Page 99 of Hot Vampire Next Door: Season Five

“Arion,” the queen begins. “This is not who you are.”

“You ordered me to kill my own mother.” His voice shakes on the word mother and I can’t help but think he has years left of healing and grieving.

“She betrayed us!” the queen goes on. “She birthed a bastard! Then tried to start a war!”

Arion hoists his sword up.

“Don’t do this,” she says.

“You could have had anyone do your dirty work. But you made me do it. You created this monster, did you not? And the dirty work isn’t quite finished.”

“Arion, no?—”

He jabs forward with his blade, sinking it into her heart.

Her eyes get big and her body gives a violent shake as blood gushes from the wound.

Her gaze loses focus, but she tries finding me just past Arion.

“You…remind me…of her,” she says and smiles, blood splattering from her mouth. “I don’t…know…if that’s…a good…or bad—” And then she falls back into the earth, her eyes slipping closed.

Episode One Hundred Seven

FINAL FAREWELL

I’m not sure how long we stand there, staring at the lifeless body of the Summer Queen.

It feels like a lifetime.

The air is still around us save for the occasional snuffling of the Autumn Beasts.

Is it really over?

I’m not quite sure I believe it.

I glance over at my brother, his sword still in hand, blood dripping from the blade. His face is unreadable, but his nostrils flare with a deep breath and he barely blinks, his gaze trained on the queen.

It’s like we’re all waiting for the next trick, the next con, the next shoe to drop.

It doesn’t.

The queen is dead and we are victorious.

But I think we all know that there is more work to be done.

Behind us, there is a shuffling of feet, a rustling of branches.

What remains of the Summer Court assembles in a circle around the center of the maze. Men in decorated tunics and women in bright gauzy dresses. Others with vibrant makeup and golden thread woven into their hair, dressed in fine linen and embroidered summer cloaks.

A man steps forward. He wears a jacket made of dark green suede with leaves embroidered in gold across the shoulders. It’s clear he’s someone of importance. It’s in the way he stands, shoulders back, hands clasped in front of him, that gives it away.

The man tilts his chin, regarding my brother with distant interest.

“Who is that?” I ask Arion in a whisper.

“Ozaron,” he answers. “He is High Lord of the Summer Court.”

Great.

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