Chapter 30
30
EVANGELINE
T hankfully my bed was empty when I returned, because a guilty, nervous sweat dripped down my spine as I hunched over photographs of faded Latin handwriting, cursing myself for being a fool.
For letting Malachi use me.
For not taking more pictures.
I’d only managed eleven shots, and in those pages…
My pulse raced, filling the silence with a relentless thudding as I reread a few translated lines, fragments that hinted at dangerous revelations. I didn’t have the full story, but what I’d uncovered was damning enough.
Blake. His name was mentioned numerous times, forming a story that twisted something tight and ugly in my gut. One hundred and fifty years ago, back when Blake had served King Domonic Graves, he’d executed a traitor.
And since traitors—according to Riordan—were especially reviled within our species, the execution had been a bloody, public affair. The traitor was Malachi’s brother, according to Tyrell. Tyberius . Malachi’s only sibling, beheaded by Blake’s hand, long before Riordan was born, before he killed his own father and took the crown.
For the first time, I grasped the scope of Malachi’s hatred.
I pushed my phone away. Malachi’s vendetta against Blake went deeper than I’d realized. No wonder he was so intent on playing the houseguest from hell. The memory of something Riordan once told me floated back: Malachi’s greatest skill is tearing an organization down from within. He won’t come at you head-on; he’ll poison the foundation, eat away at the stone until it crumbles. And Malachi was poisoning everything .
I’d stolen for him, tarnishing myself in Riordan’s eyes, and Blake’s.
Another nudge sent me through the tunnel and into the arms of my murderous family, and now that avenue of escape was closed, should we come under attack.
One by one, that bastard was cutting off our options, undermining our trust, herding us together for his final coup d'état.
This upcoming coronation was the perfect venue for him to destabilize Riordan’s new kingdom. Chances were, he’d been working this angle for ages, wooing Riordan’s enemies, quietly swaying loyalty where he could. Knowing Malachi, he wouldn’t miss an opportunity as grand as a ball.
A big public event. Lots of witnesses. Lots of potential targets.
A virtual bloodbath, if we weren’t careful.
What Riordan and Blake envisioned as a strong show of force would become a crushing defeat and within hours, Riordan’s dream would be over.
I took a deep breath, leaning back in my chair and stared at the proof on my screen. God, how I yearned to confront Malachi, to throw this information in his face.
Which would doom us even faster. If he knew I’d pieced together these truths, he’d shift his tactics, slip into the shadows, or lie his way free. Or worse, move up his agenda.
Or worse yet, kill me .
I had no intention of being murdered, since I’d be spending every hour of these next three days out-thinking him. Blake and I would be out thinking him, because I was sending these to my mate and then we’d…
My finger paused over the send button.
What were the chances every outgoing call and text were monitored?
I quickly deleted the text, gnawing on my lip. I’d tell Blake in person. As not-guilty as I wanted to feel about stealing from Riordan, the thought of confessing my sins to Blake made me nauseous.
I’d never seen Malachi with a cell phone, so chances were, he wouldn’t anticipate me using technology to ferret out his secret. We had to catch the bastard in the act, then turn the tables and bury him before he derailed everything.
I started formulating a plan, the survive or die kind, throwing caution to the wind.
First thing, I had to come clean, though the thought made me ill.
I’d have to admit to stealing.
Blake might understand my reasoning, but Riordan…lately, I hadn’t liked what I saw when it came to our king. But this went beyond my own guilty sins. And Riordan couldn’t deny the truth, not when he already saw Malachi as a lying snake.
The night of the coronation had to work to our advantage, or everything would fall apart. On the other hand, if Malachi thought no one suspected him, maybe he’d make a mistake. We could draw him out, force him to reveal himself as a traitor.
But that approach would be risky. If we were too obvious, he’d see through the whole thing and vanish, slithering back into the shadows with another—more dangerous—plan. We’d have to be subtle, not raise his suspicions.
Just to be thorough, I typed in the last page, the one toward the end, laboriously copying every word, letter by letter, until I’d entered the final passage, then hit translate, my eyes flying over the words.
The scream crawled up my throat like a living thing, a horrible, awful sound that stopped when I crushed my hand over my mouth, smothering it into a whimper. No. No, there is no way I could have found my way into Tyrell’s book.
But there I was, my name etched in black and white, my secret laid bare, and my heart crashed to the floor.
Oh God. Malachi had this book. He knew my secret.
Maybe he wouldn’t see. Maybe he wouldn’t read all the way until the end.
My entire body shook as I pulled a sweater over my leggings and put on my quietest shoes. I needed to look calm, unbothered, like nothing was out of the ordinary. Malachi had a habit of popping out at the worst times, and I couldn’t run into him tonight.
If Malachi knew my deepest darkest secret, I had to learn his.
And if there was a record of his sins, I knew right where to find them.
The library was silent as I jogged toward the gated-off section with quiet, rushed steps.
I double checked every dark corner to make sure I wasn’t followed, though chances were, Malachi was off weaving his devious plans.
My sloppy panic was smoothing out into a more desperate sort of fear, the kind that made me realize I shouldn’t take on someone like Malachi by myself. But I was committed now.
And the more dirt I had on Malachi, the better, because the more evidence I presented to Riordan and Blake, the more compelling my argument. There was no need to drag my own secrets into this.
I slipped the lock loose, swung the iron gate open and focused my flashlight on the rows of ancient, red leather binders, then pulled one from the shelf. Flipping through each page, I carefully typed and translated fragments of the past—and Malachi’s story—emerging, an unfolding truth darker than anything I could have guessed.
Malachi was as old as Tyrell, which made him—my stomach twisted—a true Ancient, a vampire whose power and cunning eclipsed…everyone else’s.
No wonder his blood had such a powerful effect on me.
No wonder he effortlessly manipulated us all.
My hands trembled as I translated the next passage. Ancients seldom care for thrones themselves, preferring instead to wield power through others, like puppet masters in the dark. Malachi had never wanted the throne—not directly. Instead, he thrived on controlling the rest of us, on weaving schemes no one else could see.
But my thoughts kept circling back to a single question.
Why aren’t we already dead? I sat there, reeling, as the horrifying answer became clear: he was savoring our desperation, watching us scramble like mice in his maze, relishing each pitiful, panic-filled moment .
Making us believe we stood a chance, that Riordan might actually build the kingdom of his dreams.
The next line I translated struck me like ice: Ancient blood holds mysteries known only to those who wield it, giving strength to those who dare consume it, allowing them control over their thralls. Like Tyrell had controlled my father and uncles.
Now I understood why his blood had been unlike anything I’d ever tasted—it was as old as our race, brimming with centuries of power. Had Malachi let me drink from his wrist— urged me to drink—knowing he’d control me?
Was I his thrall? Was that why I’d stolen for him?
I sat back, gripping the yellowed page.
Malachi had intimate knowledge of this castle. He was not only using the secret passageways to spy on us, he was using them to learn every piece of Riordan’s plans. Always a step ahead . And now I knew how.
I closed the book with a soft snap and extinguished my lamp. Malachi was powerful, but that didn’t mean he was invincible.
We could still beat him.
Steeling myself, I slipped out of the gated section, my racing mind stumbling over the small, wavering glow of a single candle at the far end of the library. My feet stuttered to a stop, heart lurching into my throat as a tall, cloaked figure rounded the corner of the bookcases up ahead.
I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead.
Eldric screeched to a halt with the same, slightly terrified expression on his face.
“Oh, it’s just you.” his candle flickered out as he expelled a breath. After a few seconds of panic in the darkness, I clicked my flashlight on. “You do remember me? Eldric Drakon, clan historian?” He lifted another armful of books. “Here to return a few more volumes.”
“How many of those did you borrow, Eldric?”
“Just…only what I required for my research.” he said stiffly. A mop of dark red curls flopped over his forehead, the beam of my flashlight illuminated his golden eyes, worry etched around them.
“I’m only curious.” I managed a smile, now that I wouldn’t be murdered for snooping around where I shouldn’t be. “What kind of research?”
Eldric shrugged. “Oh, a bit of this and that. My sire taught me to always be curious about the world. I suppose I took his advice to heart.”
“And you? What are you doing here so late, Lady Evangeline?”
“Same. Curiosity.”
But Eldric’s gaze lifted over my head, looking back to the forbidden part of the library, then dipped to my hands, as if he saw the rust from the iron bars coating my fingers.
“Be careful, Evangeline.” He dropped his voice. “There are some secrets that should remain hidden. Our world is a dangerous place, especially for those who wish to bring change.”
“Is that a warning, Eldric?”
“That’s a fact,” he murmured. “And one you should heed, given what you’re up to.”
He inched closer, enough his arm brushed mine. “Here is a warning. Malachi is more dangerous than you can imagine. King Riordan…he has made his bed, and there is nothing you can do to change his fate. My advice is to take your sister and get as far away from here as you can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”