29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
R owan buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to block out the image of Cora’s lifeless body. Her thoughts spun in an endless vortex. Uncontrollable sobs wracked her frame, tendrils of hair plastered to her tear-streaked face.
“Come on.” She tried to call forth her powers once again. But the words were nothing more than leaves spiraling away into the void. Despite her determination and will, it felt as if her heart had been torn from her body, blocking the magic within from surfacing.
She looked with numb detachment at the chaos around her. Vampires attacked with relentless ferocity. Casimir fought to protect her. Nevertheless, her power remained elusive, hidden beneath layers of grief and torment.
A message from Phoenix snapped her mind to attention. A pulse of energy that was sharp and insistent. Through his eyes, Rowan saw her mother staring at him, frantically gesturing toward the necklace around her neck.
A ripple of understanding threaded through Rowan’s consciousness. Just as she could sense Lilith’s necromantic abilities, her mother must also have the ability to sense Rowan’s connection with Phoenix. She hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks, her resolve hardening.
And then it hit her like a bolt of lightning: the Locket of Herois! Cora had told them about the ancient artifact. The key to the Reaper’s control over her mother’s powers was right there, and Lilith was attempting to show her without using words. Another loophole in the Reaper’s orders .
Rowan’s thoughts sharpened. She silently commanded Phoenix to swoop down and snatch the necklace. He dove with the precision of an arrow shot from a bow, talons outstretched, eyes fixed on the shimmering locket.
She watched through Phoenix’s eyes as the Reaper caught sight of her familiar and advanced with vampiric speed. His blade sliced through the air where Phoenix had been a mere breath earlier, a near miss that sent a metallic hum vibrating into the night.
Phoenix, seamlessly linked with Rowan’s thoughts, banked sharply in the air. The treasure, now more precious than life itself, was clutched within his grasp. He deftly navigated through the smoke-filled battlefield and flew to where Rowan knelt, her hands outstretched with anticipation.
He gracefully released the locket, aiming precisely for her upturned palms. She closed her fingers around it, feeling the cool metal against her skin—a glimmer of hope amid all the destruction and loss. Her familiar perched on the edge of the battlement with his chest puffed up in pride.
“Quite the clever little thief.” Casimir’s eyes sparkled with admiration even as he parried an incoming attack, his sword slicing through the air and finding its mark in the vampire’s chest.
Rowan shut her eyes and focused on the energy coursing through her veins. She envisioned icy tendrils spreading from her fingertips, seeking to ensnare the minds of her enemies. But once again, she hit an invisible wall—the barrier of her mother’s powers still held firm, unaffected by the retrieval of the locket.
Casimir grimaced as he eliminated yet another vampire with a powerful strike. “What’s wrong?” he called out over the sounds of violence.
“It’s not the locket,” Rowan shouted back, frustration welling inside her as she clutched the pendant tighter. “It’s not what’s controlling her.”
“Try opening it.” He sliced through another vampire that had dared to get too close. “There might be something inside.”
Of course. She focused on prying open the locket with shaky fingers, hoping to find some sort of spell inside that could be broken to free her mother from the Reaper’s vile influence.
What she found was nothing like what she expected.
An intricate sigil was etched into the metal, as familiar as her name. Her mother had left the same sigil with Rowan when she had abandoned her at the orphanage. Rowan had stared at it for years without understanding its meaning .
She rose shakily to her feet, gripping the locket tightly in one hand, her mother’s desperate message finally decrypting itself in her mind. The locket didn’t bind or control Lilith. Rather, it contained the sigil of power handed down by her ancestors for generations.
Rowan clutched the locket to her chest, a chill spreading from the metal into her skin, igniting something dormant within her core. She closed her eyes as she drew upon the sigil’s power.
The world around her slowed. Battle sounds faded to mere whispers. The air crackled with electricity, her hair lifting in an invisible wind. A spark ignited within her, the full force of her power ready to unleash itself upon the world.
“Holy shit,” Casimir cursed nearby, his eyes bulging at the sight of her transformation.
The surrounding vampires sensed it too, their animalistic instincts making them recoil from the maelstrom of power.
“Turn,” she ordered through clenched teeth, releasing the energy in a focused wave. Her body shuddered with the raw potency of her magic, threads of lightning snaking around her. She stretched out her hand, fingers splayed wide, and directed the accumulated energy at the Reaper’s minions. It felt as though she was setting off a detonation buried within each of their minds, shattering her mother’s necromantic hold on them.
The vampires’ eyes glinted with confusion, then glowed with emerald fire. Snarls tore from their throats as they faced one another, the bond that once united them now twisted into a deadly weapon. A surge of unrestrained ferocity overtook them as vampires stabbed themselves in the hearts, turning to dust, while others tore into former allies with an insatiable hunger.
The Reaper, a blur of shadow and malice, fixated on Lilith amid the confusion. His usually composed face contorted into a rage. With a swift backhand, he struck Rowan’s mother across the face, sending her staggering, then followed with a brutal kick that sent her crumpling to the ground.
“Useless woman.” The Reaper kicked her again. “I should’ve kept you on a tighter leash.”
Lilith’s body recoiled from the impact, her hair splaying across the platform. Again and again, the Reaper’s boots connected with her prone form until, with one last cruel blow, she lay motionless.
Rowan channeled her magic toward the Reaper. Despite the magnitude of her power and fury, it had no effect, simply bouncing off of him. Undeterred, she commanded the vampires under her control to attack their former master. But some unseen force blocked her command, and this time it wasn’t her mother’s necromancy.
She used the mental image of the sigil to anchor her mind. Her inherent necromancy amplified within her. She channeled her magic in a burst of power unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. It was as if she’d flung open the floodgates of her soul, unleashing a torrent of raw, untamed energy.
She raised her hands, and the very stones of the castle walls groaned in resonance with her command. The sigil’s energy pulsed within her, a source of power and righteous retribution. It guided her movements as if the spirits of her ancestors were speaking to her, their voices like faint whispers in her mind.
In that moment, Rowan transcended the limits of her physical body and unleashed her magic with a primal roar. Her body lifted off the ground, levitating a few feet above it as her silver-blonde hair danced wildly around her. The electricity surrounding her formed an aura, a tangible halo that crackled and danced like an ethereal firestorm. Her eyes locked onto the crowd of vampires below. She observed them with the detached interest of a child watching ants before crushing them underfoot.
Her hair whipped around her face like ghostly tendrils as she shifted her focus to the de Beaumont family cemetery. A chilling wind howled, carrying the stench of death and decay. The earth split open, heaving putrid soil as rotting corpses clawed their way toward the surface.
The undead monstrosities shambled forward, their flesh rotting off their bones, revealing grotesque, twisted frames. Sunken eye sockets, gaping maws, and tattered finery adorned Marcus’s ancestors, risen from their eternal slumber. They moaned in unison, a horrific chorus of the damned, as they amassed at the call of their new mistress.
Casimir stared at her with his mouth parted in a mix of shock and horror. “Rowan! You don’t know what you’re doing,” he shouted.
She turned to him, glowing with power and a twisted carnal desire. “I’ve never felt more alive,” she purred, her voice laced with a dark, seductive undertone.
The undead army swarmed the horde of vampires, tearing them apart with rancid hands, their rotting mouths feasting on the flesh of their victims. The gory scene was straight out of a nightmare, but Rowan didn’t flinch. Instead, she reveled in the carnage, her body thrumming with the intoxicating energy coursing through her veins.
“Please. This isn’t you,” Casimir yelled. “You’re not this person. ”
Rowan knew she should feel horror, but a dark satisfaction curled in her belly like a serpent. Her magic made her untouchable, invincible—she would never be vulnerable or powerless again. She reveled in the pandemonium as blood and body fluids coated the stones beneath their feet.
“Rowan!” Casimir’s voice broke through the haze of her magic, this time laced with a plea that tugged at something deep inside her. “Please, my love. Don’t lose yourself to this.”
The fear that marred his handsome face finally pierced through the intoxicating rush of power. With a shuddering breath, she lowered her hands, and the frenzy she had unleashed slowly subsided. The undead horde paused their feasting, waiting for their mistress’s orders. She stared at Casimir.
“I love you,” he said fervently, shaking her by the shoulders. “Come back to me.”
His words anchored her, pulling her back from the edge of the abyss. I’ll return for him, for Casimir.
With a forceful push of her will, she directed the grotesque army she had summoned to retreat. The ground beneath their feet rumbled as the dead obeyed, returning to the cold embrace of the grave. The stench of decay vanished from the night air as if purged by an unseen force.
Rowan’s body convulsed and then sagged as she released her necromancy. The strength that had filled her moments before left her and she crumpled forward. Tears streaked her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw and hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”
Casimir caught her, cradling her limp form against his muscular chest. He looked at her warily. “What you just summoned . . .” He paused and turned away, clearly having difficulty articulating his thoughts. After a moment, he took a deep breath and dragged his hand through his hair. “The creatures you summoned were the same kind of abominations that destroyed my home. Right before I was turned into a vampire against my will. They killed warriors and civilians alike. I was powerless to stop it.”
Rowan stiffened in his arms, pulling back to look at him. His dark eyes were filled with a bitter pain that splintered her heart. “I didn’t know. I didn’t . . .”
His gaze grew distant. “These creatures. They decimated my village . . . tore apart my best friend. I barely made it. The magic you used tonight was identical.” His expression was unreadable as he leveled her with a piercing stare. “It had to have been a necromancer responsible for the attack. Possibly even one of your ancestors. ”
A cold wave of realization washed over her. Am I truly the same as the necromancer responsible for such atrocities? Her mind reeled at the thought, and all at once she was afraid. Afraid that Casimir would now see her as a monster. That he would reject her.
“Do you hate me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Despite his obvious fear and horror at what she had just done, he didn’t push her away. Instead, he brushed her hair from her tear-streaked face with a tenderness that was at complete odds with his powerful, deadly form.
“No.” His grip tightened on her. “Never. You used your power tonight to protect us, not to unleash mindless destruction. The magic that runs through your veins is ancient, formidable, and capable of terrible things. But you had the strength to stop when you could have let it consume you.” He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “You’re not that person. You’re not what you fear.”
Rowan stared at him, silent as she struggled with the weight of his words. She couldn’t shake off the image of his horror as he’d watched her being consumed by her magic. Her shoulders sagged. She was disgusted with herself for what she’d just done.
Casimir gently wiped away the tears trailing down her cheeks. “Your necromancy doesn’t define your goodness,” he added softly. “Your actions do.”
“Do you . . . do you still love me?” She looked away, afraid to meet his gaze. “Knowing what I’m capable of?”
His answer was instantaneous and fierce. “Of course I still love you. Yes, you have a terrifying power, but it doesn’t control you. And it certainly doesn’t define you. I love you. Not because of your powers or what you can do, but because of who you are. You’re kind and brave and strong . . . and you’re mine.”
A small sob escaped her lips as she leaned into his touch, relief washing over her in waves. He loved her and believed in her, even after witnessing the darkness she was capable of.
Casimir kissed the top of her head before whispering into her ear, “I’ll always love you, and I trust you.”
He held her more firmly to his chest, as if trying to reassure them both that she was still his Rowan. Time lost all meaning as they desperately hugged each other.
The momentary respite was interrupted by the thundering of hooves and the blaring of trumpets. Their heads jerked up, their eyes drawn to the horizon, where a cloud of dust hurtled toward them .
Casimir pulled away, positioning Rowan protectively behind him as a sea of bodies on horseback galloped onto the field. Their steeds, monstrous beasts of inky black and shadowy gray, snorted hot plumes of breath into the frigid night air.
The Vampire Council had finally arrived.
Their grand entrance was far too late to aid them in battle, but just in time to mop up the remnants of the Reaper’s soldiers. They came in an array of blood-colored cloaks that billowed behind them against the starlit night. Their faces were concealed under thick hoods, but their piercing eyes shone with cold authority.
“About bloody time.” Casimir’s lips pressed into a hard line as he scanned the gathering Council with annoyance.
Rowan watched with wide eyes as they systematically laid waste to the Reaper’s straggling numbers. Their ruthless efficiency was mesmerizing as they painted the battleground with new streaks of blood and gore.
The Reaper glanced at the newcomers with a sneer before dashing away using his vampire speed, becoming little more than a blur against the backdrop of violence. His escape didn’t go unnoticed. Instantly, Casimir launched himself from the towering castle wall in pursuit. His newfound strength as a master vampire rendered a leap that would have been fatal to a mortal insignificant.
Rowan watched him go, the magnetic pull between them stretching taut as a bowstring. Snapping into action herself, she dashed toward the courtyard below, navigating the stone steps with a burst of adrenaline.
The courtyard was slick with the remnants of the fallen. And there, amid the carnage, lay Marcus, his noble features twisted in pain. A silver sword jutted dangerously from his chest—a weapon that could kill even a vampire of his age and stature.
“Marcus!” Rowan cried out, sliding to her knees beside him.
His amber eyes flickered up to meet hers, pain etched within their depths. “Rowan,” he managed, voice strained through gritted teeth.
Without a second thought, she reached for the hilt of the sword. “Hold on, I’ve got you.”
“Wait!” Marcus grabbed her wrist. “The sword is a hair’s breadth from my heart. Pulling it out without proper care . . . it’s incredibly risky.”
“Risky is leaving it in you any longer.” Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the sword’s hilt, the metal cool against her palms. Then she paused, her eyes widening as a thought struck her. “Before I do this . . . I have to know if you’re going to kill me after I save you.”
Marcus’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why in the world would I do that?”
“For turning your ancestors into zombies,” she blurted out. “Sorry about that.”
A strangled chuckle escaped Marcus, blood speckling his lips. “You have an odd sense of timing for this discussion.”
She was barely able to breathe. “I need to know.”
“You’ve done nothing but save us since the beginning. Besides”—he grunted as another wave of pain hit him—“I wasn’t that fond of them anyway. I’m not sure if you've met many nobles, but they tend to be a right bunch of stuffy, arrogant pricks.” He chuckled once more, but the sound came out sounding more like agony than humor. “I think that was the most lively I've ever seen them.”
Rowan nodded firmly and placed her hands back upon the hilt. With slow precision, she pulled the blade out, feeling every inch slide through his flesh. Marcus’s moan of pain echoed through the courtyard. Rowan bit her lip, focusing on the grisly task as blood gushed from the wound, staining her fingers red.
Marcus’s eyes were cloudy as he watched her work, fear and trust warring within them. She pulled the sword out with a final jerk, and darkness oozed from the wound, staining the surrounding ground. Rowan watched with concern as blood continued to gush from his body, his skin growing even paler and his lips turning a faint blue as he struggled to heal.
“Drink,” she said urgently, presenting her wrist. “You need to heal, and you’re losing blood too quickly.”
Marcus’s eyes widened, scandalized. “That’s not how we do things. It’s considered infidelity in vampire society. Casimir would kill me.”
Rowan pinched the bridge of her nose. “Vampires are complete idiots. I don’t care about your silly antiquated customs. I care about saving your life.”
Before Marcus could decide, a firm hand clasped Rowan’s shoulder. She turned to see Ruby standing behind her.
“Let me.” Ruby held out her wrist to Marcus. “You need your strength.”
Marcus smiled, his fangs elongating in response to Ruby’s outstretched wrist. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” His voice came out hoarse, but still carried his natural charm .
Ruby held her wrist steady as he drank ravenously. The wound on his chest slowly closed. Rowan watched for a moment, ensuring Marcus would recover, before turning away. Other battles demanded her attention—other lives needed saving.
The field beyond the castle gates was chaos incarnate, screams and steel clashing. The air was thick with the scent of blood and fear. She gasped for breath as she sprinted across the battlefield, pushing herself to go as fast as she possibly could. Her magic surged within her, cold and demanding, an unyielding force that propelled her onward.
Around her, fighting vampires blurred with supernatural speed. Rowan projected her will, sending waves of frigid energy outward, knocking her adversaries aside like rag dolls caught in an unforgiving gale. She ran toward her twin flame, her conviction a burning star in the night.
Up ahead, Casimir and the Reaper were engaged in a fierce duel, clashing with the agility of predators. Sparks flew as their blades met, lighting up their hardened expressions. Casimir’s sword sliced through the air with lethal and calculated precision, each strike aimed at the Reaper’s heart. But the Reaper was no easy opponent; he parried and countered with equal ferocity, his cunning eyes fixed on Casimir with chilling intensity.
Rowan weaved through the pandemonium, trying to steady her breathing as she dodged past clashing swords and dueling vampires. Panic gripped her tightly. Her mind raced with fear for Casimir.
The two master vampires circled each other, locked in a deadly dance. The Reaper lunged forward with blinding speed, aiming for Casimir’s neck. But Casimir anticipated the move; he nimbly sidestepped and delivered a punishing blow to the Reaper’s side. The Reaper staggered back, a flash of pain crossing his features before they hardened into a death glare.
With an ear-splitting roar, the Reaper launched himself at Casimir once more, his fangs bared in a vicious snarl. But Casimir was ready. He met the Reaper head-on, their swords clanging as they struck.
“Come on, you bastard,” Casimir yelled. “Is that all you’ve got?”
The Reaper snarled, lunging forward once again with renewed fury, but Casimir was relentless, matching him blow for blow.
As Rowan drew closer, the tide of the fight turned. The Reaper was faltering under Casimir’s relentless assault. The sword in his hand wavered, his steps grew uncertain, and for a moment his shoulders lowered, showing a hint of vulnerability .
“Enough,” the Reaper shouted with a desperation that Rowan had never heard from him before. He stumbled backward, evading a deadly thrust from Casimir’s blade. “Rowan, my daughter, call him off.”
My daughter . The Reaper’s claim rippled around Rowan as if she were underwater. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest, a rhythm of denial that overpowered the clashing of blades and the cries of the dying.
Casimir paused, his sword poised for the final blow, as the revelation tore through the frenzy. “He lies. Vampires can’t produce offspring.”
“They can with a necromancer,” the Reaper countered with a crooked, knowing smile. “Please, my daughter, call me Eamon, or Father.”
“He’s only trying to manipulate you,” Casimir shouted. Despite his words, his eyes flicked to Rowan with an uncertainty that betrayed his steely composure.
“Think about it, my child.” The Reaper stood straighter, his smirk returning. “With your magic and my guidance, we could rule this world together. We would be unstoppable.”
Rowan’s heart seized in her chest. Her father? She wanted to deny it outright, to refute his claim as the desperate rambling of a soon-to-be-defeated enemy. But something in his gaze stopped her cold. There was a sense of truth in his eyes, and the thought captured her mind and refused to let go—shaking her to the very core.
“Stop, Casimir.” Rowan’s words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of all the years she’d longed to unravel the mysteries of her past.
Casimir lowered his arm, eyebrows raised and body tense. Rowan stepped forward, feeling the aura of power that radiated off of the Reaper.
“Look at you—so powerful, so beautiful,” the Reaper said, his voice filled with pride as he appraised her. “I always dreamed of you ruling by my side. Think of what we can achieve together, my heir, my blood, my legacy.”
His words washed over her, seductive and sinister. She stood there, caught between the man who claimed to have given her life and the man who had ignited her heart’s deepest passions. Each second stretched on, a battleground of its own, where every choice held the capacity to mend or destroy the delicate fabric of her soul.
Rowan approached the Reaper cautiously. “Did you ever truly love her? My mother—did her existence even matter to you?” She locked her gaze on him, searching for a glimmer of sincerity in his cold gray eyes .
His expression softened, as if he was peeling back the layers of the monster to reveal something human. “Of course,” he said, his voice suddenly tender. “I love you both—your mother with her gentle heart, and you. You most of all. But you need to understand that this world is built on power and violence.” His expression was bitter. “I started with nothing. A mere street rat scurrying between the shadows. I fought my way through the filth fang and nail. Every drop of blood I spilled was another stepping stone toward greatness.”
He paced around her now, his words capturing the attention of her wounded inner child.
“Every decision, every act of violence, every sacrifice—it was all for a higher purpose. For you. You’re the culmination of your mother’s love and my ambition. Everything I’ve done—it’s all been to tear down this corrupt kingdom so we can rebuild it together.”
Rowan’s throat constricted, her mind reeling. The words were what she had longed to hear all her life, yet they rang hollow in her ears. She felt Casimir’s presence beside her, an unspoken plea for caution emanating from him.
“I haven’t forgotten that you abused my mother. Stripped away all her choices.” Rowan’s gaze hardened. “If you claim to love me, prove it. Tell me the truth about how you control her.”
Silence lingered between them as the Reaper seemed to consider his response. His gaze drifted briefly toward Casimir before settling back on her. “In this world, power is necessary for survival. Your mother . . . she willingly shared her blood with me.” He carefully studied her reaction. “This act can bind a necromancer to a vampire, but only if it’s a choice willingly made. It has no effect if the blood is taken by force. By sharing my blood with her as well, it rendered her incapable of using her necromancy against me.”
“Is that supposed to be your twisted form of love?” Rowan’s voice dripped with contempt. “Using her trusting nature to trick her? Building a kingdom on a foundation of bloodshed and violence?”
“I tried to protect you from a world that would never see your value,” the Reaper replied. “I gave you life so that you could rise above and become the ruler you were born to be. You are my greatest achievement.”
Rowan saw it then—the fleeting glint of triumph in his eye, the slight smirk that betrayed his anticipation of victory.
She knew what she had to do .
“I refuse your kingdom. I refuse your power. I refuse your legacy.” Her chest ached as she pushed aside a lifetime of yearning for belonging and validation. “I’ll never be like you.”
Silence fell.
At her disavowal, the Reaper promptly reverted to threats. “You are my daughter. My blood also runs in your veins. You’ll never be able to use your necromancy against me. It’s not too late. Join me before I change my mind.”
Rowan straightened her spine, standing tall so she could look down her nose at him. “You underestimate me, Father. I’m more than capable of stopping you without my magic.”
In a swift motion, she drew the silver dagger concealed in her armor. The metal glinted ominously in the moonlight. And despite his supernatural strength and speed, the Reaper was arrogant. Too arrogant to realize that his manipulation and threats had failed.
Rowan plunged her blade into his chest in a decisive strike.
There was half a second of resistance as her dagger glanced off bone, before sinking directly into his undead heart.
A look of surprise flashed across the Reaper’s face, giving way to an eerie calm. He locked eyes with Rowan and a small smile crept onto his face—a smile that was both prideful and resigned.
“Like father, like daughter,” he breathed as his body disintegrated into nothing.
Rowan stood amid the settling dust, her chest heaving with exertion and the gravity of what she’d just done. She’d extinguished her bloodline and severed the ties to her past that had haunted her dreams for years.
As she looked down at the space where her father had stood, she couldn’t help but wonder if some part of her had turned to ash alongside him.