“No, you don’t understand. Vyvyan ord?—”
“Is everything okay here, Misty?” A group of vampires returning from Little Death slide accusing gazes over me like slippery serpents.
“We are fine,” I choke out, but Misty approaches them.
“No, Desiree and I are finished.”
My heart shatters into a thousand tiny shards.
Her words have a subtext, a finality that goes beyond this moment. She means in more ways than one, and how the others gaze upon me with disgust, they are done with me, too. I am cast out like last year’s style.
“Come on, let’s go,” Misty says.
They leave me in the hall with my jaw on the floor.
I consider charging after them to plead my case, but they won’t listen to me. They will, however, listen to Vyvyan. Turning on my heel, I charge down the hallway, my bare feet slapping against stone.
Fingering the tiny scars on my neck, I knock on Queen Vyvyan’s door, the sound too loud in the morning stillness. She doesn’t answer, and I am positive she is asleep, but I advised Vane to watch over her and told him I would check on her.
“Open the fucking door, Vane. It’s Desiree, and you have three seconds?—”
The door flies open, revealing a disgruntled Vane. His usually artfully tousled white-blond hair is a mess, and his perfect clothes from Equinox Park are still bloody and muddy.
“Desiree, now isn’t a good time,” he murmurs. But I am finished with him and Vyvyan dictating my life.
“We need to talk. Misty and the others?—”
“Is that her?” Vyvyan calls, her voice weak and thready. Vane stiffens.
“Vyvyan, it’s Desiree. We need to talk!”
“Let her in, Vane.”
When Vane clenches his jaw, a muscle ticks in his cheek. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Desiree.”
I push past him, muttering to myself that he is a controlling bastard, then stop dead in my tracks.
Vyvyan’s room looks like a hurricane tore through it. All her luxurious belongings are strewn about. The plush carpet and silk sheets are a ripped casualty of the chaos. Blood seeps into the ancient rug from the shattered bar cart and decanter, the coppery scent filling the air. But that’s not the worst of it. Not by a long shot. Vyvyan stands across the room in her silk sleep dress with one strap falling off her sculpted shoulder while she uses her other arm to clutch a bedpost for dear life. Sweat dampens her dark skin.
“Come to finish the job?” Vyvyan taunts. Her brown—not red—eyes narrow.
“Y-you’re human?”
“No shit. You made me this way.”
The world tilts on its axis, threatening to send me spiraling into an abyss.
“Is this your idea of a joke?” I ask, my legs giving out like a newborn fawn’s.
Vane catches me, but his hold feels like a noose. I push at him to release me.
“How is she human?” I gasp, my voice barely above a whisper as my vision blurs.
Vyvyan glares at me. “You tell me!”
“M-me?” I shake my head. There’s no way. Vampires share blood during consort ceremonies all the time. It tethers two vampires together and symbolizes marriage. I’ve never heard of anyone turning their mate human.
“Your blood cursed me,” Vyvyan snarls.
