Page 83 of Claimed By Fangs and Darkness
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Any of it. We talk about the born as if they’re a monolith, but here’s one who can create art that’s actuallygood—with depth and complexity—a vampire who supposedly detests his own nature in favor of humanity. Are they all capable of thinking or behaving differently? Can they change?”
Kylo watched me with those thoughtful, imploring eyes. “You’ve added different questions to the mix, angel,” he said with a small smile. “I do believe it was authentic. I’ve always said that most born secretly envy us, deep down in the caverns of their psychic shadows. They’re not a monolith, but they behave as one because of the long-standing political, social, and religious structures that keep the elites in ultimate positions of power and luxury. The less powerful born hold the illusion that they too could be a powerful lord one day, and if not, at least they’re better off than the mortals forever at the bottom of the hierarchy. Every facet of King Earle’s empire was designed to keep mortals from fighting for better and the born from ever thinking differently than how they’ve been taught. Some will inevitably escape these bounds—like you, angel. Perhaps theseed is planted by a lover, a friend, a teacher. Maybe a subversive book, or a traumatic experience, or a piece of art created by the enemy.”
Listening to Kylo speak, his impassioned features warmly lit by candlelight, was a religious experience.
“But that doesn’t change anything, does it? If only a few born ever choose mercy over cruelty. And if they start to think differently, they’re persecuted and killed off by their fellow born.”
“Exactly.” Kylo fed me another bite of risotto. “We can’t make decisions based on another’s potential. We have to take them as they are—the person they choose to show us. There have been epochs in which mortals have lived in harmony with the born. Just as there were times the mortals themselves were at war, covens and shifter packs were at each other’s throats. This is the nature of history. It’s a cycle that repeats. Darkness grows and festers and reaches its breaking point. Power shifts. The new overtakes the old.”
I looked back at the painting, and this time, I saw flashes of anger. “I think the artist felt betrayed. The figures dancing, the lovers embracing, the tree swing, the walls. He was robbed of those experiences and emotions, taught instead not to feel anything at all. He hates his brothers and sisters for raising him to hate the world.”
Kylo’s eyes were warm and enraptured in a way that made my stomach flutter. “That’s why your tears have always been a gift, angel. The world is lucky to have you.” He kissed my knuckles. “Ready to dance?”
I opened my mouth to say I was a bad dancer, but I chose to smile and nod instead. Because it didn’t matter. I would be with Kylo.
And he was right. I didn’t want to take any of this for granted.
The clubwe entered was mortal-run, with live music and witchy technology amplifying and distorting the instruments in electrifying, captivating ways. The singer was equally enthralling, the lyrics fearlessly attacking the born and everything they stood for with a smooth, rich anger.
Kylo held me close, moving and guiding my body. The room was packed. The swell of energy and power created by bodies in synchronized movement led by defiant music was a different kind of magick but a potent ritual all the same.
Most of the people here were mortals, overwhelmingly human. My tattoo only burned in recognition a few times.
Kylo grinned down at me, gripping the back of my head as he devoured my smile. I was warm and floating, my nerves alight with sensation. I tasted revolution in the air and in Kylo’s lips and in my body so close to everyone else’s—a tapestry of interconnected fates.
When my friends at Celeste’s had dragged me to clubs and bars, I’d often felt overwhelmed and disconnected, unable to sink into my body and out of my overworked, fearful mind. I was awkward and clunky, unable to relate to anyone else.
But now?
I looped my arms around Kylo’s neck and moved my hips freely, finding the beat that vibrated up from the floor. A part of a whole, like the web of mycelium beneath the forest floor.
I wasn’t different from anyone else, and that was a relief.
When we left the club, I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t care.
“One more stop,” Kylo said, his hand in mine as he led me down the street.
My legs were jelly, and my ears rang. My lips tugged into a smile. This felt like another victory, another measure of my healing and growth.
When a group of born turned a corner in the distance, laughing and speaking loudly and arrogantly, I didn’t let them kill my mood. Kylo paused. He pulled me closer as we let the born pass from our line of sight.
We continued our walk, and my body was delighted by its own aliveness. It took me longer than it should’ve to realize what street we were on.
I looked from Celeste’s storefront to Kylo.
He did a quick double-check of our surroundings. “Come on.”
The store was dark as we approached. “It’s closed,” I said, stating the obvious.
Kylo led me in anyway, and as soon as we’d taken a few steps inside, a woman popped her head out from the basement.
“Marietta!” I squealed.
She lifted a finger to her smiling lips. “Shhh.” She made a beckoning motion.
Most of the witchy supplies had been replaced by flowers, plants, and unassuming teas, oils, and creams. My heart squeezed as Kylo and I followed Marietta down the stairs.
The door eased shut behind us, and with it, clearly some kind of sound dampening ward. The basement that was once merely a storage room was now similarly abuzz with mortals talking under warm witch lights. Couches and chairs were arranged against the walls, and stacks of books and candles were strewn about.
