about someone else in the storm? He wasn’t here to make friends; he had one clear mission, and someone walking through a blizzard, in the middle of nowhere, was not a part of his plan.
As he watched, the person stumbled and fell into the snow. He continued onward at a near diagonal angle from the figure. He turned away when the figure stumbled back to their feet. When they collapsed again, a ragged sigh escaped him. Not part of the mission, he told himself fiercely.
He nudged Achilles onward, forcing himself to keep his eyes focused straight ahead. The lone figure was none of his concern.
He kept telling himself this, but he found his head turning and looking back at the figure still sitting in a heap in the snow. With a disgruntled sound, he turned Achilles and headed toward the figure. When he was fifty feet away from the snow-covered being, the distinct lack of a heartbeat told him he approached a vampire.
The figure’s head remained bowed against the storm, beaten and battered down by the wind. He had no idea where they had come from; it was open, rocky plains from here until the mountains at least fifty miles away. In the distance, the craggy peaks of the mountains rising high into the air were obscured by the storm.
Pulling his horse up before the figure, he stared down at it as the vampire’s eyes rose to look at Achilles's muzzle. Slowly the head tipped back to look at him. He got only a glimpse of silvery blonde hair, and doe brown eyes within a face nearly as pale as the snow falling around them, before she collapsed into the snow.
He should keep going, instead he found himself dismounting and lifting the figure from the snow.
- CHAPTER 1 -
William lifted his bow to take aim at the deer moving through the trees. He waited, every muscle in his body tense and unmoving as the stag took another step forward, completely unaware he was being hunted. With a release of his fingers, he let the arrow go. It whistled through the air before striking its target dead center in the heart. The animal’s legs kicked out before it crashed to the ground.
“Nice shot.” Aria threw her bow over her shoulder as she emerged from the trees to his left.
She had so effectively blended in with the woods around her that he never would have noticed her there if he’d still been human. However, with his senses enhanced and sharper since his recent change into a vampire he had caught her scent as she moved through the brush. He’d also caught a flash of her deep auburn hair amongst the cropping of spruces and pines surrounding them. Aria had always been at home in the woods, but since becoming a vampire, she’d become even more attuned and able to blend in amongst the trees.
He had to admit, now that he was getting used to his newfound abilities, he was learning to feel more comfortable with his surroundings and his stealthy movement through the trees and foliage. The woods around him were alive; he could see a mouse sit
ting on top of the log a hundred feet away warily looking back at him. The rustling sound of a fox in its den drifted to him from under the snow to his right.
All of the newfound sensations were amazing, and had been difficult to control in the beginning. Hence, why he was hunting deer in order to help him regain some of his control. A bow and arrow used to be at home in his hands. Now he sometimes still sent arrows flying miles through open air if there was nothing around to stop them. He’d lost count of how many bows he’d broken in half, and how many strings he’d snapped over the last five months.
It had taken far more time and patience than he’d expected to understand what he was now capable of and how to control it, but he’d started to get a much better grip on it over the past month. He didn’t like to admit part of it was due to Aria, who suddenly had more patience than he’d ever believed she could possess. Moreover, as the only other human he knew who had survived the change into a vampire, she was the only one who understood exactly what he was going through.
After a month of her asking him to return to the palace, he’d finally relented and agreed to join her and Braith there. He’d spent the following four months with his sister, trying to accept this suddenly more colorful and louder world. Everything about it was different to him; the woods had always been his home, but now the smell of the trees, earth, and musky aroma of animals was more potent when it filled his nostrils.
The color of the leaves, when they’d still been on the trees, was brighter than he’d ever seen before his vision became enhanced by Aria’s vampire blood. He didn’t know how to describe it, didn’t even know what color to call some of the newer shades he’d discovered in the world. It all would have been so much more amazing and breathtaking if he wasn’t in a constant state of pissed off that he’d been murdered by that bastard, Kane.