Mark of Betrayal

The training hall seemed cold without the heat of fifty bodies filling it. Mike fitted a metal cuff to his forearm and winked at me as he grabbed a sword.

“Why do we need protection?” I rubbed the cuff on my arm. “We’re vampires. We won’t die from a cut.”

“No, but do you have any idea how much energy it uses to heal a slash every ten seconds? That energy—that blood—is better spent cutting up bad guys on the battlefield, Ar.”

“Oh.” I shoved a finger under it to scratch my skin. “Makes sense. But, I was kind of wondering, and…I know this is probably a really stupid question, so don't get mad, okay?”

“Sure, baby, what is it?” He jammed a sword into his scabbard.

“If…if we’re strong enough to cut vampires open with a butterknife, why do we need Lilithian steel blades? I thought that was just so humans could cut them.”

“Because,” he said, handing me a sword from the table. “To cut them with plain iron would, again, take more effort, and the chances of cutting deep enough to bleed them out and let the venom tip do its trick are one in five. Lilithian steel guarantees the best possible result.”

“Is their skin really that tough?”

Mike smirked, sighing heavily. “You just have no idea about anything, do you, girl?”

I swallowed with a little gulp. He was right. I hadn't really thought about any of this. I guess I just took it for granted that I was a vampire and so were they—that we’d all just do some biting and waving of swords until someone wore out and went home.

“Come on then.” Mike lowered into his stance, his eager grin drawing me into battle. “Let’s do this.”

I twisted my sword over, holding it in a dagger grip, then extended my arm, my fist aimed at Mike, the blade of my sword following the length of my forearm.

“Ara, you’re holding that wrong. Point your blade upward, like this.” He showed me how one is supposed to hold a sword.

I shook my head. “I have my own style. It’s non-conventional, Mike, but this works for me.”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

“It does. Just watch.”

“Fine,” he said, and his deep, godly tone made me not so sure of myself. “We’ll see.”

I angled my wrist and dipped my arm, waving my blade through the air in a figure eight, then dropped my shoulder, flipping onto my back as Mike stepped in. The ground caught me with a jolt, but it wasn’t enough to wind me. I grabbed his ankle while he was still looking for me in his line of direct sight, and slashed his shin—bringing him down to the ground beside me. He hit hard, dropping his blade with a loud clunk, and I was on him, legs either side of his chest, my sword to his throat. “Yield?”

He coughed, laughing, his face red with obvious pain, and held my hips with both hands. “Girl one. Guy nothing.”

I laid my sword on the floor beside us. “Still think I need to hold my sword ‘properly’?”

He knocked my hands down from their sarcastic pose of ‘quotation marks’ and dragged me into his chest for a bear-tight hug. “You’re fine, baby. You hold that sword however you want—long as you fight like that.”

I smiled into his sweaty neck, feeling the short, gristly stubble along his hairline behind his ear. It felt good to be this close to him again—like we’d not hugged in so long. He let me free, and I sat up, looking down at the caramel gaze of my bestest friend in the whole world. “I’ve missed you, Mike.”

He took a very long breath, wrapping his big hands around my hips again. “I missed you too, Ar.”

“And, Mike?” I grinned mischievously.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes small with the relaxation his body stupidly felt while under me.

“Never let your guard down,” I said.

He had time only to widen his eyes as I rose up on my knees, making enough room for his body to twist under mine, then grabbed his shoulder and flipped him over, pressing my blade to the ball of his throat, holding his head in place by the scruff of his hair.

“Hey, guys,” Falcon said as he came in. “Mike, you going easy on that girl again?”

Mike’s arms came up, twisting at the elbows to knock my wrists away; my blade tore across his throat with the force, while the roll of his hips sent me to my back, on the floor, my legs open around him. “Maybe just a little.”

I pushed my cuff to his chin, holding him off me. “You were not,” I said, struggling. “You’re just embarrassed to be pinned by a girl.”

He laughed and eased off me, leaving me breathless. “You’re right. You’re just too quick for me, Ara.”

When he offered his hand to help me up, I ignored it and rolled over, clambering clumsily to my feet. “I had you. You were pinned.”

Mike smirked, wiping blood off his neck. “You’re right. You did. But you let your guard down, baby, and the battle flipped in my favour.”

“Well—” I dusted myself off and looked at Falcon, who was covering his grin, then back at Mike. “It won't happen again.”

The boys laughed behind me as I stormed from the training hall, into the cool sprinkle of summer rain outside.

The greyish glow of the single torch in the corner under the stone steps gave little light to the room; I sat on a chair in the border of its warmth, tapping my fingers on the round table, checking my watch every few seconds. Mike had a good excuse for being late to the council meeting, because Emily apparently arrived about ten minutes ago, but where were the rest of them?

Somewhere up in the Throne Room, a door slammed, its sudden echo making me jump a little, while a quick gust of air rushed down the tunnel of stairs, sweeping the roundness of the room, and blew out my torchlight, thrusting me into the pitch black of the underground.

“Looks like even the flames gave up waiting,” I said to the torch, standing up. In the darkness, it almost felt like I could hit my head on something, though I knew the roof was much too high for that. I felt my way around the cold stone curve of the table and wandered, hands out, to the wall under the stairs, finding the matchbox right where we usually left it. The birth of the flame brought an instant bubble of safety with its warm glow. I rested it to the wick of the torch; it sizzled and flourished into a bold, bright light again, touching the shadows in the corner under the stairs. I quickly looked around to make sure there were no Bogey Men, then sighed, my shoulders dropping.

“Who? Amara?” Morgaine said in a high-pitched voice, coming down the stairs. “Blade—what are you saying?”

“You know what I'm saying, Morg.”

I dropped the unstruck match to my side and pressed my back against the wall, masking myself in the shadows.

“Yes, I think I do, and I can't say I'm terribly impressed.”

As they walked in and sat down with their backs to me, I drew my toes into the shadows, hoping the rapid beating of Blade’s heart would hide my own. But they seemed too distracted by their conversation to even notice my partially heavy breathing.

Blade rested his head in his hands. “I just don't get it. Why am I so hooked on her?”

Morgaine laughed softly. “It’s the curse of her blood—Lilith’s blood.”

“Queen Lilith?”

“No, the original Lilith. History reports that she was cursed with beauty beyond imagination and the burden of desire. This was believed to have been a punishment for deceiving Eve—convincing her to eat the Fruit of Wisdom.” Morgaine touched Blade’s shoulder. “Cain, Lilith’s husband, had been cursed for the murder of his bother with a thirst for blood. All who take the poison of the cursed inherit the burden. For the Created, we simply became vampires, but any who descend from the bloodline of Lilith will take the hearts of men. It’s why Lilith was known in history as the Goddess of Seduction.”

“I don't get it? What does that have to do with this?” He pressed his hand to his chest.

“Because any man that piques her interest will be cursed to love her.”

“So—this isn’t real? It’s just that she, what, Amara fancies me? That's why I feel like I’ll die if I don't hold her?”

“Yes.”

“But I don't have any feelings for him, Morg!” I shot forward, aiming a finger in Blade’s direction; they both spun around, shock paling their faces. “I don't. How can he be cursed if I don't feel anything for him?”

She shook her head slightly, sitting back a little. “Did you ever feel a flutter in your heart for him—maybe for a certain action—perhaps he was kind, perhaps a certain smile or something?”

I swallowed, my eyes tearing, mouth open like I could say something to defend myself.

“That’s all it takes, Princess,” Morgaine added.

“But, I mean…we just…”

“Exactly,” she said with a smug grin.

“When were you planning to tell me this?” I yelled, digging my finger into my chest.

“I wasn’t allowed to.” She held up defensive or maybe calming hands.

“Who said?”

“Mike.”

I took a few deep, laboured breaths, my shoulders rising and falling until it all came down on top of me. I sunk into the chair beside Blade, my head in my hands. “Oh, God. Blade. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be, Amara.” He touched my shoulder.

“Blade!” Morgaine gasped. “I understand you have feelings for our queen, but there are boundaries. You have no right to touch her.”

“I know.” He dropped his hand, then slipped off his chair and squatted beside me. “I'm sorry. It’s just—can't you see, Morg? She blames herself.”

Morgaine sat in Blade’s chair and took my hand. “This is not in your control, Amara. It’s a curse—one you inherited with your blood.”

“So, I’m cursed to make men fall for me—for a simple thing as liking their smile?”

“Yes.” Morgaine looked down.

“But—I don’t love Blade. I mean, I like him as a friend, but—”

“It doesn't matter. You care about him. That’s all it takes.”

“Oh, God!” I buried my face in my hands. “I'm so stupid.”

“No. Mike’s stupid.” Morgaine reached across, between Blade and I, and placed her hand on my shoulder, bringing us all into a huddle. “He should’ve let David tell you.”

“So, David knows?”

“Yes.”

“Wait!” I pushed her hand off me, sitting straight, eyes wide. “The curse—does that mean David's love for me isn’t real?”

“No, it’s real.” Morg laughed. “David fell for you before you were changed—as did Mike. But you, my friend—” she turned to Blade, “—you are just a part of an eternal curse Amara has to suffer for the sins of her ancestors.”

“Morg, are you sure, I mean, about the curse taking hold after David and I fell in love?”

She smiled softly. “Yes, I'm certain. David loves you, okay. And it is real love. I can sense it.”

“And you’re sure mine isn't?” Blade said.

She looked at him. “Yep. Sorry, Blade, you just have to get over it.”

“Should I quit?” He looked at Morg, not me. “Maybe I should work in the general Core? I might be too close to Amara to ever break free of the spell?”

“Is that what you want to do?” I asked. “Work in General?”

“No,” Blade said, rubbing his brow. “I really don’t, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.”

“I'm sorry, Blade. If I’d known about this curse, I’d never have even talked to you.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Morgaine said. “The curse only works on men whose hearts don't belong to another.”

“Really?” I looked up then.

“Yes.” Morgaine reached down and took both of Blade’s hands, drawing them up to her lap. “When you fall in love, the curse will break.”

Blade exhaled, his shoulders dropping. “So, like, what—true love breaks its spell?”

Morgaine laughed. “Yes. So, all you have to do is find a nice girl and get her to fall in love with you.”

He rubbed his hairline with the heel of his palm. “Story of my life.”

Morgaine’s eyes glistened and she flicked her cherry hair from her face. “Story of all our lives, Blade.”

I stifled a cough in the back of my throat that tried to escape as laughter. For once, I totally ‘got’ Morgaine, and it was hilarious.

Blade stood up and walked across the room, still rubbing his head. “No offence, Your Majesty, but I'm glad I'm not really in love with you.”

“Me too,” I said, then frowned. “Hey, why are you glad?”

“Because it’s wrong. I'm supposed to protect you—not fall in love with you. It goes against everything I've been trained to do—against everything I believe in.”

“Well, then, I guess we need to find you a girl as soon as possible. Got a preference?”

He turned around, his grin lighting the room, the shadows on his face making the contours around his nose and mouth look like a moustache. “Blondes.”

“Blondes?” Morgaine scoffed. “Why?”

“Just do.” Blade shrugged. “I'm a bit shallow. That was the dead giveaway that something was wrong when I started thinking about Amara in all the wrong ways.” He extended his arm, an upturned palm pointing to me. “No offence.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">