Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thank You!
TrueSide
The Forgotten Vampires, Book Three
By Holly Hook
CHAPTER ONE
A loud banging brings me from a deep sleep.
I wake in the sea that is my sprawling bed, gasping for air. The darkness tells me that dawn is still far off.
“What’s that?”
Riley’s hand brushes my arm for a split second before pulling away again, almost as if I'm too hot to touch.
Or as if I’m poison.
“Riley,” I mutter, blinking as I stare at the deep night between the heavy burgundy curtains. “I heard something.” The stars wink overhead and a crescent moon slowly rises. The grounds of the former Beaumont mansion spread out below, full of tall trees, tall grass, shadows, secrets, and death.
And I remember.
Dad’s gone. He's run off, leaving me and Riley in charge of this nightmare.
And all week, he hasn’t returned.
I gasp, not because I've woken from a nightmare, but because I've woken up.
Riley rolls over beside me, wrapping the blanket around himself as he puts his back to me.
I sigh after listening for the thump again and hearing nothing. I hate this. Ever since the night Dad got caught and ran away, Riley has insisted that we can still work things out, although I almost lost control and made him kill Dominic. His words, however, don't match his actions when he's asleep.
He looks like a hunched, hurt angel under the covers, his dark hair disheveled. His bare back shines in the faint moonlight, almost giving him a magical glow. Of course, we haven't touched each other yet. The last week has made it impossible, with so much activity in the mansion.
The thumping knock comes again, and footsteps echo on the hardwood floor below as someone goes to answer the door. I jump and eye the clock. It's three-thirty in the morning. Riley and I went to bed an hour ago and we've almost gotten enough sleep, but not quite.
I sit up, fully roused.
No one knocks at this time of the night, even though someone is always up here at the Nightside mansion.
“Riley?” I ask, grabbing his shoulder.
“Hmph,” he mutters in his sleep.
And no good news comes at three-thirty in the morning.
The door opens below, and I let my enhanced senses take over and let them expand down the two floors. I sense that Daeshawn, who Riley and I have appointed to the new management council, is at the door because those are his new sneakers squeaking against the floor.
“Hello?” he asks in confusion. I hear the slight distortion of his voice as it floats up the stairs and through the railings that mark off the balcony.
“Hello. Are you a servant or familiar to this coven?” an older woman asks. “We are here to speak with the new leader.”
Shit. “Riley,” I say, gently patting him on the arm and bracing myself for the recoil that will follow.
But he springs, sitting up and eyeing the closed bedroom door. “Is someone attacking?”
“Someone's asking for us,” I say, missing whatever Daeshawn is saying.
“Tell your master that the High Council must speak with him or her immediately. This is not negotiable,” the older woman says. She has a faint, classy accent, as if she's the head of Rich Kid Academy. I instantly get an image of a gray-haired woman with a bun and spectacles, but there's something powerful in her voice. It warns the listener not to mess with her.
“Who?” Riley asks, turning and blinking sleep from his eyes. He lets the blanket fall around his perfect torso, which I haven't gotten to touch while he's asleep. Riley lets me wrap my arms around him when we're awake, but once he’s in dreamland, I'm repulsive.
I swallow my pain. “Someone called the High Council is here and asking for the leader of this place. I suppose that's us?” I get out of bed, irritation gathering in my fists as I change out of my long nightshirt and start throwing on the clothes I’ve left on the floor of the master bedroom.
Yeah. The master bedroom is vast, complete with carved pillars and ours.
“What?” Riley's at Defcon 5 as he leaps out of bed in just his trunks. “You said the High Council is here?”
“That's what I heard,” I say, pulling on my jeans. Just Riley's shocked tone dispels every ounce of irritation I had a second ago. “Who the heck is the High Council?”
But Riley doesn't answer. He opens the walk-in dresser of the master bedroom and rummages not through jeans, but through suits. Gray suits. Brown suits. And of course, the stereotypical black ones. He settles on the burgundy one he wore at the dance and starts putting his limbs through a white undershirt once he tosses it onto the bed.
“Why are you dressing up?” I ask.
“Olivia,” Riley says. “Just stay back for this.” His tone is ice.
“Riley, I know you're still upset with me, and I don't blame you, but can you explain what's going on?” I ask.
He pauses just enough to look at me. “I'm not upset with you.” His face widens in confusion. “I know why you lashed out. I would have, too, if I were in your position.”
He's not being completely honest. I fear Riley just doesn't want to put any more burden on me than he already has. Or maybe he's scared that I'll completely snap. It's not a good feeling. Indescribable, really.
But we can't pursue that now. Riley thinks this requires a suit, so this must be serious. I help him dress, glad he doesn't push me away.
“Should I wear something special?” I ask. I realize I've lost track of what the woman at the door is saying to Daeshawn with all my focus on Riley. As I listen, I hear several sets of harsh, clicking footsteps back away from the mansion and stop on the front porch.
And they pause there, as if they're expecting Daeshawn to do something on his own.
