Crown of Death Page 10

“Money problems is the basic way to describe most of my downward spiral, but it’s way more complicated than that,” I breathe.

  “I know it’s of little comfort right now, Logan,” Cyrus says quietly, “but once you step into your new life, money will never be of consequence again.”

  I look over at him. And I appreciate that he recognizes that it doesn’t diminish the stress and pain it’s caused me the last two years.

  “I can take care of myself,” I say. But it isn’t stubborn or spitefully said. Just a stated fact. “I…I don’t know how I’m going to figure this one out, but I always do.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a long time, but I feel him watching me.

  “What your friend said,” he finally speaks. “What you said, that you’ve never been in love. Did you mean that?”

  I look up. He really is observant.

  “It’s where it all started, the downward spiral,” I say, being honest. “A month before I graduated from high school. I’d been dating this boy, Anderson, for two months.” I shift, straightening, looking back outside. “I was trying to see what all the other girls were talking about. Trying to feel something for him. But no,” I say. “It wasn’t love.”

  “But something happened.” His voice reveals the truth.

  I nod. “He cheated on me. With one of my best friends. So, as you can imagine, it kind of wrecked the rest of the school year.”

  I hear a sound. Low. Rumbling. At first, I think it’s the plane. And then I realize it’s coming from Cyrus. I look over to see the heat of embers rising in his eyes.

  “I didn’t care about losing Anderson,” I say. “It was the sting of betrayal from one of my closest friends that hurt the worst. That’s when I first learned to keep my circle small.”

  He nods, understanding.

  “From there, it was just a series of unfortunate events, financially,” I continue. “My dad made decent money as a contractor, but not enough to pay for my college. I worked my ass off the summer after graduating to earn enough for the first year of college. I made it, too. Everything I needed to pay for tuition, books, and most of my housing.”

  My fingers roll into little balls, my fingernails pressing sharply into my palms.

  “I was on the way to the bank to deposit the second half of the money,” I grit out. “I had to stop for gas, though. I’d run inside to pay with cash. But like an idiot, I forgot to lock the car.”

  “Someone stole half a year’s worth of money,” Cyrus fills in.

  I nod. “I couldn’t believe it. That it was just gone…all that time wasted. And that I could only pay for one semester. And I was too embarrassed to tell my parents what had happened. So, I just pretended that nothing had. I went to a bank to get a student loan.”

  My chest tightens, remembering the stress, the anxiety.

  “The bank ran my credit. You don’t need much of any to get a student loan. But when it came back, to them, it looked like I had over a hundred thousand dollars in debt to my name already.”

  “Identity theft,” he once more predicts.

  Once more, I nod. “Someone had stolen my identity six months prior and opened all kinds of accounts. The bank told me the sources to contact to work toward a resolution, but they couldn’t loan me the money for school.”

  “What did you do?” Cyrus asks, shifting forward slightly.

  My eyes snap over to him. “I took care of myself.” My jaw clenches, to match the tightness in my chest. “And I keep taking care of myself. I’ll keep doing it, until I can’t.”

  I’m done talking.

  And thankfully Cyrus gives me that.

  Only two hours after taking off, we descend into Las Vegas. The lights really are mesmerizing. The sparkle. The busyness. Even from the air, I can feel the electric energy of the city.

  The jet smoothly lands on the airstrip. Carefully, we taxi over to a slip and I hear the engines shut off, the plane cooling and settling.

  Fredrick and Mina’s voices softly cut through the plane. They frantically wrap up plans, arranging everything for our stay.

  “Welcome to Las Vegas,” Cyrus says. And I don’t miss the little bitter edge to his voice.

  I get the feeling he doesn’t like this city.

  The stairway opens and Fredrick and Mina exit first. Extending a hand for me to go ahead, I stand, and walk out the door.

  The heat is suffocating.

  Even though it’s nearly midnight, the temperature must still be in the nineties.

  A gigantic stretch limo waits before us. Black as night, it has to be three times longer than a normal SUV. And just as I step out onto the asphalt, one of the doors opens.

  And out steps Edmond Valdez.

  “Well, hello,” he says, flashing a charming smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

  My pulse immediately skyrockets. My palms sweat, and my wrists feel sore, as if bound by chains again. My hand rises to the side of my neck, where the woman who had been with him jabbed me with a needle, knocking me out for the night.

  I knew we were coming to visit the House of Valdez. I wasn’t prepared for the fear seeing this man would evoke in me again.

  “Edmond,” Cyrus acknowledges him, stepping forward. He places a hand at the small of my back, and oddly, it’s comforting. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant evening thus far.”

  “It’s been…busy,” Edmond says, holding the door open for the limo.

  I climb in, taking in the lavish interior of the space. More leather. Blue and purple lights. Bottles of what I assume is champagne. And something thicker, darker.

  Everyone climbs inside, the doors slamming shut. Cyrus slides up to my side, his thigh resting against mine, his shoulder pressing into mine in the tight space. The driver pulls forward.

  “I’ve heard the House of Valdez has moved since I last visited,” Cyrus says. He stretches out, resting his arm along the back of my seat. There’s something…possessive, yet protective about it. Something that makes my stomach turn into a complicated knot.

  “Yes, sir,” Edmond says. And I realize. The way his eyes don’t hold Cyrus’ for very long. The way he bounces his left leg. That slight sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He’s nervous. Incredibly so. “We’re right in the heart of The Strip now. It makes operations easier.”

  “It’s interesting, how some Houses prefer to operate in small towns, and others in large,” Cyrus says. And he turns his head slightly, his eyes catching mine. “Your mother is based in a very small town there in Mississippi. The House of Sidra is right in the heart of Vancouver. Your cousin’s House is right in the middle of Boston. Which was nearly their downfall.”

  We turn down a road and the lights become more intense. And even though it’s late, even though it’s been dark for hours, there are still so many people milling about outside.

  “I, myself, prefer the slow and quiet,” Cyrus says. His eyes also turn outside. “Too many people lead to the possibility of too many complications. There’s a reason I have not visited Las Vegas in eighty-seven years. You cannot get a town more dissimilar to my home.”

  As if on planned cue, we turn onto another road, and The Strip opens up before us.

  Lights blink. Lasers flash. Gigantic signs show images of near nudity and advertisements for magic shows.

  Thousands of people crowd the sidewalks and car after car clogs the road.

  Welcome to Sin City.

  “Have you ever visited Las Vegas before?” Cyrus asks. His voice is low, intimate, meant just for me.

  I nod. “Amelia and I took a road trip here last summer.” I reflect, recalling the trip. “It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I can’t say I enjoyed it that much.”

  Cyrus doesn’t respond, but as always, I know he’s mulling over every word I say.

  We drive two blocks, until we are indeed at the very heart of The Strip. And then we turn toward a massive building that glitters like silver under all the surrounding lights.

  The MetroCosmo looks like
something from the future. The entire building juts straight up and up, the windows and siding all one sleek sheet of silver, almost like a gigantic mirror reaching toward the sky.

  The driver stops right in front of the giant doors. The doors to the SUV immediately open, and as I climb out, I see four workers, one for each door, and two that collect the baggage, loading it onto a cart.

  Each of them bow to both Edmond and Cyrus.

  My eyes slide over to Cyrus, and he just wears one of his little, mysterious smiles.

  “Welcome to the House of Valdez,” Edmond says, looking over his shoulder as he heads for the doors.

  “Is…” my voice falters. “Is Eli…Rath, here?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus answers, watching as Mina and Fredrick fuss about, commanding the various employees to do this or that.

  “Can I see him?” I ask.

  “It depends.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his expensive-looking jeans.

  “On what?” I demand with annoyance.

  “On whether or not you win the game.”

  The look in his eyes darkens. The coyness in his smile deepens.

  And a drop of cold acid plunks in my stomach.

  “What game?” I ask around a tight throat.

  He loops an arm over my shoulders and steers us to the doors. “You’ll see.”

  I shrug him off as I step through, but immediately stop dead.

  The interior of the resort is heart stopping.

  The ceiling soars above us. It stretches probably seven floors high. Suspended from the ceiling are mirrors. Long, thin. Round. Jagged and half broken. Mirrors of every shape and form hang down from the ceiling, looking almost as if they’re suspended in mid-air.

  And lights cut all around the space. Blue and purple lights bounce off the mirrors, casting light in every direction in a crazy laser grid.

  It looks like we stepped right into the middle of a science fiction space bar.

  It’s stunning.

  Breath taking.

  “I’ll admit,” Cyrus breathes as we slowly walk inside, “as much as I dislike this city, the House of Valdez gives an impressive front.”

  Impressive doesn’t begin to cover it.

  Everyone milling about inside, playing at the game tables, sitting at the bars, lounging on expensive and massively large black couches, looks alien-like. Their skin glows blue and purple. Their eyes seem too shiny and bright. Teeth glow and I’m searching for fangs but see none.

  “Are they all vampires?” I breathe as I follow the crew from the limo into the heart of the casino.

  “No,” Cyrus says, and I see his nostrils flare slightly as he takes in a deep breath. “Some, but not most. The casino functions as any other on The Strip, but it is the House that owns and runs it.”

  “We occupy the top three floors of the building.” Edmond’s voice cuts through the crowd, and we suddenly stop at a wall that looks just like a big mirror. He places his hand on it and a beam of light flashes underneath it. “But the rest of the casino is just like any other. Though, if you pass out drunk here, you may wake up with a sore neck, and feeling slightly lightheaded.”

  My stomach flips and my eyes slide to Cyrus’, searching for confirmation. He only gives a slight nod.

  Cyrus said the point of this trip was to make the reality of his world real to me.

  It’s working.

  The wall suddenly opens, revealing an enormous elevator. With Cyrus’ hand once more at the small of my back, we all step forward and inside.

  The doors shut when Edmond presses a button.

  This is no normal elevator. We immediately shoot upward, at an insane speed. My knees buckle at the unexpected thrust.

  Instantly, Cyrus’ arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him to keep me upright.

  I meet his eyes for a long moment, and he stares at me.

  Cyrus has a face you could get lost in for hours. The most powerful gaze you’d ever meet. Penetrating. Probing.

  But I can feel a dozen more eyes watching us. And sure enough. I look around, and see every single person in this elevator looking at the two of us, almost expectantly. Perhaps hopefully.

  I don’t understand a single bit of that.

  All too soon for how tall I know the building is, the elevator slows and then stops. The big doors slide open.

  And once more I’m stunned.

  Enormous windows, with seemingly no walls to brace them, open up the view over the city.

  Black floors, black walls, and black ceiling tunnel my view and without encouragement, I step forward, heading toward that window.

  The MetroCosmo must be the tallest building on The Strip. Nothing towers over my view. Lights and buildings and glistening darkness reflect back at me and take my breath away.

  “It is stunning in its own, modern way.”

  Cyrus’ voice cuts through my enchantment. He stands beside me, looking out at the view with me.

  I just nod.

  “If you’ll follow me,” Edmond’s voice interrupts, “I’ll show you to your suite.”

  Cyrus reaches for me, pulling me along beside him.

  Edmond shows us down a hall, all lined with black on the floor and ceiling. But the walls, they all appear to be mirrors.

  Edmond stops somewhere a little ways down the hall. He nods his head to Cyrus, who is smarter than I am and figures it out. He raises his hand, placing it on the mirror. And a set of double doors slide open.

  “Per your request, the family will greet you in the morning,” Edmond says as Cyrus and I step inside. He bows deeply, and turns to leave.

  The door slides closed behind him.

  As with the rest of the resort, all the walls inside are mirrors. A sitting room occupies the center. The ceiling rises high, and from it hangs a chandelier of mirrors and blue and purple lights. Black furniture is arranged in a circle.

  Off to the left and right, there are doors opening to bedrooms, furnished in a similar manner.

  Straight ahead is another wall of windows, granting a different view of the city.

  Impressive.

  “I thought you might like some rest before everything begins,” Cyrus says.

  He stands directly beneath the chandelier, watching me as I walk around, taking it all in.

  “You really think I’ll sleep with everything that’s already going on?” I scoff.

  “I suggest you try,” he says.

  Movement to my left draws my eye to one of the bedrooms.

  A woman steps into view. Blonde hair, heavily made up face, thin figure. She wears a simple, tight-fitting black dress.

  She steps forward, waiting in the doorway.

  “Who…” I trail off, watching as Cyrus steps forward. Red embers ignite in his eyes.

  “Get some sleep, Logan,” he says without looking back at me. “I really don’t think you want to watch this.”

  And my eyes grow wide in horror, a gasp rips from my throat.

  The moment Cyrus reaches the woman, he sinks fangs into her neck. He walks them back a step into the room, and pushes the mirrored doors closed behind him.

  Chapter 11

  Blood. Fangs. Red eyes.

  Vampire.

  Vampire.

  Vampire.

  Cyrus is a vampire.

  Edmond is a vampire.

  Mina, Fredrick.

  All vampires.

  And Cyrus is one hundred percent sure that I will be one some day, too.

  But how can I believe him? How can I be one hundred percent sure? Cyrus says I have to die, but what if that’s it? What if he’s wrong, and I don’t wake back up after four days like he says?

  And then what?

  I’ll have to live here at one of the Houses? I’ll drink blood and lose all my humanity? Because, so far, none of the ones I have met seem to have much of it.

  Fitfully, I toss and turn in my larger than king sized bed. When I do sleep, my dreams are full of fangs. Full of cold castles. Filled with faces a
nd faces and never-ending generations of child vampires.

  I’m plagued by my own thoughts all throughout the night.

  When dawn finally crests through the open window in my bedroom, I’m exhausted. But relieved.

  It’s time to deal with my reality.

  I drag myself from the bed and head into the ornate and massive bathroom. Inside, I find an outfit hanging, ready for me to put on.

  If they’re going to be picky and judgmental about what I wear, I’m going to own it.

  I shower. I dry my long, dark hair and style it into a severe and complicated up-do. I go heavy and dark with my makeup.

  Then I slip into the black pencil skirt. Red stitching outlines every feature. I pull on the top, thin, nearly sheer white fabric with a complicated lace overlay that shows off my shoulders and is open down the middle of my back.

  I look at myself in the mirror.

  I look terrifying. Like I could command the world to crumble and it would obey.

  Filled to the brim with confidence, overflowing with determination, I walk across my bedroom, and throw the doors open.

  For some reason, I expected Cyrus to be standing there, waiting for me.

  So, when it’s Mina standing there, I stop in my tracks.

  “The Royal family is waiting for you,” she says with her heavy accent.

  Without waiting for me to catch up to speed, she turns, and walks out of the suite.

  I notice that the windows that once granted such a spectacular view of the city last night, are no longer anywhere to be found. Where they once were, there are now only mirrored walls.

  I follow, taking care not to trip in my high heels.

  She guides us back to the elevator, and then we rise up, but not for long. It slows, and opens back up.

  It immediately reveals a massive space. A wide-open ballroom with black floors and black walls. The roof rises high. High enough I only see black above us. And hanging from the ceiling, there are four gigantic mirrored chandeliers.

  Every bit of the House of Valdez has been dazzling and overwhelming. I’m constantly looking all around me, in awe.

  So, it takes a moment before I even notice the line of people across the great hall.

  Mina’s hand pushes against my back, urging me forward.