Emory
My stomach is tight, like a fist, as I follow my parents up the walkway to the monstrosity of a stone fortress known as Castle Graystone. Lighting illuminates the sky overhead, which seems to fit perfectly with the scene, though it’s not raining—not yet anyway. Something tells me there’s about to be a shift in the atmosphere, and as my black boots hit the ancient wood of the drawbridge that has bidden entrance here for upward of a thousand years, I can feel the electricity in the air.
Thunder rolls across the blackened sky, the boom echoing deep within me. Lola clutches my hand more tightly and lets out a little whimper. “It’s okay,” I tell her, forcing a smile to my lips. “Everything is just fine.”
She looks up at me, her wide green eyes filled with anxiety, and her head rocks back and forth, but I know she doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. Why should she? I don’t believe it either.
On my other side, Coit walks more confidently. At seventeen, my brother is the epitome of the cocky male, ready to attack anyone and everyone who might seem a threat to him. The only problem is, he has yet to meet his wolf, so against the likes of these bloodsucker, he’d be as good as dead in a matter of seconds.
Even now, I feel their ocean eyes on us as we make our way to the other side of the bridge. My father gives pause, looking up at the mammoth doors that have already been thrown open for us. Castle Graystone is welcoming our party in the same way a shark invites its prey, with a smile, and even though this meeting has been arranged as a way to finally make peace between our two warring sides, the fact that we were only allowed to bring five warriors along with our family feels a bit like a death sentence.
The bloodsuckers would destroy all of us, eat us for dinner and leave us drained and writhing on the floor while our bodies, desperate for any sort of life saving liquid, slowly cease to function.
A shudder goes down my spine thinking of it.
My father had called us all into his office late last night, sat us all down, and explained to us that we were going to Castle Graystone to meet with the Vampire King. He’d said it was time to find a way to peacefully solve our differences. Coit had flown off the handle, as had Darius, who walked behind me now with his parents, his dad, Jace, being my father’s Beta.
They’d demanded we continue the fight to the bitter end, but my father lamented the loss of so many lives these past ten years or more, saying that we had reached the unprecedented threshold of one hundred thousand dead wolves—and that was enough. No more.
Now, he will negotiate the peace with the Vampire King, and we will comply. Whether or not they had already come to those terms or not, I am not sure, but I’ve gotten the impression all but one small detail has been worked out. I’ve seen loads of our natural resources being shipped out over the last few weeks, timber, coal, precious gemstones, even tankers of natural gas, items we need to survive, items we sell to other packs to keep ourselves able to buy other necessities. Why would the vampires need those things? Perhaps to sell them themselves? I don’t know the details of the war. I only know that we are losing.
And as I step foot into Graystone, Lola’s sweaty hand in mine, I realize that I had been wrong. We weren’t losing—we have lost.
My boots are loud as I follow my father, flanked by two of our warriors. My mother’s slippers hardly make a sound. She is no warrior. She is crying even now. I know all of this has been so difficult for her. When I think of everything my father has put her through, I have to wonder why they were still married.
Mates. They are mates. It is the madness of the Moon Goddess that had brought them together and makes them stay.
At the sound of the word reverberating through my head, I turn and look at Darius. He is twenty-one. He should’ve met his mate by now, if she is old enough. The fact that he hasn’t makes me wonder if our suspicions are true.
Was it me?
I won’t be twenty-one for six more months. Then, maybe we will know for certain.
It will only be fitting that we would be, considering our stature in the pack. I will be Alpha one day soon, when my father retires, and Darius will be my Beta.
“Emory,” Lola whispers, bringing me out of my head. “Look at the paintings.”
My eyes follow her gaze up the walls of the hallway we are marching down, and I wish I hadn’t looked. More importantly, I wish her twelve-year-old eyes had been spared the gruesomeness. Vampires in various poses sucking the life out of other creatures—mostly humans or creatures in their human forms—but occasionally, one of the massive portraits on the wall shows something else, like a vampire with their three-inch-long barred fangs sunk into the neck of a wolf. Those are even more disturbing than the portrayals of humans, which could’ve been us in our two-legged form. We know for a fact that these vampires won’t think twice about ripping our throats open.
One painting in particular catches my eye, perhaps because the woman looks so very much like me. Long red hair flowing down her back in soft curls, her emerald eyes looking directly at the painter, her face pristine and unmoving as a man with black hair almost as long as hers prepares to sink his fangs into her neck.
She is nude, holding a blanket up to cover her breasts as the rest of the fabric falls between her legs so that her thighs are exposed. He is shirtless but wearing black pants. It is clear they are in a bedroom, and I have to wonder if perhaps she isn’t afraid because she knows he will not kill her—not on purpose anyway. Maybe they have an understanding, and she’s come to trust him over the many times he has swallowed down her sacred waters of life.
Maybe this woman is a feeder.
“Emory?”
It isn’t Lola speaking my name this time; it is my father. We are coming to a stop in front of a large set of doors, and he wants to make sure that I am paying attention. I lock eyes with him and nod. If this goes badly, my warrior training will have to help us to escape. Perhaps I haven’t met my wolf yet, but that doesn’t make me incapable of fighting.
A sharp nod is my response to my father, and he turns back to face the double doors.
We wait for a moment with the vampire guards on either side of the barricade only staring straight ahead, their light blue eyes focused on the wall across from them, as if they are also paintings, works of art incapable of moving or feeling.
When they finally move, it is at the exact same time, and I suppose it has to have been in response to a telepathic message from someone on the other side of the doors. We have the mind-link that allows us to communicate mentally with family members and other members of our own pack, but vampires can all communicate with one another via their telepathy, whether they are related or not. After all, most vampires are not born this way; they are created, so it isn’t as if they are actually related to one another—not in the same way we are.
They give the phrase “related by blood” a whole new meaning.
As the heavy wooden doors creak open, and we enter the throne room, I am reminded that part of the reason the king that sits on the throne now was given such immense power is because he has never been a human. He comes from a long line of blood-born vampires as they refer to themselves, the off-spring of other rare vampires who are able to procreate. It is a phenomenon I don’t understand.
My mother calls it witchcraft, but since I’ve never actually met a witch, I am not sure how that can be.
This room is even more elaborately decorated than the hallway. It seems that half of the walls are covered with gold leaf as intricate trim divides every surface into large twelve by twelve blocks that are filled with hand painted portraits of various former rulers and their clan members.
Most of them strike regal poses, their physical features similar to the man in the painting I’d noted before—pale skin, light colored eyes, and dark flowing hair. The women are a bit different. Some have red eyes and blonde hair. Many of them wear outfits from hundreds of years ago, but then vampires even today tend to wear old-fashioned clothing. Even their military uniforms are dated—tight black pants and fitted red jackets. Not that it matters. When warriors can move as quickly and powerfully as vampires do on the battlefield, they can be wearing anything, and it becomes difficult for us to keep up.
Not that wolf shifters aren’t fast—we are. And we are huge when we shift. Some of us are over six feet tall at the shoulder, but we are not as fast as vampires and often not as strong.
Which is ultimately what has led us to be standing here now.
The throne is empty as we approach it, which is puzzling to me. Where is the Vampire King? He must’ve known we were coming…. Father said he planned this the night before.
Lola shifts on her feet, looking around, and I adjust my grip on her hand. I know she is terrified. I want to hold her and tell her it will all be okay, but I can’t promise her that yet.
I have been the only mother she’s ever known, and I will protect her to the ends of the earth, but I am only one person, and the room is full of dozens of vampire guards.
The curtains behind the throne stir, and the man who walks out looks so much like the one from the painting with the woman, a chill shoots down my spine. A few others accompany him, but my eyes are locked on his blue eyes, the same shade as the patches of sky that peeked through the rain clouds as we’d entered his home.
His dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail that flows down his back, and he is dressed in a traditional white button-down with puffy sleeves, black pants, and a regal gold and white checked vest. His expression is difficult to read. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was bored.
“Well?” he says as he stands before the throne. “Bernard, I’m glad you’ve come and we can be done with this. You have it then? The final payment? The five million drakes?”
My heart leaps into my throat. Five million? My father doesn’t have that kind of money. In fact, as far as I can tell, he hasn’t brought any amount of money at all.
“King Kane,” Father says, bowing his head. The rest of us follow suit, realizing we’d been rude before, but in fairness, he hadn’t given us much of a chance to show proper etiquette since he’d begun to speak almost the moment he appeared. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” my father begins. “I do not have the money.”
King Kane Alexander’s face doesn’t waver one bit as he stares at my father. It’s almost as if he has expected this to be the case. “Then why have you come?” His voice is smooth and immediately makes me feel at ease, which is one of his weapons.
Father clears his throat. “Because… I am hoping you will settle for something else, something better.”
“Something better than five million drakes?” King Kane repeats. “What could possibly be better than the remaining money you owe me, Alpha Bernard?” A bit of amusement seems to play around his perfect pink lips, and one blue eye narrows almost into a wink.
My father’s voice cracks as he says, “M-my daughter.”
I feel my heart leap into my throat as my father’s words register in my mind. What? Could he have actually said what I think he said?
“Your daughter?” King Kane repeats, just as taken aback as I am. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Yes, my daughter.” My father sounds more confident now as he says, “I want to sell her to you for the remaining debt. I want you to take my daughter… to be a feeder.”