CHAPTER ONE
Muted grey light filtered through the trees, casting the graveyard in an eerie glow. A thick fog hung low, wrapping itself around each headstone that jutted from the cold earth. Gold finials perched atop a tall wrought-iron fence marked the fae burial grounds to anyone who dared enter.
It was expressly forbidden for my kind to step across the hallowed boundary, just as it was for any fae to step foot in a vampyre’s crypt. Honoring the dead and giving them a peaceful resting place came before any curse or ill will our peoples harbored toward one another. It was one of the few things we agreed upon, and any who dared defy the silent agreement often found their end bound to the gates—crows pecking out their eyes and tongues.
As the sun crested a hazy hill, a congregation of black-clad figures gathered beneath a canopy. Shadowy curtains billowed in the wind—a piss-poor attempt to provide privacy for those surrounding the shaded, ornate coffin.
My black car idled at the corner, far enough away that I would miss the wrath of the dead. I had been waiting for hours, unsure what to do if I was caught lingering here. I waswarned against coming, several times, in fact, but the thought of sitting at home while they lowered her body into a grave was incomprehensible.
When Castor’s letter arrived yesterday, I knew what it entailed without reading his cruel words. Yet I did anyway, because I deserved the pain that sliced through my chest every time I thought of that night. How I had single-handedly destroyed not only my life, but the lives of so many others.
I had not slept since our last night together, choosing to spend my time agonizing over each second that led us here. My ragged heart drew painfully tight as I remembered the acidic tang of her blood lining our cobblestone driveway, the charred burns across her skin as her unseeing eyes stared up at the inky blanket of stars. Her thready pulse barely registered as I fought desperately to feed her my blood. It hadn’t mattered how hard I pleaded for her to drink, her plush lips remained closed as the red rivulets mixed with my tears, falling down her cheek. And then Castor had been at my side, ripping her from my grasp and whisking her into his car before I watched its taillights disappear into the darkness.
The rage I felt was unlike anything else I had experienced before, and the moments that followed I had not yet faced. If it had not been for Jasper pulling me up as the sun began its ascent, I would have gladly burned. He watched me around the clock, barely allowing me the space to breathe. His fear hung between us, deafening in its silence. And while he believed there would come a day I would be thankful for him saving my life, I knew I never would.
Not while her body lay beneath the earth, growing gaunt as it decayed.
Neither of us had acknowledged how he had found me that morning, covered in blood that was not mine, praying for death.
A raven’s caw called my attention from atop an iron railing. Its thick, black feathers shone with the deepest sapphire. Dark black eyes met mine as it opened its beak to call out again. Some might have considered it an omen of ill fortune, but I disagreed.
Ravens lived in the in-between, often used by the covens to communicate with their ancestors. Outsiders did not understand how the process worked, but I had borne witness to it once before. The eyes of a young witch and her pet grew clouded, her lips raced, speaking in a tongue which was not her own. When her vision cleared, she had found the answers she sought, and she healed the child who’d been laid at her feet by a mother desperate for help.
While I was cynical about many things, I refused to allow this sighting to cast an even darker cloud over my thoughts. Instead, I would cling to it as though I were adrift at sea, and it might keep me from drowning. Without hope, I knew my despair would drag me to the depths and hold me captive until what little fight remained in me dissipated entirely.
I glanced back toward the circle of black figures as they said their final goodbyes. Castor clutched his wife and daughter to his chest as they fell apart. Their cries reached me over the raven’s gentle call, threatening the onslaught of my own tears. I felt their pain in each reverberating whimper, Castor’s own grief put aside as he comforted his loved ones.
To the side stood Castor’s son, Xavier. I knew little about him other than he had chosen to study in Castor’s home country. It was an honor to be selected and an even higher honor to graduate from their grueling training. Not many survived the horrors that existed in their academy. From the side, he looked every bit the warrior—the spitting image of Castor in his prime.
Lucius stood apart from his family. His fists remained clenched at his sides, staring as the casket lowered into the ground. Though it was customary, he had exchanged nowhispers or well-wishes for the dead. That designation had fallen to Castor, seeing that neither Brielle nor Vivian could utter two words in their state. His lips were drawn tight, and while there was a certain sadness about him, he did not look like a man grieving the loss of a daughter.
He was the first to turn away, striding through the gates, and stepping inside his expensive black car as the workers began slowly filling the grave with fresh dirt. Birds vacated their perches amongst the trees as his tires squealed, and he tore out of the parking lot.
Fucking coward.
But that was when I noticed a man standing just outside the fence, underneath a towering oak tree. He wore a tailored black suit, forgoing the typical jacket for a long, heathered dress coat draped over one arm. His eyes were hidden underneath dark sunglasses. The stranger hid in the shadows well. So well that even I might have missed him if it hadn’t been for his thick, red hair and Lucius’ startling departure.
As if he felt my gaze, he turned in my direction. He could not see me through the dark tint of my windows. However, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I did not know who this man was, but there was a subtle familiarity I could not quite place.
With a dip of his head and one last glance toward the mourners on the hill, he strolled from under the security the tree had offered and made his way down the lonely street.
Had he been sent by the Vail to ensure Calia no longer posed a threat? Perhaps they could not trust Castor’s word, even as one of their longest-standing members, given his proximity to the deceased.
It made me hate the bastard even more, knowing that his own society had tried to take her from me without caring if she died in the process.
I returned to the grieving figures, observing Castor and Xavier as they carefully guided Vivian and Brielle toward the parking lot. They stumbled through manicured grass, barely making it to the smooth stone walkway leading toward their waiting car.
I should turn away and allow them to mourn in peace without the weight of my despondent gaze digging into their back. Seeing their broken faces disappear behind the tinted glass caused a vine of sharp thorns to coil around my lungs until I found my chest aching for release.
But I would never feel that relief, no matter how much I searched for it.
Up on the hill, the workers packed away their things. They dismantled the tent, leaving a single gravestone protruding from the ground. It stood tall and imposing, its surface polished to reflect the sun. Intricate carvings curved along the sides, adorned with wreaths of ivy and white forget-me-nots draped over the stone. The arch at the top pointed toward the sky, reminding me of a cathedral spire. And then I saw the elegant, flowing script engraved into the marble.
Calia Elizabeth Darrow
Beloved Daughter, Niece, and Cousin
“She who taught the torch to burn.”
