12. TO SEVER A BLOODLINE

Chapter twelve

TO SEVER A BLOODLINE

F or days I tried to coax Kimber from her depression cave, but she remained firm in shutting me out. Her door never opened. Footsteps never haunted her tower's halls. Finally, I grew desperate in my concern and requested an audience with Death in hopes his stubborn ways could outweigh hers. If not, then I'd turn to my last resort: dragging her from that damn bed myself. Not that I didn't understand her pain or empathize with her. Someone aimed to end her bloodline. Actively. That knowledge compounded with her believing she'd lost me for good and actually losing June…hell, I'd be a mess too. But I wouldn't let her lay down and die. Her kingdom needed her. I needed her. More so, she needed Anathema to fulfill the true desires of her heart and restore balance.

Eager to avoid the churning emotions since our visit to the shifter realm, I'd kept myself busy. Distracted. Trying to forget. My younger mind had blocked out that memory for a reason, and yet here I was grown and bearing the weight of it. My mother's words plagued my thoughts: Fate smiled upon you, gave you a special gift. A cynical laugh tore through me. Right. I guess if you considered two dead parents, a life lived behind mile-thick internal walls, and a devouring, unrequited love a gift, then sure.

I sought refuge on the castle rooftop. Up here, the world seemed endless. New. A place where I could let go of my past to focus on the present instead. Galaxies lit up the sky, and the moon reached down her glowing touch, caressing my cheeks. In the quiet, my thoughts settled enough to weigh the facts of our current situation. Malachi and Odin controlled the meat market. Thanks to their selfish dealings, the Shroud and its monsters now haunted Anathema's doorstep. How they were getting the girls in wasn't clear, but that wouldn't matter after Suri and I burned their investors—and them—alive. And while I couldn't be one hundred percent certain, I'd bet my right nut that they were also the ones seeking to end Kimber's bloodline. I mean, it would make sense. They'd been vying for Lyvias to take the throne, encouraging him—well, me really—to cozy up to Kim "until the time was right." As if that wasn't some ominous shit. Why Malachi supported Lyvias's ascension to the throne when he clearly wanted control for himself remained a mystery.

The other wild card—the one I couldn't for the life of me figure out motive or reasoning—was Nasheesh. He had ties to Malachi. But how? Why? Part of me suspected he'd show at our little meeting slash murder party alongside the demon Lord's other business partners. Maybe with the two of them in the same room, I could finally connect the dots; but Malachi hadn't sent word yet. In fact, he hadn't made a peep or an appearance since our last meeting according to Suri. At least Nasheesh had seemed content with my explanation of cozying up to Kim, and he'd stayed out of my way.

But my gut told me our luck was quickly running out.

I spent the majority of my day digging through the castle studies with my attention fixated on how one might end a royal bloodline gifted by the Old Gods themselves. The idea alone seemed impossible; but if I'd learned anything in my time in Anathema so far, "impossible" was just a word. Anything could happen in the realm of night if you were willing to pay the price for it.

I'd burnt through not one but two candles on my hunt for answers; and nothing . Zilch. That is, aside from a beginner's guide to chess, which I grabbed for Lana's next visit. Turns out we were both pretty crap at the game, but it brought me joy to see her smile as we tried to make sense of it.

Prepared to call it quits for the night, I aimed to snuff out the remainder of my third candle when I saw it tucked away in the same small study where Kim had found the treason log: a disturbance in the otherwise untouched space. I crossed the room to the oak shelf to find a fresh drag line in the dust. Very fresh. Given Kimber hadn't left her room in days, this meant someone else had been digging about in here.

I pulled the stiff leather book from its spot on the middle shelf—the scent of old parchment heavy in the air—and cracked it open to reveal the first page. In bold, swirling penmanship, it read: A Case Study in Modern Pureblood Ancestry by Barges Frain. Interesting. The first entries were dry and factual, but halfway through the sixth I came across a line that piqued my interest.

Two shifting houses, one born of talon, the other bane of blood, deceived. One to blame, the other to pay. Beware the void-talker. I flipped the page. For where he walks, Chaos shall come calling.

The Bloodbanes and Talonborns. My lineage. I stole a look around the quiet space. To stumble upon a book so relevant to my research was a one in a million chance. Or…had someone intended for me to find this? Left a trail in the dust to lure me to it? I turned back to the book and ran a finger along the indented date scribbled on the inside cover. Fifteen years ago…which meant Barges Frain had been present during the massacre. Yeah, someone defiantly wanted me to find this.

"Hello, my Lord," Nasheesh greeted. "And what, might I ask, are we reading today?"

I startled at his sudden appearance, tucking the journal against my side, careful to keep his wandering eyes from straying where they didn't belong. Always there when you didn't want him. His robe squeaked against the leather chair as he sat, crossing his hands over his knee.

"Nothing of substance, I'm afraid," I said. "Quite drab, really."

"Pity. Though, considering the shelves you've chosen to pull from, not surprising." He rubbed his sleeve over a smudge on the armrest as his lip pulled back in disgust. "The king insists on keeping every tome he has read, despite whether he found enjoyment in it or not. This is the study where his least favorites come to die a lonely death."

"I can say with certainty that I understand why they've come here to rot."

Death's study... Was he the one leaving hints? If so, what a clever way to avoid a breach of blood pact. Maybe he really did want Kim to succeed as he claimed. Nasheesh shifted, a crinkle drawing my attention to the black envelope stuffed in his robe sleeve.

"What brings you here then?" I asked. "Have some business that requires my attention, I take it?"

"Indeed."

The advisor's smile grew vicious as he stood, extended the envelope to me, and positioned himself in the doorway, facing the hall to play lookout. This had to be serious. I cracked the wax seal with a pop.

Dearest Shareholder,

We have taken great pleasure in preparing a viewing party in your honor where we aim to showcase just how far your investment has gone. Please join us in celebrating this monumental moment in history where the elite shall take their rightful place above the lesser as the Old Gods intended. We look forward to seeing you in precisely a fortnight for our last clandestine meeting to be held in the wee morning hours. The time has come to reclaim the night and restore Anathema to her former unholy glory! And please, do burn this memo after reading. We wouldn't want it to land in the wrong hands and spoil our fun, now would we?

With pleasure, M but as my vision sharpened, I realized that nothing could be more terrifying than the reality staring me in the face.

Kim stood over me: her fists knotted in her nightgown and her chin trembling as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. I shot up, reaching for her, but she shied away from my touch.

My chest clenched. "What is going on? Are you okay?"

"No," she whispered while searching the room. "I…I don't think I am."

Admitting such a thing didn't come easy for her. Even before she'd realized her birthright, she'd carried herself like a queen. Unshakable. Fierce. Whatever—no, whoever— had caused this reaction in the woman I loved would rue this day; but I curbed my rage, trying not to fuel her already charged energy.

"Come here." I tore a wool blanket from my bed, draped it around her, and guided her to sit.

Gods, her heart was racing. The terror reflected in her eyes frayed my composure, and I attempted once more to soothe her. I opened my arms, but didn't press or pressure. I would wait as long as she needed until she was comfortable. A sigh of relief passed my lips when she melted against my chest, her sweet scent encasing me. I rested my lips against her hair and hummed a soft tune to lull her split nerves.

"You're safe," I murmured.

She let go, her gentle sobs ripping at my soul. Countless, desperate comforts begged to roll off my tongue, but I let my presence speak the truth for me: I'm not going anywhere. Steadily, her heart rate evened out, and her shaking limbs settled. Still, I held her. I wanted her to know that this was on her terms. Her means. Always . Because I'd seen this version of her once before.

The night she'd cried over the man who had put his filthy hands on her as a child had altered me forever. A teacher: meant to mold the minds of his students towards a bright future. Yet he'd callously darkened hers behind closed doors. He'd cut out parts of her that—no matter how much she fought and healed and processed—would remain sore and scarred, festering under the surface for years to come. How anyone could commit such atrocities had shaken me to my core. Changed my world. My belief in humanity. Me.

I'd made it a mission to track the fucker down. For months I'd hunted him, determined to deliver his retribution. His punishment. After Kimber's "allegations"—as it was marked in the state records—he'd fled Cottage Grove for the sandy shores of California. Wrapped up in his new world, new wife, new life, he'd fallen into a false sense of security. Thought he had a chance at happiness again. How he could hold such shadows in his mind—knowing what he'd done—and attempt to remake himself as if a young girl's life hadn't been entirely changed by his actions remained a mystery to me. But his sins would not go unpunished.

When I'd finally caught his trail, I'd packed my bag, secured the first bus ticket out of town, and set off to end him. By the time I'd arrived on that humid summer afternoon, it became clear that Fate had beat me to him. He'd lain in a hospital room facing the backside of a dump site—the stench of burning trash hanging in the air—with cancer burrowing into his brain. Handcuffs bound him to his deathbed. Turned out his disturbed psyche was unchangeable, and he'd become a repeat offender of the innocent. Fate, it seemed, had known it all along. Planned for it. The Old Goddess had woven together a symphony of suffering for him alone, hand-delivering a blow far greater than immanent death: hope. She'd let him build up this grand, wonderful new existence. Allowed him to believe he'd evaded consequences, only to fall victim to his own depravity. A sinister justice.

Countless machines beeped, singing the man's final song as I'd waded into his room. I'd sat watching his chest rise and fall, studying the hands that'd nearly broken the strongest woman I'd ever known before she'd even had a chance at life. For a moment, I'd considered cutting those hands clean off, allowing him to bleed out while I muffled his screams with his own pillow. But he'd woken up. Lost and disoriented, he'd searched the room, unable to form words as his sights frantically danced over me. I'd known what he wanted to ask. Who was I? Where was he? What was happening? The sunset's orange light had streamed through the window, kissing my cheek, and I swear I'd heard Fate's gentle laugh. There was still a chance to cut him, deeply.

I'd leaned close and said two words: "Kimberly Bradshaw."

This? This he remembered. Not where or who he was...but her? Emphatically. With shame in his eyes, he'd begun to weep; but I hadn't averted my stare, letting it weigh heavy on him as I held up an invisible mirror to his depraved depths. When his tears had run dry, I'd dug into him again. "A child," I'd said. "Innocent," I'd reminded him.

I'd left him to choke on that memory.

He died the next morning alone; and I had peace in knowing that, in the end, there had been no get-out-of-jail-free card for him. No, he'd died with that little girl's face seared into his brain like a hot brand. As it should have been.

Kimber's heavy breaths finally steadied as I blinked back to the present. She looked up at me with red, puffy eyes.

"Thank you," she said in an almost embarrassed tone.

I fought the urge to caress her cheek and offered a gentle smile instead. "Even Lady Death needs comfort now and again."

Her entire being relaxed. From there, she told me about the hybrid she'd seen in the gardens and Nasheesh's appearance beforehand. Confirming a hybrid's existence was one thing, but her assertion that it'd been Odin gave me another rabbit trail to follow. It didn't add up. The embodiment of Death held sway over the realm entirely. What did her enemies even stand to gain? And who would be dumb enough to think a mixed bloodline could challenge a lineage imbued with the Old Gods' powers? No magic could match it. Kim and I were missing something; we both knew it. Some hidden agenda lingered right under our noses.

After hearing Kim's tales regarding Barges' journal—how he believed the missing shapeshifters were being sacrificed to create a hybrid capable of creating a new royal bloodline—we settled on our next course of action to study the Evermoor Woods. Maybe we'd find a lead there. You know, just one more item to tack onto my rapidly growing list of things to figure the hell out. Awesome.

With the night's adrenaline rush settling, Kimber turned to leave—her protective walls back in place—but I couldn't let her go. Or rather, wouldn't. Not when a war raged violently within me. My lungs shrank. I knew she was strong and capable, and yet the fear of losing her was so visceral, it buckled my knees. She drew nearer to the door as a glint of our shared magic shimmered in the dark like a rope tethering us to one another. I needed her with me. Close.

I snagged her wrist. "Stay with me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Let me watch over you tonight."

She pondered my offer—her internal battle showing through—until finally her soft lips curled up at the edges. "Alright, but you sleep on the floor."

"As you wish."

I felt her relief in my bones as if it were my own—despite her refusal to voice it aloud—and relished the sweetness of it. She wanted to stay. I smiled, sprawling out on the hard floor in contented bliss, the cold boards nipping at my back.

She'd stayed.

A few silent minutes passed before she shocked my system once again, inviting me to lay at her side.

"Fine," Kim groaned. "Come up here. Just keep your hands to yourself."

While we'd slept in the same bed numerous times before, the vulnerability woven into her request hit hard. Trust didn't come easy to either of us. We'd fought to get to where we were as best friends and confidants. Here I'd thought that in taking Lyvias's face, I'd never know that comfort again.

"Of course," I said, crawling into bed. "We'll figure this out, Kim. I promise."

Her tired breaths lulled me to rest; but just as I began to drift off to sleep, she stirred. I turned to find her eyes closed, lost in a dream.

"Cooper, don't go," she whispered into the cool night air.

At the sound of my name on her lips, the tears I'd fought in an effort to be brave for her rose up. I wrapped a hand around her cheek and uttered the words that'd been stuck in my throat for far too long. The words I knew her sleepy ears wouldn't truly hear or her worn mind remember.

"Never. I will never leave you, baby. Not even death could keep me from you."