Suddenly, the fire was blown out, and a cool wind blew through my hiding spot. I froze, knowing that I was too weak to defend myself from the Hunters. As a Vampire, I healed faster than a mere mortal, but the wound in my leg had been deep, cutting through bone and tendons.
“Get up, you pathetic simpleton,” a strident feminine voice demanded. It was unfamiliar but still caused pinpricks of terror to race down my spine. It was the voice you would hear on a stage, innately demanding your respect.
I remained shivering on the floorboards, eyes squeezed shut.
The smell of death permeated the air. I had no doubt in my mind that it would emanate directly from this woman.
Footsteps echoed around me, surrounding me. I counted at least fifteen heartbeats.
Somebody grabbed my hair, and I screamed at the initial stab of pain. My eyes, unbidden, flickered to the woman who held me.
She was beautiful, that much was obvious. Her rose gold hair cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, that exact color when the sun began to peek through the boughs of trees early in the morning.
Her hand curved around my face, and a delicate smile touched her red-painted lips. She looked as delicate as a snake, however. No amount of smiling could pacify the rage in her eyes. The darkness.
“My poor dear,” she cooed. “Cast out. Abandoned. Alone.” She shook her head in mock apology, and my temper flared. That condescending little bitch!
“Who are you?”
“I think the better question would be: what do I want?” She laughed, a sound that made goosebumps erupt on my skin. Fear penetrated my defenses, and it took considerable effort not to curl into a fetal position and cry. “Your name is Mali.”
“No shit,” I sniped back, resisting the urge to spit on her smug face. Her smile never wavered at my small act of disobedience.
“My name is Aaliyah,” she said calmly. “And you’re going to help me.”
ONE
Z
The throne room was...underwhelming.
That was not a term I would think to associate with such a room. The connotations of the word ‘throne room’ would suggest intricately-crafted chairs raised on a dais and three-tiered chandeliers. What I found, however, was something else entirely.
It had once been beautiful, the opulence even now undeniable, but time had tarnished its beauty. The chandeliers were covered in dust and spiderwebs. The thrones themselves were cracked in more places than one.
I tried to mask my expression of shock, but a tiny gasp slipped out instinctively. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
This room was just one of many throne rooms for the seven kings. They barely ever traveled to the Capital unless there was an important event transpiring. Like the Damning - a fight to the death between one-hundred of the worst criminals and assassins. At the end of the day, there was only one winner. One person to claim the title of the Kings’ private assassin.
A title that currently belonged to me.
I could feel phantom remnants of blood slithering over my skin like a snake, a palpable entity. The screams of the men I had killed contaminated the air until I was practically choking on them.
Nobody expected a person like me to win. A girl, for one, and a human. An insignificant bug in this fucked up world of predators. I was expected to be squashed by more than one foot, not emerge victorious. I blamed it on dumb luck.
The seven Nightmare species were descended from the seven deadly sins. It hadn’t always been that way. Hundreds of years ago, humans had ruled the world. There had been skyscrapers and presidents and jobs that didn’t involve groveling. When the sins descended like damn vultures, they had gifted certain families with ethereal powers. Powers that defied the natural order.
Humans had feared these creatures, coined as Nightmares, but they were a dying breed. It became apparent that no amount of fighting could quell the growing plague - the plague being supernatural monsters. They were stronger, better, smarter (or so they claimed), and we were helpless to escape their keen claws burrowing into our sides.
For the first time in forever, the humans found themselves near the bottom of the food chain.
Lifting my head up imperiously, I took the final steps into the desolate room. It was still beautiful, there was no denying that, but it was apparent that it had been forgotten. The room was actually a fitting representation of myself in that respect.
My eyes latched onto the Shifter King first. He sat in the center of the room, penetrating eyes aimed directly at me. At his gaze, I straightened imperceptibly. I would not allow him to intimidate me.
Shifters were descended from Wrath. They were volatile by nature, jumping to violence as a form of resolution. They tended to see the worst in people and were quick to anger and slow to forgive. The current king was also a major asshole, no surprise, and was the most avid proponent of human work camps.
Behind him, standing abnormally still with his muscular arms folded in front of his chest, was the King’s son, Lupe.
My heart hammered when I met his dark eyes. His hair was disheveled, as if he had run his hand through it one too many times, but his eyes were kind. Sympathetic. Compassionate.
My lips pursed.
I didn’t deserve his pity nor did I want it. He may have been my mate - the other half, or at least a seventh, of my soul - but he didn’t understand me. He couldn’t possibly understand how it felt to lose your two best friends in a matter of days.
My stomach was a clamorous mixture of dread and an almost incandescent fury. I kept envisioning Diego’s face…
His eyes had been wide, staring blankly at a spot on the ceiling. I had heard that you were supposed to close the eyes of the dead, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After all, they weren’t
