20. Retribution Would Be Hers

CHAPTER 20

Retribution Would Be Hers

E ver since her phone call with Zanri two days ago, Brynleigh had replayed rule number ten through her mind until it was the only thing she heard. He was right. Losing was not an option.

Last night, under the cover of darkness, the participants of the Choosing had returned to Golden City. During the journey, Matron Lilith had explained that while they'd been in the north, the unrest in the Central Region had continued. As a result, the guard around the participants would be doubled. Other measures were being put in place, precautions to ensure everyone's safety.

Even now, a soldier was stationed outside Brynleigh's room. The vampire sat on her bed, brushing her hair and wondering what would happen if she dismissed him. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his effort—she did. She'd be lying if she said the rebel activities weren't worrisome.

It was just that Brynleigh was antsy. Between everything going on with Ryker and the soldiers' presence, she couldn't find peace. Her fangs ached, and despite having imbibed in multiple pints of blood since returning to Golden City, she was starving.

Something was missing from her life, and she couldn't figure out what it was .

She wanted the guard to leave because she was itching for a fight. She would find Valentina, except getting kicked out of the Choosing hours before the Masked Ball seemed ridiculous. She'd done all the work to get here. Fighting that fiery bitch wasn't in the cards, but if a rebel showed up, Brynleigh would gladly take them on.

Someone knocked on the door.

Brynleigh's brow arched. What were the chances a rebel stood on the other side, serving themselves up on a silver platter? Slim, probably, but a vampire could hope.

Placing the hairbrush on the bed, she strode to the door and cracked it open. "Yes?"

Unless the rebels were in the habit of recruiting young elves with bright red hair and luminescent smiles, this wasn't one of them. The girl looked like she was in her late teens, not yet Mature, and she extended a long black garment bag in Brynleigh's direction. In her other hand, she held a smaller gift bag. "I've brought your gown, Miss de la Point."

Traditionally, in the Choosing, a woman's parents picked out her gown for the Masked Ball. Since Brynleigh's family was dead, she assumed her Maker had filled the role for her.

Thanking the elf, Brynleigh took both bags and let the door slip shut behind her. She returned to the bed and began unpacking her Maker's gift.

When Brynleigh saw the dress, she let out a low whistle of appreciation. This was, without a doubt, the finest gown Brynleigh had ever worn. This was the kind of dress most women admired from afar, and very few had the chance to wear.

It was stunning, perfect for a proposal, and…

Her family wasn't here tonight.

A tear lined the bottom of Brynleigh's eye. Her sister would have loved this dress. Sarai had always been interested in clothes and sewing in particular. A few months before the storm, Sarai had been accepted to the Western School of Design and Fashion to study fashion history. She would have attended in the fall.

Even without Sarai's sense of style, Brynleigh recognized a masterpiece when she saw one. Changing out of her leggings and t-shirt, she drew the gown over her head. Several well-placed zippers allowed her to get the garment on without help.

It fit her like a glove.

Once the zippers were closed, Brynleigh made her way to the floor-length mirror in the bathroom. After all, what was the point of wearing a beautiful gown if one didn't spend at least a few minutes admiring it? And this dress was meant to be admired.

It screamed vampire.

The scarlet garment was perfectly tailored to her body. It matched the theme of the Choosing beautifully. The ruby fabric shimmered and sparkled, making Brynleigh feel like she was wearing a jewel. The neckline was a low V that dipped almost to her navel. Long, slim sleeves ran to her wrists, and the dress pooled at her feet. A slit ran dangerously high up her leg, cutting off mid-thigh. She turned around and looked over her shoulder.

The back scooped low, barely covering her bottom. Perfect for wings. There was no doubt in Brynleigh's mind that her Maker had selected this dress for that very reason.

In the second bag was a pair of ruby heels, a crimson rose for her hair, a mask, and a piece of paper. Leaning against the dresser, Brynleigh carefully unfolded the note. Her Maker's handwriting looped across the page, and a splotch of ink on the top confirmed that Jelisette had used a quilled fountain pen to write the missive.

My youngest progeny,

May the goddess of the moon and the god of blood bless your Choice tonight. I know you will Choose correctly .

Remember what you've been taught.

- Jelisette

Brynleigh read the note twice before sighing and dropping the paper on the bed. A wave of disappointment washed over her, which was rather unexpected .

After six years, she thought Jelisette would have something a little more sentimental. Though her Maker wasn't exactly kind, Jelisette had filled a motherly role for Brynleigh over the past few years. This note lacked all sense of kindness though. There were only cold, regimented words meant to remind Brynleigh of her purpose.

If Brynleigh's parents were still alive, they would have words of wisdom for her. They would probably be excited for her—she was getting engaged, after all.

But her parents were dead. Sarai was dead. And Brynleigh? She was a vampire, and now, she was alone. Tonight, she would get engaged, but just like all the feelings she was ignoring, it was a lie. An act. A series of falsehoods.

Brynleigh's heart burned as dark fury ran through her veins. Maybe Jelisette knew exactly what she was doing when she penned that note. There was no room for emotions. No room for sentimentality. No room for anything at all except cold-blooded revenge.

Brynleigh was playing to win, and no one would deter her from her goal.

Not even the man who smelled like thunderstorms and bergamot.

The rules started playing through her head as she put in her earrings.

Rule number one: you cannot trust anyone.

Rule number two: doubly blessed vampires do not hide behind jewels or makeup. They let their gifts speak for themselves.

Her ears glistened, and she bent, sliding her feet into heels.

Rule number three: vampires are weapons. They must always look their best, ready to use their every gods-given gift to their deadly advantage.

Rule number four: vampires must always remain calm, even in the face of difficulty.

Rule number five: always trust your instincts.

She applied her makeup, the crimson lipstick reminding her of blood as she swiped it across her lips.

Rule number six: let nothing distract you from your goal.

Rule number seven: your Maker always knows best.

Rule number eight: emotions are for mortals, not vampires.

Gathering her hair, Brynleigh allowed some curls to fall halfway down her back before tying the rest in elaborate knots on top of her head.

Rule number nine: never turn your back on your enemy.

Rule number ten: once the game has begun, losing is not an option. The only alternative to winning is death.

Brynleigh stuck one last hairpin in her locks, then grabbed the rose. It was heavy, weighted like a tiara, and she pinned it behind her right ear. Other than that, the only jewelry she wore was the golden necklace. Last of all was the mask. It was crimson, like the gown and rose, and she tied it behind her head.

She stepped back, taking herself in critically before nodding approvingly. There was a certain lethal edge to her appearance that she enjoyed immensely.

Two things were missing.

Brynleigh reached within, drawing on her shadows and wings. The first pooled around her feet, the dark wisps giving her strength. The second hung on her back, the wings symbolizing her vampiric strength and power.

Now, she was ready.

Armed guards were stationed in front of the closed ballroom doors. Their faces were tight, and their eyes dark as they surveyed the hallway.

Brynleigh's gown swished as she strode towards them. She kept her wings tight against her back and held her head high.

"Miss de la Point," the guard on the left said. "Welcome."

Brynleigh smiled demurely, keeping her gaze locked on the closed double doors. Faint musical overtures trickled from the ballroom. "Is it my turn?"

Earlier, the Matron had explained how the Masked Ball would work. Each participant would enter separately so they could be announced. There would be drinks and small bites during the cocktail hour, but the real party would start after the proposals.

"Soon," he replied .

Heels clicked behind Brynleigh. An aura of wrongness settled around her. It was a warning, a pause before a storm, a moment of peace before danger. The vampire stiffened and turned around as a tall woman drew near.

Even in a mask, Brynleigh recognized Valentina. The fire fae's floor-length ballgown was so wide that it would barely make it through the door. Pale pink, almost white roses covered the dress from the top of the bodice down to her feet. Valentina's blue-black hair was in a tight bun, and tendrils floated around her face. Cruel violet eyes peered out from behind a cream mask and narrowed when they landed on the vampire. Red lips twisted into a wicked sneer.

"Well, if it isn't the fucking leech who stole my fae." Valentina stalked towards Brynleigh, her eyes flickering with an undisguised threat of violence. "If it weren't for you, he'd be Choosing me tonight."

Shadows frothed in Brynleigh's veins, and her fangs tightened in her gums. Her fists wanted nothing more than to connect with Valentina's ugly face, but she couldn't give in to her desire.

The fourth rule played in Brynleigh's mind. She amended it, adding a clause for awful fire fae with hateful vendettas. Gods, why couldn't Hallie have been here instead?

Brynleigh had the worst luck.

"Your fae?" Brynleigh tilted her head, forcing her face into a mask of calmness she did not feel inside. "I'm certain I don't know who you're talking about."

Valentina snarled, baring her elongated canines. They were nothing like the fangs within Brynleigh's mouth, but they were sharp… for a fae. "You undead, whoreish, night-walking grave dweller. You know exactly who I'm talking about."

Was Valentina so unintelligent that she could not come up with insults unrelated to Brynleigh's species? How incredibly unoriginal.

"Do I?" Brynleigh picked at non-existent dirt beneath her nails. "Hmm. I'm not sure."

An unladylike growl rumbled through Valentina. "Captain Ryker Waterborn, that's who. He was supposed to be mine."

Brynleigh's wings fanned out behind her, and her head snapped up. She dropped her hands and curled into fists. "What the fuck did you say?"

She knew he and Valentina had been seeing each other early on during the Choosing—they were a small group, after all—but she'd never heard the fire fae lay a claim on Ryker.

And Brynleigh did not like it. Not one bit.

"You heard me." Valentina had the gods-damned audacity to take another step closer to her. "The captain is the most prestigious fae here. He would've made the best husband for me. And you had to come in with your dirty blonde hair and sharp fangs and ruin everything."

Anger was burning lava as it ran through Brynleigh's cold veins. Shadows flooded out of her, and she snarled.

"Fuck you." Brynleigh's fangs burned. Her nails sliced through her palms and drew blood. Stepping closer to Valentina, she met those violet orbs and hissed, "He's mine ."

Her claiming words rang through the hall. Somewhere deep within Brynleigh, something shifted.

Valentina's eyes widened, and her mouth opened and closed. Was she in shock that Brynleigh would claim her man so openly? She wasn't the only one.

Brynleigh hadn't meant to speak the claiming words. At least, not with so much passion and truth. Of course, Ryker was hers… to kill. She refused to acknowledge that there might be any other reason she had claimed him.

The guard cleared his throat. "Miss de la Point, it's time."

Thank all the gods. Shooting Valentina one last glare for good measure, Brynleigh moved towards the doors. She ran her fingers down her gown and straightened an invisible wrinkle before drawing in a deep breath.

Once again, rule ten ran through her mind.

"I'm ready," she said confidently.

The guard nodded and opened the door. The music slowly died as hundreds of eyes turned towards Brynleigh at once.

She refused to feel nervous beneath the weight of their attention. Instead, she held her chin up high and kept her wings tight behind her as she stood in the doorway, taking in the ballroom .

It had undergone yet another transformation. There were no signs of the rebels' attack. Now, the ballroom was a grand space meant to house the party of the decade. Six diamond chandeliers glistened. Ruby tapestries adorned the walls, bearing the Republic's crest. Servers wearing black milled about handing out flutes of sparkling wine and small finger foods.

And the people.

Gods, there were so many of them. There had to be close to five hundred, if not more. The scent of their blood was enticing, but Brynleigh had already drunk plenty tonight in preparation for being in front of so many people.

Horned and winged elves stood among fae. Werewolves chatted with witches. Shifters interacted with vampires. There were even a few humans among the crowd. The clothes were a testament to the beauty and expansiveness of the rainbow, each outfit slightly different from the last. Everyone was masked, like her.

Despite the face coverings, Brynleigh noted many familiar faces in the crowd. Guards she'd come to recognize over the past few weeks intermingled with guests. They wore suits and gowns, attempting to blend in, but nothing could hide the glint of awareness in their eyes. Weapons bulged under black jackets, and she pitied anyone who tried to attack tonight.

A ten-piece orchestra sat on the stage, their stringed instruments poised mid-air.

A herald dressed in crimson-edged black stepped out from the shadows on her right. "Ladies and gentlemen." His voice boomed through the now-silent hall. "It is my honor to present the ninth participant in this year's Choosing, Miss Brynleigh de la Point."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for someone to move. It felt like every second stretched longer than the last until finally, someone in the crowd clapped. They triggered the others, and a roar of applause soon filled the ballroom.

Blood rushed to Brynleigh's cheeks, and she fought the urge to look down at the floor. It wasn't that she minded the attention, per se, but simply that she wanted to get this evening started.

The sooner she got in there, the sooner they could get to the proposals and the sooner the evening would be over. She'd be engaged and one step closer to her goal.

And yet… those claiming words echoed in her mind. What was she thinking, saying them out loud?

He's mine .

Her heart thrashed in her chest, a wild animal. Emotions threatened to rise. Her lungs burned. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Those watching her probably mistook her actions for nerves.

They were wrong.

Brynleigh was grounding herself in the one thing she knew—pain. Pulling forth memories of the past, the vampire did something she rarely allowed herself to do.

She remembered the night her family died.

"I saw Mrs. Caldwell at the store yesterday." Isolde Larkspur, Brynleigh's mother, scrubbed at a pot in the sink while Brynleigh dried the dishes by hand.

"Oh?" Brynleigh's fingers tightened around the pale blue dinner plate.

Her mother didn't notice. "Yes. She mentioned Jonah will be returning home next month. He'll be staying with his parents until the new year." She smiled at her daughter, a twinkle in her blue eyes. "He's going to be here for the Winter Solstice."

Isolde was not subtle.

Brynleigh stared out the window. The cloudless sky was tinged with orange as the evening slowly gave way to night. "That's nice, Mama."

Please drop this , she silently added. Brynleigh knew where this was going. She and Jonah had known each other since they were children. He was a few years older than her, but she hadn't seen him since her return from university last year.

"And he's single." Isolde bumped her hip against Brynleigh's. "Maybe you should see if he's interested in being your date to the family holiday party? "

There was no way Brynleigh could miss the note of hopefulness in her mother's voice. She groaned. "We're just friends, Mama."

"But you could be more!"

That was unlikely. When Brynleigh was six and Jonah was nine, she'd witnessed the unfortunate event of Jonah eating a worm. There wasn't enough time to make her forget that. "I don't think so."

The neighbors probably heard Isolde's responding sigh. In the beginning, Brynleigh had found Isolde's not-so-subtle approaches to matchmaking amusing, but now they were becoming dreary. She wasn't even sure she wanted a relationship. She'd enjoyed her time at the University of Balance, experimenting with men and women as one did, but for now, she was happy to focus on her life.

She'd returned home to work in her parents' general store, unsure of what she wanted to do with her life. Chavin was a small town filled with hardworking humans. It wasn't a big city, but it was home, and Brynleigh liked it here. If her parents could make a life here, she could, too.

Isolde handed the pot to Brynleigh, and her gaze swept over her daughter as she leaned on the counter. "I want you to be happy, Brynny. That's all."

"I know." And she did. She'd never doubted her parents' love.

"We love you," her mother added. "It's important that we see you settled."

Isolde meant well. Her actions, though overbearing, were filled with love. Brynleigh knew her parents meant well. They had a good family life, and she couldn't complain about her childhood.

Setting the pot on the drying rack, Brynleigh sat at the round kitchen table and picked up the navy skein of yarn she was working on. Wrapping it around the knitting needle, she purled three stitches. "I am happy."

Her mother sat across from her and picked up her own project. "But you could be happier."

Brynleigh chuckled and shook her head. "Let it go, Mama, please."

Soon, the steady clicking of knitting needles filled the kitchen as the two women silently worked. This was the fourth time she and Isolde had this conversation this summer. Brynleigh was starting to understand why many of her friends hadn't moved back home after school .

"What the hell?" Isolde swore.

Brynleigh dropped a stitch, her mother's harsh language so out of place from her usual calm demeanor. She jerked up her head and turned around. The moment Brynleigh looked out the window, a slew of curses slipped from her own tongue.

The sky was an ominous dark gray edged with green. Lightning bolts shot above the endless plains of the Western Region. The wind swirled, and shouts came from outside.

Isolde didn't scold Brynleigh for using foul language. Instead, she ran as quickly as she could out of the kitchen. "Gavin! Sarai!" Her voice was frantic. "Come quickly!"

Abandoning her knitting, Brynleigh raced after her mother.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs of the modest two-story home as Gavin raced towards them. "What's wrong, love?"

"Look!" Isolde raised a shaking finger to the bay window in the living room.

Seconds later, Gavin was barking into his phone, calling the police.

The air crackled, and the scent of ozone surrounded them.

Isolde turned to Brynleigh, her eyes darting frantically between the staircase and the storm outside. "Where's your sister?"

Brynleigh frowned, and her stomach twisted. "I thought she was upstairs."

Sarai should have come down with all the yelling, though. She was nothing if not attentive.

"Get her," Isolde commanded.

"Of course." Brynleigh took the stairs two at a time. She shoved open her little sister's door, not bothering to knock. "Sarai, what's going on? There's a random storm?—"

The room was empty. Where was she? A quick search of the closet and upstairs bathroom revealed Sarai wasn't there.

Thunder boomed, and Brynleigh hurried back into her sister's room. A calendar hung above Sarai's desk.

Today's date was circled, and scrawled underneath was "Fairgrounds."

"Fuck." Brynleigh whipped out her phone and speed-dialed her sister as she ran downstairs .

There was no answer.

Brynleigh pulled on her raincoat, tucked the necklace her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday beneath her collar, and shot her sister a series of texts.

She stared at the screen, waiting for the telltale checkmarks to show them as read. The notifications never came.

Of all the days for Sarai to be unreachable, why did she pick today?

Rain pelted the windows, each drop sounding like a gunshot. The wind wailed like a screaming woman. Thunder roared its fury through the heavens.

Brynleigh had never seen a storm of this magnitude in her twenty-three years.

She shoved her feet in indigo rain boots.

"Where are you going?" Isolde ran up behind Brynleigh and grabbed her arm.

"To get Sarai." Brynleigh pulled her hood over her hair. "Stay inside. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Wide, horror-filled eyes met hers. "You're going out in this? You can't! It's dangerous."

"I'll be fine, Mama," Brynleigh said placatingly. It was a rainstorm. What was the worst thing that could happen? "Someone needs to get Sarai. She's not answering her phone, and I want to ensure she gets home safely."

It was Brynleigh's job as the older sister to look after Sarai. She'd always felt that way, even when Sarai was a baby. This was no different. Besides, the fairgrounds weren't far from their house. The massive clearing was a frequent gathering spot for young adults. Brynleigh had spent many a late night there in the past.

Gavin thrust an umbrella at his eldest daughter. "Be safe. This storm came out of nowhere. Get your sister and come home as quickly as you can. I'll check on Mrs. Cooper. She must be scared."

As if emphasizing his point, the power flickered and went out. Darkness surrounded them. A faint scream came from next door. Mrs. Cooper was an elderly widow, almost ninety years old, and as long as Brynleigh could remember, she'd lived alone .

"Good idea, Gavin," Isolde said. "I'll stay here in case Sarai comes back."

"Call me if she does." Brynleigh kissed Isolde on the cheek before hugging her father. She tucked her phone into her pocket and opened the door. "I love you both," she said over her shoulder. "Be back soon."

Streams of water fell from the heavens.

Brynleigh pressed the button on the side of the umbrella, and the waterproof fabric fanned out over her head. It did little to stop the deluge of water pouring over her. The storm was escalating. Where had it come from? She could ponder the origins of the storm after she found Sarai.

Brynleigh ran down the street, her feet pounding against the cement. She moved swiftly, barely seeing the other people running in the opposite direction. Everyone was soaked and confused, staring skyward as water pelted them from above.

She turned towards the fairground.

The sky was a swirling, furious mass of black and gray. There were no stars. No moon. The only light came from the flashes of lightning crashing through the midsummer night at regular intervals.

The closer she came to the field, the more worried Brynleigh became. She had expected to see Sarai on her way here, but there was no sign of her sister. Where was she? Sarai was smart. She would've started running home as soon as the storm hit.

The water rose far too quickly to be normal. First, it reached her ankles. Then, her knees.

Thunder bellowed its anger.

In the distance, someone screamed.

Dropping the useless umbrella, Brynleigh cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Sarai! Where are you?"

The wind swallowed her words.

She ran to the fairgrounds, calling for her sister.

The water rose and rose. She half-waded, half-sprinted through the torrential storm. Soon, it was up to her thighs.

The fairgrounds were in sight.

"Sarai!"

Nothing .

Trees bowed in her direction, the wind pulling them nearly in half. Debris floated on top of the water. Branches the size of her arm flew through the air.

She swore, her stomach dropped as she scanned the area. No one was here. Even the stands, usually occupied by at least two or three couples enjoying each other's company, stood empty.

A chasmic, numbing panic settled in Brynleigh's stomach. She couldn't go home without Sarai. Her imagination ran wild as she imagined the look of horror on her parents' faces if she returned alone. She couldn't do that to them. Sarai was the youngest member of their family. She was kind and good and never caused any trouble.

Brynleigh had to find her.

The water was up to Brynleigh's hips when she turned and started back home. She swiped her hands over her eyes, trying to clear her vision. She waded, shivering and rubbing her arms as she searched left and right for Sarai.

The storm still raged. Chavin descended into watery chaos. Trees split. Glass shattered. People screamed. Wood creaked. The rain kept coming.

Brynleigh's heart pounded as she headed in the direction she thought Sarai would take to go home. Maybe she'd see her on the way. They could laugh about how silly this was as they found refuge inside. They would sit and watch the lightning from the living room, like when they were little girls. Isolde would?—

There!

Sarai was down half a block, standing in hip-deep water at the street corner with her back to Brynleigh.

Hope surged in Brynleigh's chest, and she pumped her arms and legs as she hurried towards her sister. "Sarai! We need to go!"

Sarai wasn't moving. She was just… staring off into the distance.

What was she looking at?

"Hey!" Brynleigh screamed. "Turn around! We have to go home. This isn't safe!"

A boom of thunder that was like a stack of bricks being thrown crashed through the sky.

It felt like it took an eternity of pushing through water to reach Sarai. Brynleigh fought against the current, the water from below nearly as powerful as the storm rushing from above, but she kept moving.

She'd never give up.

Her lungs burned, and her muscles ached as she grabbed Sarai's arm. "Let's go!"

Sarai lifted a trembling finger at the horizon. "L-l-look."

Brynleigh turned, her eyes widening as a scream ripped from her throat.

A wave taller than all the houses in their village crested over the roofs. It was a harbinger of doom, a bringer of death, and it was coming straight for them.

"Fucking run!" Brynleigh shouted, yanking Sarai behind her.

The unnatural storm chased them through the streets. No matter how fast they ran, they couldn't escape the screaming, the crashing of water against wood, and the destruction of one house after another.

And in the end, they weren't fast enough.

The water was a hungry, ruthless beast as it devoured them whole.

Brynleigh opened her eyes.

Time seemed to slow as she grounded herself in the present once more. She was in the ballroom, not in the midst of a deadly storm. Her heart thudded from a memory, not from being chased by an enormous wave.

Her shadows throbbed in her veins.

Death had reigned in Chavin that midsummer's evening. The entire town had flooded and been destroyed. Their prairie homes weren't built to withstand the force of nature that had been Ryker's storm.

It had raged for hours, killing everyone and destroying everything within ten miles of the town before abruptly ending. By then, Brynleigh was an orphan, and Jelisette had Made her.

Brynleigh took a deep breath and scanned the crowd. She wasn't certain what she was looking for, but she kept searching until she met a pair of chocolate-brown eyes across the room .

The moment their eyes locked, her heart ceased beating in her chest. Shadows spun around her feet.

Time froze.

They stared at each other, the crowd between them meaningless. It didn't matter that she'd never seen him before. It didn't matter that he wore a mask. She knew it was him. Ryker Waterborn. Holding his gaze, she stepped towards him.

It was time.