Crown of Blood_Book Two_Crown of Death Saga

  No, I told him. Over and over.

  His anger and hurt grew by the day.

  He questioned my commitment I had made the day we married.

  He questioned if I still loved him.

  I could never answer him straight.

  Because I wasn’t so sure.

  Screams.

  Fights.

  Bitterness.

  I couldn’t leave.

  But I couldn’t go where he felt destined to go. Into this new life.

  I felt sick.

  Every morning. Every night.

  * * *

  And then one night, I woke in the dead of dark to a liquid slipping down my throat. And Cyrus’ hands clamped down over my mouth and nose.

  Forcing me to swallow.

  Forcing me into this immortal life with him.

  Chapter 24

  “No,” I sobbed. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  Tears rolled down my face as I felt the strength rip through me. I trembled as my vision pulsed and flashed, and every single detail around us became crystal clear. I could see…everything in the dark.

  “No,” I whispered as they swept through the dark.

  They found Cyrus.

  “Sevan,” he breathed.

  His eyes were wide. Terrified. He looked like he would be sick.

  “No,” I cried again. I shook my head. Horror filled me, made bile come up my throat.

  I knew it. He had turned me.

  In the end it hadn’t mattered that I had told him no. Cyrus turned me, anyway.

  “Sevan,” Cyrus said as tears slipped down his face and slowly, he stepped toward me. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted to be together.”

  “No,” I cried again. I took a step back from him as the fire ignited in my throat.

  “I’m so sorry, Sevan,” he cried as his face crumpled.

  * * *

  I couldn’t control it.

  The thirst was so all-consuming. It was all I could think about. The burning in my throat. The heat that would spread down to my chest. Out to my fingers. Race down my legs. To my toes. It consumed my brain.

  Drink. Drink.

  It was all I could focus on.

  Within the first week of being cured of death, I killed seven people.

  We could no longer go out in the daylight. It made hunting easier. Very few were out in the dark. But it meant no witnesses to our nightly activity.

  Until the day a mother saw us take her teenage daughter.

  She screamed for the entire town to hear.

  With panic, Cyrus took my hand. We ran. So fast no one could see us. We ran, and we went home, and we packed.

  We set off with our precious belongings and all the coin we had accumulated.

  But it was not long in the next town before the same happened.

  Out in the woods, a blanket thrown over our heads to keep the dewy rain off of us, I laid on my back.

  “We will figure this out, Sevan,” Cyrus assured me through the dark that was so comforting. “I promise I will find a way for us.”

  When I had opened my glowing eyes for the first time, I was filled with utter hatred.

  Cyrus had betrayed me in the darkest way.

  He had taken away my choice.

  My wishes.

  He had forced this life on me.

  But I was so delirious with the thirst. I was so consumed.

  I needed him. I had to rely on his experience.

  Together.

  We were in this together, even if I hated him.

  He’d spent every day of my new life apologizing. Being so attentive. Sobbing and asking for my forgiveness.

  I couldn’t give it.

  “You’ve been better since you changed,” Cyrus said in the dark. “I was getting worried. You were so ill. It seems the cure not only alludes death, but other illnesses.”

  I wasn’t really hearing his words.

  Absentmindedly, I placed my hands on my stomach.

  I’d thought that perhaps my body had just been swollen with all the blood I had drunk.

  But there, deep inside, I felt a flutter.

  Just a small movement.

  But distinct.

  A sharp breath pulled into my throat. Emotion bit at the back of my eyes and they instantly welled.

  “What is it?” Cyrus said, sitting up, looking around, on high alert.

  Gently, I ran my hands over my stomach.

  And instantly I knew.

  “Cyrus,” I breathed. My eyes shifted over to his, meeting them in the dark. I shook my head. “I was not ill all those weeks. It wasn’t just stress.”

  His eyes flicked to my hands on my stomach.

  I watched his expression change. It went slack, his eyes widening. His mouth opened.

  Gently, he reached over, placing his hand on my stomach.

  “A child?” he said breathily.

  I sat up, climbing to my knees. I placed my hand over Cyrus’, holding them gently.

  And suddenly, in that moment, it didn’t matter anymore.

  What he had done. That it was so wrong.

  Here, inside of me, we were making a new beginning. A new future.

  From that moment forward, this was what mattered.

  Our little family.

  “We’re going to have a family, Cyrus,” I breathed. And for the first time in so long, happiness rushed through me. I smiled. A breathy laugh came through my lips. “We’re…we’re going to have a family.”

  Tears filled Cyrus eyes. But joy, real joy spread on his face.

  It was a mirrored motion as we each reached for one another. We both held on tightly in an embrace. And in the moment, everything was right once more.

  There in my husband’s arms, I felt it again.

  How much I loved him.

  How I’d walked away from everything to start this life with him.

  It had taken a turn for the dark.

  But here we were.

  Together.

  * * *

  We lived like animals for months.

  The woods were our protection. Out in the wild the scent of human blood did not drift our way. There was little temptation. We separated ourselves. We built a hut to protect ourselves, somewhere to get away from the sun that burned our eyes.

  When the burn became too much to handle, we took the day journey to the closest village.

  Slowly, we began to learn control.

  We could drink without taking it all.

  We took only what we needed to survive.

  But that meant leaving survivors. That meant witnesses.

  So eventually, deeper and deeper into the forests we moved.

  My belly grew. I could feel the tiny life growing within me. During the day as we hid from the sun, Cyrus would place his hand on my stomach. Quietly he would talk to the baby. We’d smile and laugh and plan for our future.

  We knew we needed to get away. We needed to escape the country we had been born in and travel to somewhere far and remote.

  But I was large with pregnancy. Even with my new abilities, my enhanced body, it felt dangerous and difficult.

  “Cyrus,” I said one night. I reached over, searching for the warmth of him in the bed. “I need to feed.”

  I rolled over, a difficult task. My belly was huge. The baby constantly squirmed, kicking against my insides.

  It had to come any day now.

  “Come, then,” Cyrus said. He helped me to my feet, and hand in hand, we stepped outside our hovel. Through the dark of the fall night, we stepped over branches and leaves.

  “We’re going to need a name for the child,” I said as I walked beside my husband. His hand tightened around mine, steadying me, even though I had no trouble. “Have you thought about what we should call him or her?”

  Cyrus looked over at me, and my heart swelled just a little.

  A part of me would always hate Cyrus for what he did.

  But I also knew he hated himself for it. He regretted it every second.
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  I had to recognize that he’d done it out of love.

  I’d chosen this man. And looking into his face right now, I’d choose him again, a million times over.

  “I think I need to see him first to know his name,” Cyrus said, giving my hand a squeeze.

  “And what if it’s a daughter?” I teased him.

  “Then I shall be the luckiest man in the world,” he said as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple.

  A sound in the woods whipped both of our heads back forward. Instantly, we both dropped into a crouch.

  Flames flickered into view a long way ahead.

  Voices floated to our ears.

  Monsters. Demons. Soul eaters.

  The words pierced through the night.

  “Cyrus,” I whispered. “They’re coming for us.”

  I’d spoken so quietly, but suddenly, the mob went quiet.

  And then a bellow, and the sound of pounding feet tromping through the trees.

  “Run!” Cyrus yelled. Instantly, his hand wrapped around mine, and through the dark, we ran once again.

  Chapter 25

  I pressed a hand over my mouth, stifling the scream. I stalled in the middle of the road, hunched over in pain. My stomach contracted, all of my insides screaming under the pressure.

  “Just a few more steps, my love,” Cyrus promised, looking up and down the street in panic and fear. “Come, we just have to get inside.”

  We’d run for our lives. For hours we’d dashed through the woods.

  The contractions had started. Only one every so often.

  But long before the scent of humans hinted in the air they took control of me, coming every few minutes.

  Finally, there was a town. Small homes and the village opened up.

  I could barely move as we dashed through the streets, searching, looking for anywhere safe.

  Cyrus aimed us for a seamstress shop, dark and empty.

  I couldn’t even stand straight as the contractions came after me, one on top of the other. Cyrus scooped me into his arms, carrying me to the door, and breaking the wood as he shoved it open.

  A cry finally ripped from my lips as the pain grew to be too much. Cyrus laid me on the floor, among a pile of fabrics. He closed the door, pressing some of the strips into the cracks to seal in the noise.

  I swore I was going to die. The baby was going to die.

  Surely neither of us could survive so much pain.

  “The head is crowning,” Cyrus said as he pulled up my dress and looked.

  I reached out, gripping his hand hard. And I told myself that everything was going to be okay.

  We were here, together.

  Cyrus was the father.

  And he had helped women deliver babies before.

  “It’s time to push now, Sevan,” he said. And I knew this time was different, because there was fear in his eyes.

  But I just screamed, gritting my teeth together.

  And I pushed.

  I pushed.

  I squeezed my husband’s hand with everything I had.

  And I pushed.

  In a sudden rush of relief, the baby was out, sliding into Cyrus’ arms.

  So happy. Cyrus’ face was so happy. He let out a startled, happy little laugh as he wrapped the child in the cloth that surrounded us.

  “A boy,” he said with the world’s biggest smile. “It’s a boy.”

  I smiled and I cried. Cyrus crawled up to my side, gently placing our son in my arms.

  Little pink cheeks and little pink hands. Perfect lips and tiny toes.

  “He’s beautiful,” I breathed pressing my lips into the wet mess of his dark hair.

  Cyrus cried. Happy tears. He wrapped his arms around the both of us, pressing his lips into my hair.

  “I love you so much, Sevan,” he said quietly.

  “Family,” I breathed, rocking all of us gently.

  We were a family.

  Chapter 26

  We fled. With a newborn son, no possessions whatsoever, and nothing at all to our names, we fled.

  Across the country. We took a boat for several days. We stole a wagon and a horse.

  They were very long days and nights.

  Our son grew ill and recovered. We had no choice but to steal the food we needed. We snuck into places to escape the light of day.

  We were much more diligent in being careful when we needed to feed.

  But we never felt safe. So we kept moving.

  But winter arrived, and with no home, surely our son would die.

  He cried. He’d been crying for hours and neither of us could provide the warmth to warm him enough.

  We crested the small hill, and before us stretched a lake. Partially frozen over, but glittering and beautiful in the sunlight.

  Beyond it, the shape of a village rose. But it was dark. Crumbled. Piles of rubble and ash.

  And there, rising high above the abandoned village, great stone spires rose from the side of the mountain.

  It was silent. So quiet. So still.

  “There,” Cyrus said, pointing to the long forgotten castle. “We will go there.”

  With a shiver, I tucked our son more tightly into my cloak, and we stepped forward.

  I felt it then.

  Peace. A sense of safety.

  Home.

  I felt it.

  We were finally home.

  * * *

  We were happy.

  Me. Cyrus. Our son.

  In the beginning, it was so much work. The castle had half been burned from the inside out. In some places, all that remained were the stone walls. But we lived in the parts that were still intact. We built fires. We created a kitchen, though I very nearly starved us over the years with my inability to cook. We had our bedroom. Our son had his own room.

  I came to forgive Cyrus for what he had done. In the end, I would always hate what he had done to the both of us. But he was still the same man who loved me more than anything. He was still the same man with the charming smile. Still the same man who worked harder than anyone I’d known. Still the same man with the incredible drive to become something great.

  Roter Himmel. It’s what we named our utopia. Our home. It may have only been the three of us, but we were happy in our Red Heaven.

  A family of two vampires and a human son.

  He never seemed to crave blood. He ate a normal diet. He played and ran around and was too loud and energetic. Just like any other boy.

  He was human.

  He grew.

  For years we were happy. We were almost normal.

  But our son… In the beginning we tried to ignore it, pretend it would go away. But his behavior was strange. And grew more concerning as he grew older.

  The way he would crush his toys when he grew angry.

  How he liked to play ruler over the army of pinecones he gathered as soldiers.

  When he struck the poor cub he had taken in, killing it, when it grew impatient with his ceaseless teasing.

  Cyrus and I looked at each other, concern in our eyes. We would sit down with him, talk to him about his behavior.

  It should have been more alarming that he never showed remorse.

  We thought we could love him into being good and kind. We thought we could teach him right from wrong.

  Maybe we were just too distracted.

  Cyrus returned to his studies. He continued to learn. He gathered every scroll and tablet he could. On history. On war. On politics.

  His desire for new knowledge did not ebb, but Cyrus had learned his lesson.

  Our curse taught him where the line was to be drawn.

  “Do you believe it, now?” Cyrus said one night as he crawled into bed beside me. Our son had just gone to sleep, now seven years old. “Do you feel it? The time slipping past us, as if we were invisible?”

  I had to confess: it was obvious now.

  Whenever I saw my reflection, I knew I had not aged since that night Cyrus turned me. “I feel it,” I
say. “We haven’t changed. But what if…” I trailed off for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “What if we just aren’t physically ageing? What if our time just suddenly runs out, and we die of old age, looking like we do now?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I feel it though. The sense of perfection. I feel incredible. This… I created this to be the cure for death. I know it worked.”

  I rolled toward him, pulling myself into his chest. I breathed him in.

  I knew it, too. I didn’t want to accept it, but I could feel it.

  Cyrus had done it. He had beaten death.

  Chapter 27

  “I do not care about the consequences of the blood lust!” our son bellowed. “The world needs to see what kind of potential exists, and the two of you have done nothing with it but hide in these mountains for eighteen years!”

  My teeth clenched, my fingers rolling into a fist.

  It was the same argument, nearly weekly, for the past six months.

  Our son was smart. Brilliant.

  He had his father’s curiosity. He read everything Cyrus had ever studied. He understood the world, even if he had never seen any of it. Even if he had never had any kind of interaction with the outside world.

  “You do not know what they will do to us when we step out into the light,” Cyrus argued with him. “You did not have to endure those months of being chased with pitchforks and torches!”

  Our son shook his head, his face hard. “They were the ones who should have been running. You could easily have shown them what you were capable of. Had you the gall, you could have turned on those people and made them bend to your every whim.”

  I breathed his name, horror and disgust in my voice. “People are people,” I said. “History is full of evil rulers and tyrants. Your father made a mistake. This was never meant to be used to dominate others.”

  He looked so disappointed.

  It broke my heart.

  Somehow, somewhere in the eighteen years of his life, I had failed my son.

  “Create more of us at least,” he said, looking desperately. “Give me the cure. Bring others into the fold. You forced me to live a life of isolation, but it does not have to be this way. You’re strong on your own, imagine if there were hundreds of you! Thousands!”