Page 39

“Yes? Am I … mistaken?”

I swallowed and pushed the memories away. The metallic tinge of blood crowded my senses. The feeling of it on my hands, dribbling from my mouth and neck, seeping into my clothing. I remember how my head snapped back as my mother shook me by the shoulders. “Aurelia, what did you do?” she’d asked.

My head pounded, and I had no recollection. What had I done? A shriek tore through the bedroom as my aunt ran in. Mallory dropped to her knees beside her husband, her head against his chest, her hands on his face. She checked for any signs of life, all the while begging him to wake up. To live.

She bit into her wrist, and as blood trickled down her arm, she held the wound against her husband’s listless lips. She waited—we all did—but nothing happened. Lurching to her feet, she stared at me, eyes wide. She took in my bloodied state, and the shame burned through me as hatred twisted her beautiful face. Dahlia ran into the room as the shrieking began anew, this time with my aunt lunging at me.

Her hands were extended, fangs bared, but my mother’s powers halted her. “I’ll rip your throat out!” Aunt Mallory shouted at me.

I wish she had. I wish Bellatrix had let her, because I didn’t know how to live with myself knowing I’d lost control to such a degree.

I took in the fear in little Dahlia’s eyes. I couldn’t blame her when I was covered in her father’s blood.

“She must be punished!” my aunt shouted. “An eye for an eye. A throat for a throat.”

“I’m—sorry,” I choked out. I stared at my hands. “I don’t …”

“No groveling, sweetheart,” my mother said. Her voice was cold, detached. She turned her sister to face her, knuckles white as her powers pulled Mallory in and held her in place.

Many Primal Born elite were immune to compulsions, but my mother could compel anyone. She forced her sister to look at her and compelled her to forget everything that’d happened that night. She had her believe that she had never married the Turned vampire. That she wanted to leave Nygaard Manor in search of greener pastures. She then twisted her hand and there was a sickening crack, my aunt’s neck snapping before she crumpled to the floor.

Dahlia’s scream was prolonged, her small hands gripping the doorjamb, her legs shaking, tears streaming down her little face. Bellatrix reeled on her. “Now for you,” she said.

“Mother, no!”

She looked at me, eyes aflame.

“She’s only eight.”

“She’s seen too much.” Dahlia started to run, and my mother’s powers grabbed a hold of her, yanking her back so hard her feet left the ground. Hovering at eye level, Dahlia tried to shut her eyes, but my mother’s will overpowered her. “Hush now little dhampir,” she cooed. “You will forget everything you saw here tonight. Forget the memories here—the house, the knowledge⁠—”

“Mother, please,” I cried.

“Forget every moment you had with Aurelia.”

I watched the happiness go out of Dahlia’s eyes. Watched the child I once knew morph into a husk of herself. There was no joy, no rosiness in her cheeks. The tears no longer flowed, and her mouth had gone slack. There was just nothing anymore. “Now sleep.”

The child went limp, and rather than catch her, Bellatrix let her fall to the ground beside her mother. I knew that Mallory would survive her neck being snapped. It wasn’t that easy to kill a Primal Born, but my body still curled around the grief. Bellatrix turned to me. “They won’t remember what you’ve done tonight. But don’t you ever forget.”

Tears poured down my face, and Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

“Ungrateful bitch,” she hissed under her breath.

A lick of anger raced up my spine, and with a growl, I lunged at her. She was quick, her hands coming up to grab my face. She twisted, and oblivion swept in.

When I came to, the pain in my neck was something fierce. My bones snapped back into place as I slowly sat up.

Sunlight peeked underneath the curtains over my window, and I was lying in my bed with Irving at my bedside. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I can’t believe she broke your neck … I thought …” Tears stained his face. “Thank goodness you’re alive.”

Irving’s present face rematerialized before me. He tilted his head, concern now dominating his expression. If he hadn’t remembered what I did five years ago, he’d clearly been compelled, too.

“I suppose I don't quite remember,” I lied. “It’s all a blur.”

I didn’t step into the university building until my early afternoon class. Before I even made it through the door, I felt the buzz of terror and confusion. There were students and staff members everywhere, crowding the hallways, blocking the different exits and entrances. There was a constant hum of quiet chatter, like bees buzzing in a hive.

“What is going on?” I asked a student.

“Lycan attack,” said the human. He pointed ahead to where the university sentries were trying to get the students to step back.