The Cold Kiss of Death

time. ‘I will ... not ... allow ... it.’

‘The choice is not yours, but belongs to Rosa.’ He knelt on one knee before me, blood-tinged sweat beading on his forehead. ‘Genevieve,’ I heard the gentle command, ‘you must repeat these words: I offer you my oath, accept only you as my liege and drink of your blood.’

I repeated his words, my voice harsh as if rusty with disuse, my mouth struggling to form the syllables past the scorching pain constricting my throat.

He touched my cheek and ice spread through my veins, freezing the imps into calmness. He held out his wrist. ‘Now feed, Genevieve.’

I kept my eyes on his, drew my lips back and struck, sinking my fangs into his skin, sucking hard, desperately.

‘Be ready to run, Genevieve, at my command.’

He stood in one smooth motion, breaking my hold on his flesh as he drew me up with him. Then he looked up, and I saw through his eyes Hannah watching us from the broken window, her face contorted by magic. She lifted her arm and traced a glyph through the air. It glowed brightly before streaking down to slam into my chest, freeing the imps and sending them screaming in triumph through my veins.

Malik turned back to me, eyes dark and shadowed and drew back the sword ...

Disbelief and outrage filled me. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t dare—

... and plunged it into my body.

The blade sliced into me—

—and I stared down at the hilt where it pressed up in my stomach, feeling the sharpness of the blade cutting through my heart, and the hard length that protruded from between my shoulders. ‘Whatever happened to running?’ I screamed in my mind. Then pain shattered through me, spinning me out in a tornado of golden dust, and I spiralled into the red-dark depths of memory.

My fourteenth birthday.

My wedding day.

I stood, tall and straight as I’d been taught, in the centre of the great hall. The high mullioned windows were open to the faint moonlight and the distant bark of a fox was the only noise other than the soft sound of my breaths. The guests—all vampires, not a human or fae amongst them—surrounded me. A handful I knew, those of my father’s blood, but the rest were strangers, here to see their liege lord take his sidhe bride.

I stood, shock numbing my mind, ignoring them all, pretending to ignore the still-warm blood that drenched the hem of my gold-brocade dress and soaked into the thin fabric of my shoes. Blood that smelt like sweet ripe pears.

Sally’s blood.

Sally had been given to me as a present on my twelfth birthday: my very own lady’s maid and companion. We were supposed to be inseparable, two young girls growing up together, but Sally was three years older than me, and she wasn’t interested in being friends, not with me, anyway. Not that I minded; she was pretty, with her pale blue skin and long blue-white hair, and part fae—her great-grandmother was a Cailleac Bhuer, one of the Blue Hags—so I’d been happy just to follow her around.

My prince—my betrothed—Bastien, the Autarch, the monster—came towards me. He let the sword fall from his hand and it clattered to the ground. His bare feet soaked up the blood, leaving unbloodied footprints on the flagstone floor. The wet ends of his hair dripped down his shoulders. The splatters on his face looked like teenage freckles. Not even his height—he was close on six feet tall—could make him look much older than the fifteen he’d been when he’d accepted the Gift.

The shadows followed behind him, always present, never breached, never mentioned, and never revealed—

Only now I knew what the shadows hid: Malik al-Khan, the Autarch’s ... what? The question rose like an accusation out of my memory then sank slowly back into the darkness.

‘You are looking very beautiful, my sidhe princess.’ The monster’s handsome young face smiled, a joyous, open grin that didn’t hide his fangs, nor the gleam of lust for pain in his eyes.

‘Thank you, my prince,’ I whispered, unable to stop my legs trembling the closer he came.

The monster executed a low, elegant bow and held out his hand to me. Sally’s thin plait of blue-white hair lay limp in his palm. ‘To the victor the spoils, is that not right, my bride?’

I curled my shaking fingers into the heavy material of my dress. I didn’t want to be the victor; I’d never wanted to be the victor—I hadn’t even realised there was a contest until it was waged and lost. I’d always known he would have others as well as me, for my father had educated me well. In my future there had been no winners or losers, just fairy tales of happily ever after with my prince. But Sally hadn’t known the rules; she’d set out to win, unaware her battle was a barely noticed skirmish until she’d staked her victory flag where all could see it.

‘Do you not want my gift, my lovely sidhe?’ He wiped the plait across his bloody chest and presented it again. ‘Is this not what you wanted?’

‘Take it, Genevieve.’ The order came into my mind and my hand reached out and snatched the plait from his palm before fear or conscious thought could stop me.

‘I hoped my present would please you,’ the monster said softly, and waved around, an expansive gesture, ‘but I have another gift for you to mark our wedding day.’ He held out his hand once again and the necklace sparkled in the flickering candlelight, the diamonds like pink stars as they dripped blood from his fingers. ‘Turn around, my princess. I will fasten it for you.’

‘Do as he says,’ said the voice in my mind.

I curtseyed slowly and dipped my head in acquiescence, then I turned as he bade me, my heart thudding shallow in my chest, fear cramping my stomach. I stared at my father’s aristocratic face, the proud lift of his chin not quite disguising his own fear, then at the frightened expression of Matilde, my stepmother. Her fingers fluttered up to touch the black opals that encircled her own neck, her lips parting with a glimpse of fang, as if to speak, as if maybe to stop him ...

Then she pressed her lips together and her sapphire-blue eyes dropped down to the spreading lake of blood on the floor.

It was the last time I would ever see her look at me.

‘Be ready to run, Genevieve. At my command.’

The diamonds settled around my throat, the stones heavy against my chilled skin. ‘A gift fit for a queen, my sidhe queen,’ said Bastien, the monster, drawing the necklace tight, making it dig into my flesh with a spiteful twist of his fingers. He touched his lips to the curve of my neck; they felt like a brand. His sharp inhalation of my scent sent panicked shivers down my spine.

‘Sidhe blood, as sweet and rich as fear-spiced honey,’ he said, his voice a mixture of anticipation and satisfaction. ‘Sidhe—and virgin too; is that not so, Alexandre? On your honour, none has tasted your daughter’s blood or body? I have your assurance that she is ready and willing to be broken on my sword?’

Terror fractured the last edge of numbness inside me and piss trickled down my leg to mingle with the blood beneath my feet.

‘As you wished, my liege.’ Anguish flickered in my father’s eyes, then was gone.

‘Run. Now.’

I ran, out through the heavy oak doors and into the night, the ground slippery beneath my feet, the heavy brocade dress tangling my legs, my lungs gasping for air, my belly taut with terror, knowing I had to escape, knowing I couldn’t outrun the shadows ...

He caught me from behind and then there was nothing but pain and terror as he held me down, his hand tight in my hair, my smaller body crushed beneath his, and the sudden sharp sting of his fangs piercing the curve of my neck as I pleaded with him and screamed for him to stop ... ... and his lips touched mine in a kiss as cold as death.

* * *

Red-blackness pressed against me as insistent hands tried to prise and pinch and pull me apart. Rich spice scented the air and copper sweetness filled my mouth, and in the far distance a haze of gold circled me like an aurora. I’d been here once before, tethered by the same black silken cord that wound around and through me and tied me to the red-blackness, keeping the determined hands from scattering me like dancing motes into the golden haze.