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SERKAN HAD SEEN A GREAT deal in his centuries of life. But he had never seen what played out in his backyard.
He was a selfish old vampire who disliked involving himself in quarrels, big or small, even if it required him to turn his back on his oath to help heal those in need of it. He had no desire to cross the Moros coven, especially. His family there would not take kindly to the mere mention of his name, nor would Galen.
Serkan crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Cirillo Kaladin plead to save the life of a young human girl with witch blood in her veins. Maer Whisler and her companions were quick studies until Serkan delved into their futures.
His power, greater than that of either Kaladin lurking in his woods, allowed him to see the most prominent era of a being’s life. The five haggard humans and half-bloods—two former Gladiators, a healer in training, a wayward son, and a rebellion leader—who stumbled into his home all had curious fates. Fates that would entangle themselves for the next twenty years, all with a part to play in the battle between vampires and humans.
Serkan’s eardrums tuned out the sound of Maer’s heart-splitting cries when he heard Sloan Blackwood’s sobbing as she watched her brother and friends lying prone. “Her suffering will end, child.”
She glared at him furiously, eyes glossed with tears, blaming him for forcing her to stay inside. “Why aren’t you helping them?! You’re a healer! Save them!”
Serkan shook his head, ushering her away from the window and pulling down the shade that made it seem as if there was no window. “It has to happen this way.”
Sloan ripped free. “The future isn’t set! Things can change—”
“Yes,” he reasoned, striding over to his bookshelf, “they can, like streams branching off from a river, but they always lead to a lake or ocean—the climax of certain events. Here.”
He handed her the copy of the spellbook Galen had sent to him just a week ago. Hers was safe in her apothecary. Trembling with emotion, Sloan accepted it, running her fingers over the pattern of overlapping triangles embossed on the cover. Serkan caught sight of the brand on her wrist—the crest of the Bloodfrost coven. He wondered grimly if the covens still branded their cattle’s necks.
It gave him an idea.
“The rebellion—Kairos,” Serkan began, taking the book back when Sloan had no current interest in it, “needs to become hunters. They need to train in combat, healing, and spells. They need a defining mark to show their freedom, that whatever alliance they had before, whether chosen or forced, is void, and their allegiance lies with liberators.”
The look in Sloan’s eyes was dead. Outside, Maer’s screams were whimpers. Serkan’s superior hearing alerted him that everyone was still alive. “What mark?”
“This.” Serkan tapped a forefinger to the triangles. “The tattoo is over your brands.”
She showed him her wrist. “Do it, then. I’m done with Sanlow. I’m done with vampires. They’ve—they’ve taken too much.”
Serkan’s heart didn’t beat, didn’t feel pain and joy and fear as humans did, but he could feel crestfallen for the young healer. He was a vampire who had done many terrible things and knew the consequences of immortals’ actions. He had seen firsthand the lives ruined by his kind’s bloodthirstiness. Never was he able—or willing—to help the inferior race. But this time, destiny called for his involvement.
“It will have to be with all of you.”
Sloan’s voice was frigid. “You mean all four of us.”
“Yes.” Serkan would not lie. “But—”
He froze at the noises outside. Maer had birthed the half-blood. It infuriated and sickened Serkan to know that it was Cirillo’s spawn. She was dying; he was still pleading to let him save her. Koen was awake from unconsciousness, crawling toward her. The poor boy was in love with the girl. Would he still love her when she was Turned into a vampire?
Serkan strained his ears. Where was the offspring’s heartbeat? Its lungs?
He stalked to the window and yanked up the blinds. Ciel was still hiding behind a tree, not even trying to mask her presence. Not even her father paid attention. Serkan was amused by how a seventeen-year-old could pull the wool over the eyes of a hundred-year-old coven leader. But her plan to remove Maer from the picture had failed. Ciel would be seeing Maer far more often than she would have liked.
Cirillo held the premature child in his arms, almost as if he cared about it. Serkan caught Ciel smiling—she was doing something. Using her power. Serkan concentrated harder. At first, he couldn’t make out the half-blood’s vitals. But when he pushed back Ciel’s wide net of mind control, there—
It was breathing.
Not a stillborn, as Ciel was making Cirillo believe by tricking his senses.
Oblivious to Sloan pestering him, Serkan watched Maer and Koen grieve their last moments together. It wasn’t long before Cirillo grew impatient, abandoning his child in the grass, tossed Koen aside, and fled with Maer. What a tragic affair.
There was nothing Serkan could do for Maer except to save the future savior.
Leaving Sloan with Nolan, who was pacing as he worried for his leader, Serkan left the cabin as Aspen and Leysa were stirring, Koen still prone.
But his sight was on Ciel, who stalked from behind the tree to pick up Maer’s child. She sneered at its bloody form. “You ruined everything,” she hissed. Then she winced with surprise when the half-bloods started to gather their wits—and then she fled.
Serkan followed, waiting behind a tree when Ciel stopped abruptly after just a minute or so—because she stood at the cliff whose river beside her led to a pounding waterfall into the large lake below. She smiled broadly at the unforgiving waters.
Ciel held the child upside down by its ankles and dangled it over the river. “Be glad you’ll never know your parents, half-breed. You’ll never know my throne.”
Serkan stepped out and ordered, “Don’t, Ciel.”
She whipped her head around and glared. “Who are you?”
“You’ll know eventually,” he said calmly, though unexpectedly horrified at the young vampire’s heartlessness. Even he knew vampires had morals when it came to younglings of either race. “Give me the child.”
“No.”
And then she released it.
And fled.
Serkan dove into the river.
* * *
A FEW MINUTES LATER, he returned with the child. He had cleared its airways, and its vitals were stable. If it had been fully human, it would have died. Its vampire blood was the only thing keeping it alive.
Aspen and Leysa were sitting at the table while Sloan was tending to Koen at his healer’s table. Nolan had gone ahead to warn the Kairos at Ophir.
“It’s a boy,” Serkan announced as he swaddled the child in the wool blanket he’d set out earlier.
Koen stumbled over. “It’s alive?”
Serkan regaled the tale, leaving his company speechless, even the all-knowing Leysa, who muttered in disbelief, “To think she would go that far...”
Sloan took the squirming baby and attempted to rub warmth into his skin. She asked no questions, working silently as if she had done this before. Koen watched her, equally quiet. Serkan sensed a new tension between them—they had been arguing about Maer.
“You can’t save her yet,” Serkan told them gravely.
“What? Why not?”
“You have a child to care for now.”
Koen swallowed hard. He was still processing his emotions; he would go through them in time, but right now, he was simmering in frustration. It was clear that he wanted to make a savage remark, but he held it in.
But Aspen did not. “It killed her,” he hissed, glaring at the child bundled in Sloan’s arms.
“He’s a baby,” she hissed back. “And it needs milk. Leysa—”
“I told you,” the Kairos leader sighed, “Nolan is bringing back a nursing mother. It won’t be for another day. It’ll survive until then.”
“It will,” Serkan promised before Sloan could argue. “Half-bloods are stronger than you know.” He turned to Koen. “Focus your energy first on regaining your strength. You’ll be no help to anyone how you are now. After everyone is stable, mentally and physically, we will decide what to do next.”
Koen sank into the nearest chair. “So... you’re letting us stay?”
“Haven’t I made that clear already?”
“You’re really taking charge,” Leysa mused, crossing a leg over her knee. “Are you sure you don’t—”
“I’m not officially joining Kairos,” Serkan answered with a growl. “This is the extent I am involving myself. At least for a while.”
Her brows rose. “How long is a ‘while’?”
“I’m going to raise it.”
Serkan’s gaze slid to Koen. He was staring at the spellbook on the table, brushing his fingertips across the engraved triangles. Sloan must have told him what Serkan had said.
His hand made a fist, and his teeth were clenched. “I’m going to raise him to be a hunter, and when he’s old enough, we’ll save his mother.”
“Save her how?” Sloan asked desperately. “She’s—”
“Don’t say it!”
Koen’s voice was a broken rasp rather than a harsh snarl. Poor boy, Serkan thought again. Love does nothing but take.
“I’m—we are going to save her,” he said after clearing his throat. “We’ll take these tattoos, we’ll learn to kill, and we’ll liberate Sanlow.”
Koen’s defiance was admirable, but it had its pitfalls. Serkan sat in the chair opposite him, though Koen didn’t glance up. “Will you raise him with the knowledge of who his parents are?”
“No,” said Aspen.
“Yes,” said Leysa, which prompted arguing of morality between the two.
Ignoring them, Serkan advised, “You have a few years to think about it.”
Finally, Koen looked up—first at Sloan and the child on the couch in front of the now-lit fireplace and then at Serkan. “How am I supposed to love it, knowing who its father is, knowing it killed the woman I love?”
“You don’t have to love him,” Serkan said. “Just...care for him. See him only as Maer’s son and nothing else. Give him a life that all other humans dream of. He was born outside of Sanlow without a coven’s brand. He won’t be destined to become a category, nor be subjected to everyday fear. Raise him as you think free humans should be. Treat him with love and trust.”
Silence followed his words. Then Leysa said, “You’re oddly wise.”
“Too much time with mortals,” Serkan muttered quickly, picturing his experiences in Dawnhaven. Oh, that gave him an idea. “Take him to Dawnhaven.”
Leysa perked up. “The witch city.”
Serkan nodded. “They will welcome you all each for your separate reasons. Eshe Woods is safe, but there you will be even safer. Leysa, you may be able to convince them to house all of Ophir and help bolster the rebellion when you tell them about Galen’s findings.”
“As soon as Nolan returns with my Vidar, I will take that offer. What do you say, Sloan?”
The baby was making small sounds; that was a good sign. “Whatever it takes,” was all she said.
“I’m in,” Aspen agreed, padding over to the couch. “He should be raised in all the right ways.”
Koen nodded, more to himself than the others. Serkan eyed him until the young human met his gaze, but Koen spoke first, low as if he wanted only Serkan to hear him. “Something you said has been bothering me. You said to Maer that she’s ‘destined for something much greater.’ What does that mean?”
Serkan didn’t answer, so Koen pressed, “You said that I will help change the course of vampiric and human history. How?”
The clear if brief visions in Serkan’s mind told of events seventeen years in the future: a young male whose brown hair looked curiously similar to a certain young woman, who in the future no longer looked sickly or defensive. Maer Whisler was no longer. She was the villain now. Her witch blood didn’t matter. She was a vampire now and would be when her son fought side by side with Koen Blackwood—and a few other companions.
It only remained to be seen if Maer was worthy of redemption.
The vision cleared after the silhouetted figure of a witch drew a circle within a circle and ordered it to blaze with blue fire.
THE END
