Authors: Inger Iversen
“She left for the Council three days ago with Deacon and Jace, and no one thought
to tell me until you lost contact with them?” I growled. I knew that anger could rouse
the beast and I was doing well controlling him, but at that moment, I wanted nothing
more than to rip off Ana’s head and toss it back to her.
“Open these doors,” I commanded, more calmly. Ana looked to Mia and then back to me.
Though she was fast, I was faster.
I lined my voice with soft and soothing tones as I used Enthrallment to make the human
do as I commanded. “Open the cell doors, Mia,” I whispered, just as Ana leapt into
action to remove Mia from the room.
My plan only failed due to Ana’s Chorý strength as she grabbed Mia by her waist and
arm and strong-armed her into the hallway. Mia’s growl was the last thing I heard
before the door shut, and I was left in that cell to wonder how I could save Ella
once again. It was becoming an annoying habit, but one I would repeat for eternity,
if necessary.
Ana came back through the door, surprising me, though I wasn’t surprised to see that
she was without Mia. “Listen to me very carefully, Kale.” Her lightly accented voice
was a whisper. “You and I both need to save someone. You need to save Ella, and I
need to save Darke—”
“Darke is dead.” Harsh, but she would do well to remember the facts.
“Trust me. He is not; I would have seen it. I thought I saw his death in a dream but…”
Ana’s eyes took on a glazed look…
She was an intriguing girl, but I didn’t have time for that. “Ana,” I said pulling
her from her daydream. “What are you asking of me?”
Ana looked at me, her face expressionless, but her voice sent a chill of ice down
my back. “I have no problem leaving you here in this cell.” She moved closer and smiled.
“I know pain and suffering as well as you do, and I also know that Darke is not dead,
just as I know Ella is breathing as we speak.”
“Ana,” I tried again. She was grating my nerves. The beast had yet to grumble, and
I prided myself with the thin shred of control I still held. “What. Is. It. You. Want?”
“I want you to kill Servitto.”
Insane, she was insane. “You want me to kill a high Council member? Darke’s brother—you
want him dead, why?”
I was wasting time that I could be using to find Ella, but I couldn’t stop from asking.
What she was asking—it could result in a bigger war on Chorý than what was waged now.
I knew of the Chorý Blood Hunts of the Council, of course, but I couldn’t blame them
for that. I’d seen firsthand the destruction the tainted blood of the Chorý could
cause, and I didn’t wish it to spread. “Why do you want him dead?”
“Do we have a deal?” She reached through the bars and held her small pale had to mine.
I thought to grab her and force the key from her, but I was no fool. Ana had been
created long before me. “Do you know the war that would be created if I seek out and
kill a high Council member—one of the eldest and most trusted, at that?”
The one that was rumored to be Aleixandre’s successor if Aleixandre were ever killed.
I didn’t add that, but I didn’t need to; I was sure that Ana wouldn’t care.
“Do you know what plans Aleixandre has for your precious Arc, now that he has her?”
she answered coolly still holding my gaze.
“You ask a lot of me.” I ignored her baiting statement.
“All I ask of you is to take a life when you already have taken thousands. I ask nothing
you haven’t done before.”
That was the truth, but she asked too much. “You ask me to take a life without reason!”
“And what were your reasons before? Hunger? Anger? Pain? I feel them all now as we
speak. Kale, do we have a deal?” Her eyes glittered with an emotion I had once drowned
in: hatred.
When given the choice of Ella’s safety or avoiding a war, it was obvious which I would
choose. After all, she hadn’t said how soon I’d have to kill Servitto. I could wait
for him to conveniently die by some other means. “Yes, we have a deal. Now open the
door!”
Hereford, Vermont
The abandoned Morrison Communications Building
The change had suited him well. The muscles under his shirt seemed even more defined
than when I first met him, his skin was creamy and pale, and his eyes had darkened
to an almost black.
It would do well for a girl to never look into the once-blue eyes. She would fall
hard and fast for this creature, and it would be the end of her. He had yet to learn
to control his hunger, and he only had me, little orphan Ana, to teach him. Though
I had more important things to worry about, I was left here to babysit this man-child.
Though he was my progeny, his weak state annoyed me to no end. All new Chorý had to
learn to overcome the hunger, else they’d be pushed into
la Luxure
, prematurely ending their lives as Chorý and pushing them into lives as true rogue
vampires.
The life of a Chorý wasn’t as bad as I’d always claimed it was. While under Laurent’s
rule, I had been beaten, tortured, and enslaved; and I’d blamed it all on my blood,
my Chorý blood. That was nonsense, and I could see it now.
The blame should have been placed on Ella, the elusive Arc. I could see the future,
but I wasn’t the Arc. I wasn’t
his
Ella, and he’d shown me his disapproval in my lack of abilities every day of my life
with him. I’d grown to hate the mention of the word
Arc
, which seemed to elicit anger from Laurent, directed at me, and why? Because I wasn’t
a true Arc, and my abilities weren’t always correct?
But Ella was different; she was a true Arc, a clairvoyant with an unrivaled power
to recall the past and ability to soothsay the future. When she arrived, I’d waited
on her hand and foot, as Darke did for me. I knew she was there against her will,
and I hoped to help her, but she blamed me for enslaving her. I wished that Laurent
would have used her as he used me, punished her the way he’d punished me, and then
she’d understand the fear and respect that Laurent demanded of us—but no, the Council
had to protect their precious Arc.
What about protecting me?
My progeny shuddered and mumbled in his sleep. He’d been restless for the past few
days, as if he felt that something was wrong, but he was still too weak to leave.
I fed him a large cup of blood each day, as directed by Kale, and it seemed to do
no more than anger him.
He was a Chorý, and weak by Chorý standards meant that instead of fighting four men
and winning, he would most likely only be able to take on two.
I leaned close and whispered in his ear, “Shh… Rest longer.”
His scent was sweet and still held traces of his human blood. I placed my hand on
his shoulder to pacify him, as I had done for the past few days, and he slowly settled
down. I stroked his supple jet-black hair and caressed his cool chiseled face and
placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
I was a mother, now. I had a progeny, and the authority that came with it was amazing.
He would trust me more than anyone else, because my blood flowed in his veins. It
would fade over time, but the only thing proven to keep
la Luxure
at bay was the blood of a Chorý’s sire—in Alex’s case, me. Though I held no physical
power over him, we would be connected psychically for a while, and I’d use that connection
to my benefit.
It would be easy for me to make him bend to my will. His need to appease me as his
Chorý mother would be hard to deny, and as I sat beside him, this man that I would
soon use, I felt a surge of energy in me that rivaled the day I was reborn. I would
use him to get Darke back, because I knew deep inside that he was not dead, no matter
what Jace said he saw.
Looking down at his sleeping form, I contemplated the ways that I could use him to
find Darke and teach Ella a true lesson on suffering. Her life had been so easy, while
everyone around her suffered because of what she was and the abilities that came with
it. She thought that being hunted and then rescued by her knight in shining armor
was suffering.
She was wrong. I had to sit in her place and endure Laurent’s wrath until she was
found, and even then I was treated like a slave, always having to cater to her needs.
He groaned again and turned toward me. His eyes slowly opened, and I smiled. He was
beautiful, and my own creation. Of course, I would have to give credit to his true
mother and father for his beauty, but I would raise him as my own.
I would abandon everything that Kale had told me to do. I would allow him all the
blood—human blood—that he craved. I would deny him nothing and teach him everything
he needed to know to bring Kale to his knees. What better way to hurt Ella than to
take away the one thing she couldn’t live without?
“How are you feeling, Alex?” I brushed my hand across his cheek.
“Hungry,” he answered, with a sly smile.
I stood and held my hand out to him. “Good. Let’s go eat.”
Kristen Iversen was born to Anne Iversen and Kaii Iversen Sr. on August 22 in Virginia
Beach.
I first decided to write when I was eight years old and my mother read a story to
me about a princess and a frog. Most little girls swooned over a cute prince and desired
to be the princess, whereas I wanted to change the end of the story. I played with
my dolls and friends instead of writing and as I grew up I continued to place writing
on the back burner. That was until I was 18 and a friend explained to me his desire
to write a book. It bought back memories of the eight year old that had a passion
to change and create stories, but I still didn’t act on it. Writing was a dream and
real life was happening then and there. I was in between jobs and with the recent
loss of my father I decided, in a battle of following dreams vs. real life, real life
would win hands down. Over the next 10 years I made and lost friends, went to college,
changed my major, fell in love, changed my major, dealt with loss, changed my major,
fell in love and wrote a short story. That was when I realized that whether or not
I was successful or not, I would write and write until I ran out of ideas or loss
the use of my fingers.