Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
luna
past
“ Y ou can’t fucking do that!” Jessica scolds from across the room, unlatching her gun from the holster strapped to her thigh.
“You will find that I can,” Joshua quips back with a grin, matching her step whenever she comes close to putting him down.
I don’t know why either of them have to waste time arguing about it, when I could have taken them both out while they were too busy yapping.
I tighten the straps around my thigh, careful not to cut my finger on one of the four throwing stars.
My choice of weapon was simple. I needed efficiency and control, but I also wanted the entertainment. A gun was too quick. It was over before it had even started, and a knife felt too…well…butchery?
“How do you feel?”
Nate strolls down the wide steps, landing in the gym. Del Morts had rules. One, was that you don’t share your real name among disciples. Yes…we’re currently referred to as disciples. Two, you sign the contract upon entry, where I’m sure more rules are, and three, after you graduate, you are to not contact your peers on the outside. The concept is carved into every wall here. The monster you have to be here will be the weapon you become there.
I don’t care for the rules. I don’t like anyone here?—
“You’re a disgusting pig who can’t even hold his own dick, let alone stand up against me!”—And Jessica. I kind of liked Jessica. She and Joshua are exactly what is missing in this world. Filled with confetti and rage.
“Fuck you!” Joshua snaps back.
Nate lowers himself onto the spot beside mine, tapping my thigh with his knuckle. “I need to talk with you about something.”
“I’m not ready.” After finishing my holster, I brush my fingers through my hair and pile it to the top of my head in a high pony.
He loosens the buttons of his suit as if needing the fresh air. “Yes, you are.”
I always assumed Malum’s duty to the schools meant Riverside Elite University in Riverside and the high school in the Hamptons, but apparently not. This little pond of secrets is something I’m not even sure his own kid knows about.
Kid. Singular.
Fitting. Since they’re so great at keeping secrets.
“What is it?” I stretch out my legs.
I’d been born a brunette, like both Dads, but the second night of Del Morts, I demanded they change my hair to that of my mother. I tried before when I was locked in the dark lord’s manor. It will never be as white as hers, but now it’s an oat milk-blonde. My dark hair only reminded me of him.
“You’re ready, Luna…” I’ve never fought Nate on anything, much less to do within the school. My respect for him far surpasses my need to be liked. If I even have that compound to begin with.
I blow out a sigh that sounds more like a complaint. “You’ve always had an uncanny ability to see the best in me, Malum.” Leaning forward, my eyes squint. “You sure you’re not losing your touch after all these years?” I relax back, hiding my chuckle. “I’ve heard that stress can age you rather quickly.”
He doesn’t answer, snorting under his breath while tapping my arm with his. “Smartass, but no. I’m sure. You’re ready.”
His words absorb deeper this time, and my smile falls. “They won’t want me back in their life.”
“They don’t even know…” Nate replies casually, as if he didn’t run his finger over a wound so fragile it could split back open at any moment.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Maybe, but he did try to sell me to his enemies at his mom’s auction.” I try to focus on my surroundings, as I’d been taught so many times before.
Where there is a door, there is a room, and inside that room, there are walls, and within those walls, is furniture, and on top of that furniture is Ma, and beside Ma, is Dad, and on the other side of Dad, is Father, and on the other side of ? —
“Patience…” I’m back inside the gym. On the floor. Stretching my legs out and staring off at Jessica, who had stopped sparring with Joshua.
“You good?” they ask.
I nod.
“Archer Thorn isn’t an enemy of ours. Why he was allowing to give you to them for the remainder four years is still up for debate, but one thing I will say is that kid is fucking terrifying. His intelligence exceeds any of us, hell, any of the previous generations that I know of.”
I’ll miss the gym here. The octagon where we learned to fight, the shooting range, the target den I sharpened my throwing stars. “That’s not very reassuring.”
Nate palms the side of his face. “Guess not. What I’m saying is that every step we take, he throws something at us that makes us pivot. We’ve been trying to prepare him best for his upcoming role, but like I told his father, he’s not so easily controlled.”
I snort. “That’s putting it lightly.” Silence. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am ready. My thumb traces the designs carved into the metal. “Fine. If you say I’m ready, then I’m ready.”
I’ve seen photos of Nate when he was my age. His pretty features only seem to allow him to age slower than most. He’s still attractive, only now keeps a well-trimmed beard. I wonder if War still looks like him. Hope not. Tillie was so much prettier.
Nate squints at me. “What are you thinking about inside that little head of yours, Lulu Bell?”
I flash him a wide-tooth smile, the kind that pretty much lets me get away with everything when it comes to him. “Oh you know. Thinking about how beautiful your wife is.”
His suspicions slip into a relaxed smile. With his eyes glistening, and all the tension gone, suddenly this bad, tatted-up secret society mob boss isn’t so scary after all.
Just pretty.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
My stomach drops at his words. The realization of everything hits me like a ton of bricks.
Crap. I’m leaving. I’m leaving.
I’m leaving.
I’ll never see Jessica again. Or Joshua. I don’t care for Josh, but he sure made it fun for me on the nights I was bored.
Sadness weighs the muscles in my face. This time neither of them are looking at me and they’re both sparring mid-argument.
I won’t even tell them I’m leaving. It’ll make it too hard.
“I’ll never see them again.” I try to force away the sadness.
“Joshua, no. Jessica, yes.” He stands to his full height, placing his hand out to me. “Come on.” The final pass-through of a place I’ve spent so long in is bittersweet. The laboratory circles the main beehive, the home base to doors. Most of which I never even went through.
“You sure you want to do it like this?” Nate asks once we’re outside the entrance to Del Morts. It takes thirty minutes to get through the tunnels by cart.
“Yes. I can’t imagine ever saying goodbye.”
Nate doesn’t answer, and I keep my eyes fixed on the thick mountains in the distance.
“Jessica, will she be here?”
Nate looks down at me as if pondering how to answer. “You’ll know when she’s here, but who she is, is not who she seems.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” I laugh, but it doesn’t feel happy.
“You’re still not to know each other, Lulu Bell. You’ll be strangers on the outside looking in. One more thing before they get here,” Nate says, staring off into the distance. I ignore his warning about Jessica. That is the first thing we learned, and we’ll both abide by it.
Nate’s about three times my size, so looking up at him requires my neck being bent. “What is it?”
His eyes search mine, and although he’s been a great commander-in-chief, teaching me so many things through the years, I can see it in him now. The soft side he has. I wonder if it has always been there or whether having a wife and children did that to him. I make a mental note to not allow myself the luxury of creating something so fragile.
“The final show will be in four nights from now. He will be there. We need you to come back for that.”
The muscles in my body all coil into knots. “And what does he know of where I’ve been for the past four years?”
He pauses a moment. “With Archer Thorn. He will think that Archer allowed you to maintain a normal life, going back and forth between Spain, Perdita, and Thornhill.”
There’ve been minimal times in my life where I’ve been shocked, since my whole life has been a reel of shocking moments, but this one catches me. “How?” His words from earlier come back to me. “You’re friends with Archer?”
A small shake of his head. “No, not me directly, but Bishop. Priest won’t know yet, so we’re going to maximize on that until he takes the gavel, because once he does?” Nate finally turns back to me. His smile isn’t one I’m used to. “He’ll be in Bishop’s place and that is not only the head of the EKC, but another, where you won’t know until your Hayes has the gavel.”
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Fuck.” Nate pulls at his hair, distracting me a moment from the sound of tires crushing gravel. “I’m sorry, Luna.” His hand dips beneath his jacket, pulling out a black envelope.
“What is this?” My eyes dry out when I don’t blink, my fingers wrapping around the envelope.
“That is your life insurance. He signed it with more knowledge than you did. We didn’t lie to him, you’re both needed at the table, but we didn’t tell him explicitly why we needed you to sign that.” I’ve already torn it open.
The City of New York
Office of the Clerk
Certificate of Marriage Registration.
This is to certify that Luna Nox Rebellis, new surname Hayes
And Priest D’Mon Hayes
Were Married.
His words die out. “How?”
I turn to him, folding the paper back up and shoving it into the envelope. “And fucking why?” I’ve never been angry before, but furious doesn’t even cover the rage I feel.
“Luna!” Nate’s back in front of me, the car pulling to a stop behind him. His hands are on my cheek. “From this day onwards, all that I’ve trained you in needs to come into play. Are you ready?”
Pretty sure I told him I wasn’t.
The wind whips me across the face, slapping the rage I felt moments before away. “I’m ready.” I turn in time to see Mom’s SUV through the dust of gravel.
“Luna?” Nate calls out once more. With one last glance, I try not to look at the ancient archway that leads to the very place I’ve been for four years. “When you start, you go all in.”
I turn back, swallowing my nerves. “You didn’t train me any other way.”
My mom’s wide eyes are on mine when I slip into the passenger seat. “Sorry the Papas couldn’t be here. I flew up their ass about it, but because it was last minute notice, they probably wouldn’t have been able to make it in time anyway.” She drives us forward. I fight with myself to not look back. To watch the one place I have called home disappear out of my view. Truthfully, Del Morts wasn’t as it seemed. I’d silently prayed to get out.
“That’s okay,” I say, tossing my duffel bag into the back. “I’ll see them when they get home.”
Mom turns to face me, lifting her sunglasses from her eyes. In any light, Mom’s eyes are unique, but even more so when she’s sitting right in front of a burning sunset.
“You okay? Something happen?” Her lilac eyes almost match my gray. Jessica had once said I had flecks of lilac like Mom’s, but she had smoked a lot of weed that night so I’m sure she was tripping.
“Nothing happened.”
She relaxes, her index finger tapping the steering wheel. “Good.” A maniacal laugh bubbles from her lips. “Would hate to kill a Malum.”
“What?”
The woman looks at me as if she didn’t threaten a King. “What?”
I roll my eyes.
Her laughter is infectious when she turns the radio on to a G-Eazy song about Tumbler girls. Being a one-hour drive from this side of the island to the other, Mom loses herself on this week’s drama of Midnight Mayhem back in Spain. It didn’t take them long to fall in love with L’embruix. It’s hard not to. With cobblestone streets, antique architecture, lanterns for streetlights, and the smell of freshly baked bread, it’s hard to imagine any place being as beautiful as L’embruix.
The drive to the airport is fast, and within thirty minutes of arriving we’re up in the air with a direct flight to Spain.
Flights are long, but because I’ve done this one as often as every second week, I know the path like the back of my hand. I use this time to flip through TikTok, ignoring my Instagram. I lose myself for the remainder of the trip, passing on coffee and asking for whiskey. I hate to start early, but the nerves racking through my body kind of need it.
Especially with the death sentence burning in my pocket.
After landing back in Spain, Mom directs us down the main street of L’embruix, where cobblestone streets curl around ancient buildings. Withered in terracotta reds, fading from the thousands of summers it’s stood through. I push my window down and inhale the breeze that carries laughter and gentle strums of music, dancing through the smell of spilled red wine.
She stops the car. Tucked above concrete archways, our home is a blend of ancient history and graceful luxury. With ornate iron gates with growing ivy, the private courtyard is picturesque.
Turning in her chair, she blinks back at me. It’s silent but not unsettling. I can’t imagine there being an uncomfortable silence between my mom and I, but I know she’s going to ask me something. I hope without either of my dads here that she will understand to not push hard. She doesn’t have a lot of maternal instincts, but I couldn’t ever imagine having another mom.
“This…whatever this is that’s happening.”
I remain silent.
Her head tilts to the side. She usually only does that when she’s about to go off about something she’s passionate about, and in this day, we’re thankful she has things to be passionate about. Mom has been through a lot—to say the least—throughout her years, but she tries. Mainly it’s her finding weird hobbies, loving them for a period, and then eventually getting bored and starting something new. With the range of knitted blankets, handmade jewelry, oh—and one of the throwing stars sitting peachy against my thigh—Ma has always in one way or another tried to create hobbies that find a way to help me.
“I know you can’t say anything. I want you to know that you can to me, because I don’t give a flying fuck about Nathanial or any of the Kings for that matter.” She bats her lashes, tucking pieces of my hair behind my ear.
“Play nice…” I warn, but the corner of my lip twitches.
“I will!” She widens her eyes at me as I find the door handle. “One day,” she mutters, rolling out of the driver’s seat. I listen to her harp on about the current state of Midnight Mayhem and how the shows have been lately. She manages to skate over a few people who she doesn’t want to mention, as we head up the stairs and beneath the archway.
The door closes behind me and I lower my duffel bag onto the concrete floor, blowing out a deep breath. I’ve been home a lot over the years, but this time is different. This time I won’t be leaving to go back to Del Morts, and aside from the twisting anxiety of what’s to come still sitting pretty in my guts, it feels…good.
“I thought about painting your room, you know!” Mom calls out from the kitchen around the clashing of glasses and the fridge door closing.
“Oh really?” I holler back, removing my coat and hanging it up. The house was clearly inspired by old Tuscany homes. With rendered walls and timeless cabinetry, every piece of furniture is elegantly ancient. Which reminds me—I track back to my coat and grab my phone before making my way down the open hallway where the living room sits on one side, and the kitchen on the other. Mom and Dads’ bedroom is downstairs, and the upstairs is all mine. Two bedrooms, one for training, and a bathroom, sauna and gym.
I love being home.
The first message I see when I turn on my phone is from Nate.
Your mother has the keys to your new apartment. Enjoy your time with them while you can, because once you’re back, you’re back.
I tap out of his message, lowering myself down onto one of the bubble stools beneath the kitchen bar while finding Instagram. He’s giving me until I head back for the show, so I won’t reply until then.
“You changing all of”—she waves her long, black manicured fingernail at me—“that?”
My thumb hovers over my Instagram profile. “No one knew I even had this.”
She leans her forearms on the counter, her shifty eyes meeting mine behind the glass of her—“Vodka?”
I giggle, swooping up my own and lifting it to my lips. “Okay fine. But just so you know, I have tried this before.”
She shoots hers back and chases it with her tongue to clean up the residue on her bottom lip. “Oh, honey, I know! You are your mother’s daughter.” She winks before turning and tying up an apron.
The words hang around in my mind. You are your mother’s daughter.
It’s the first time she’s ever said that to me—or anyone has ever said that to me. People have always said that I take after both my dads, but more like Kyrin. Having two never confuses people, because I don’t surround myself with anyone who has to second-guess the concept of love being as simple as…love. No matter how many. Just so happens my mom fell in love with two men.
Two very different men.
Eli, my, I guess you could say is my paternal father, and Kyrin, my other father. Eli Rebellis, Rebel of the Elite Kings Club, and Kyrin Nero, a Brother of Kiznitch with Midnight Mayhem, and well, my mom.
Who turned out to be a hell of a lot scarier than either of my notorious fathers.
Scary parent math.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, still deciding what to do with Instagram. I could delete it and start a new one, but I’ve had it for so long and the content I’d shared had helped me along the way. Some of it anyway.
If they did stumble across me on here, people can know who I am now since I’ve graduated. Do I want my footprint known on social media, though? All my content up to this date has been simple. Reels of something random on my weekends out and about. Even a random waterfall I’d found mid-run, deep in the mountains on Perdita where the waters run a translucent shade of pink.
I never thought much into what I was posting. I’d never shared my face, just simple reels the same time every weekend for years. Between that and the mystery, it gained me a following, which in turn only made me more nervous to never share. I value my privacy more than I want attention. Since I am currently up to three million followers.
Some liked the peaceful nature I’d post.
Some loved the captions.
But the main reason for the followers is people think I’ve been kidnapped, and my posts are a cry for help. Like leaving a scattering of breadcrumbs, they think I need rescuing.
I never corrected them because why? I didn’t care for this account because I always assumed I’d delete it once I was out.
But now?
I shoot back my vodka, clenching my teeth when it hits my throat. “Yes, but can we make it something smoother next time? Maybe whiskey?” It’s a joke, but when she pauses with the spatula in her hand, I know I’ve said something wrong. “What?”
She relaxes, turning to face me with a wide smile, one that flashes all her teeth. “Nothing! And tacos, since they were your favorite and since you’re leaving us again in less than three days to go and be”—she waves her hands—“who you’re supposed to be. It’s only fitting.”
I swipe out of Instagram. I’ll keep it. Screw it. I might even add a profile photo now.