Page 27 of Moon Bound

A lesser vamp would walk away. A shittier one would take the blood bags with them. But my father raised me with dignity.‘Empathy makes you strong, and sympathy makes you noble,’he would say. He believed our greatest asset was compassion and then would beat me senseless for not being the greatest. I still had to be the best of the best but also give a shit about those I shat on as if that's not confusing for a young vamp seeking his father's approval.

At first, I attend to Torsten, tipping the bag of blood into his parted mouth. His skin had begun peeling, his muscles worryingly thin, but his condition doesn’t come close to Chase’s. In the next cell, colorless eyes stare at a spot on the far wall, blood smeared across his chin from slicing open and sucking on his bottom lip. His hands are almost pure bone, his body a fifth of the vamp I know.

Gently, I roll Chase onto his back and lift his skull-like head in time with dripping shots of blood into his mouth. Despite barely having strength myself, I have to manually make him swallow by rocking his head against my shoulder. Once the blood bag is drained, I quickly toss the bag aside and drag him into the cradle of my weak arms.

“Come back to me, you jokey little prick,” I mutter. “Wake up, so I can beat you for scaring me.” When the male in the adjacent cell stirs, I lift Chase and shuffle into it. Placing him beside Torsten, I stroke Chase’s bald head. He’s going to be pissed about losing his long, brunette locks if he can transition back to the male I previously knew. For all our sakes, I hope he does. There’s nothing to be done but wait for the blood to work around their systems and get more help.

Anger churns in my gut, pushing me on, even though my own body is failing me too. Despite my reservations, I stop by Carrick’s cell, push the blood bag tube between his lips, and walk away. That’s as far as my duty goes towards one of my own, even if Carrick’s motives in these trials are warped. He hasn’t been quiet about wanting to be king, and at no point has he mentioned the desire to take a mate. His morals, or lack thereof, define his character, and his character was shit.

I stumble numerous times, my knees slicing open and not healing, but still, I press on until I make it back to the staircase, leaning against the wall for support. Shuffling up the steps, I’m practically crawling by the time I reach the top.

A royal guard meets me at the top of the stairs, making a show of announcing me as the winner to the waiting crowd. Fists pump in the air and bang on firm chests, our motto being chanted on repeat.

‘For our King and our Kind.’

I fight a scoff, allowing the guard to help me through the mob. To risk our strongest soldiers by leaving them in a state of slow, lingering malnutrition. Only now is the true weight of agony settling on me. Give me a good, clean fight any day, and I’ll take the win within five minutes. But this is insanity. Reaching the back of the males, turning down the hallways towards the blood bank, the females are waiting there. Royal guards try to keep Aspen at bay, but she ducks pasts, her face filled with elation as she runs for me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t rely on her vampire speed, giving the redhead who blurs past, screaming my name to fly into my arms first.

Chapter17

Aspen

For once, my inner vampire and I are in complete agreement.Who the fuck is that?

All these days, I’ve been pacing around the East Wing, distracting myself in the botanical gardens, I haven’t been interested in meeting the other females. Now I’m berating myself for thinking these three males I’ve been fretting over wouldn’t have another woman in the exact same position. We won’t even think about where Sawyer might be or with whom, but Jaxon? Of all the males I thought wouldn’t have any skeletons in his closet, he was the one I trusted the most. Now, I’m not so sure who I’ve been envisioning, who I’ve been fantasying about having sex with over and over again.

My footsteps halt, embarrassment clawing up my throat. The redhead has her arms locked around Jaxon’s neck, and he’s making no move to push her off. Backtracking, I ignore meeting anyone’s eye contact and retreat to the suite I’ve been assigned. Shooting through the lower level of the East Wing, I come to the winding staircase before hearing footsteps above. A female vampire I don't recognize turns the corner, a royal guard at her back.

Bright green eyes narrow as she halts, taking me in with a long, bitchy, all-the-way-down-and-back-up-again look. Even from a step below, I can tell we’re of a similar height, her figure plumper than other vampires I've seen, and she knows it. Her breasts are pushed together in a floor-length gown fit for a ball. Clinging to her curves and showing a hint of leg through the thigh-high slit, she’s every bit the regal princess a castle would expect.

I knew exactly who she was merely from the scent we share with Lorcan. My half-sister. The sibling I wish I had during all those lonely days. The princess who should be preparing to become queen, instead of me fumbling through a lasting panic attack. With a flick of her bouncy brown curls and a raise of her chin, she strides past, shoulder barging me on the way.

"The fuck," I growl, but her guard gives me a grave look. His blue eyes are too alike Jax’s, despite the shot of blonde hair on his head. Following his charge, I forget the pair of them, not stopping again until I’m slamming the door to the royal suite closed behind me.

Chest heaving, I slump against the door, facing the huge open-plan room splayed before me. A wide glass dining table and four leather chairs sit to the right beside a newly built kitchenette with gray marbled worktops over black cupboard doors. State-of-the-art equipment has been installed for my benefit, all-electric and shining chrome.

Pushing upright, I walk over the plush, beige carpet towards the charcoal corner sofa. On the opposite wall, a pebble-gray backdrop showcases a large flatscreen TV that I have yet to learn how to use. This is much like the cell phone Nova gave me, which sits on the coffee table between the sofa and the cabinet, all resting on a plush plum-colored shaggy rug. Even the accents of gold on the light fitting above my head are just as modern and luxurious as the rest of the suite I’ve been gifted.

My mother could have had this lifestyle, but instead, decided to throw it away. Until her dying day, she was empathic and caring, her duty to her people always coming first. We only spoke about my real father once, soon after we’d first been exiled, and a scared thirteen-year-old wanted to understand why. Why was I so different, why was it a problem, and why hadn’t she ever warned me? Although the conversation was brief and the answers to my questions were evasive, the pain held within her eyes was enough for me never to bring it up again.

I always thought of her as a goddess in her linen and leather attire, holding a thick wooden shield and iron-headed spear, never shying away from fight until it came to Conall’s rule. Her soul was beautiful, every fiber of her being focused on helping anyone or thing around her. So, I decided at my adolescent age that I wouldn’t berate her for the one time in her life she had done something purely for herself. She deserved happiness, whatever form it came in.

I lie, waiting for my inner vampire to take over. This is a routine I’m becoming accustomed to. Battle against an onslaught of unexpected emotion, then allow her to squash it with harsh words spoken into my ears. Usually filled with revenge and bitterness, but after that, a dulled sense of numbness seeps in, and I’m able to breathe easier once more. Such an event has happened many times over the past few days when the worry grew too much. I just didn’t think I’d have to face it again so soon. I also didn’t plan on returning to the suite alone but turns out the male I was counting on has another to attend to his wounds.

There’s a desk behind the sofa, complete with a black leather swivel chair like the one in Lorcan’s office. Well, before I trashed it. I’ve left the window above wide open, fooling myself into thinking Sawyer might suddenly appear. It’s clear he’s gone for good, and the thought causes my heart to squeeze and not in the figurative sense. My chest cramps as I hiss through my teeth, gasping for relief from the misery. Fisting my hands in my long hair, I spin, unsure of what to do with myself.

Heading to the kitchenette, I load some chips and dips onto a tray before venturing to the sofa. I haven’t been told to stay here, but I haven’t been given permission to explore the castle at my leisure either. Now I know Jax is alive, and knowing he wouldn’t have left Torsten and Chase behind had they not been okay, I can hide away. Tucked out of sight from the judgment I received today.

And that suits me just fine. If this suite is to be my prison, I will gladly remain. Each evening at sundown, a food basket is left on the doorstep, and as long as I keep the metal shutter open, I can’t be bothered during daylight hours. It took me ten whole seconds of arriving to spot a cabinet in the living area beneath the mounted TV, fully stocked with books. The smell of aged pages was undeniable, and that’s where I’ll have to seek happiness from here on out.

Moments later, I am curled up on the sofa, fully invested in a romance novel between mutants and a ghost, when a loud knock bangs on the front door. I flinch and then scowl as I’m pulled out of my literary page stupor, right as I’m in the moment where the female lead was about to choose between her head and her heart. My frantic turning of the pages must have blocked the sounds of someone coming up the hallway.

Well, fuck them, I mentally roll my neck, book boyfriends wait for no one. Burying my face deeper in the book, I hope whoever it is will take the hint and disappear. But the knock comes again, even louder this time before the doors burst open anyway. If it had been anyone else, I’d have turned my back and ignored them, but upon seeing a version of Torsten and Chase that makes my eye bulge, I rush to meet them.

“Oh, my shit,” I breathe, my hands hovering over Chase’s unconscious form. Torsten stumbles, unable to carry his friend anymore, and drops him into my arms. “What the fuck are you doing here? Isn’t there an infirmary or somewhere you can take him?!” Torsten leans his weight on my shoulder also, and if he hadn’t been a fraction of the size I last saw him last, I would have crumpled. Awkwardly kicking the door shut, I maneuver the pair towards the bedroom by staggering through an open, rounded archway to ease Chase onto the spongey mattress.

“He needs you,” Torsten croaks, laying himself down by his friend. My hands hang at my sides, panic rooting me in place. Torsten’s pale skin is flakey, as if he’s taken a cheese grater to his limbs. His white hair is still in place, although the grayness of his eyes is paler. Unlike Chase’s, whose once emerald green eyes are now bleached white, his head free of hair and body a pewter gray. Lacking all muscle, I wouldn’t even know it was him if Torsten hadn’t carried him in with the last burst of strength he could manage.

“I don’t know what you think I can do,” I say, a quiver in my voice. Torsten reaches out for me, shuffling back to leave enough room for me in the middle. I do not comply. I’m having a hard enough time trying to remember the males from the cabin, who charmed and challenged me into feeling for them. Never mind climbing into bed to play a rousing game of ‘Who’s the bonier spoon.’ There’s not enough shower gel in the world to rid me of the ick I get just from the thought. Yet, they did this for me. In some twisted sense, this proves the depth of their sacrifice. The lengths they’re willing to go to. I shake my head.

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