6. Briar
brIAR
T he first hotel I walked into had gleaming marble floors and chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, the kind of place that smelled faintly of roses and polished brass.
It reminded me of the meticulous care of our castle, but the price at the desk nearly made me choke. So did the second one. And the third.
If not for Aunt Bex, I wouldn’t have had any human currency at all.
She always humored my fascination with the world outside Sanguis, slipping coins and bills into my palm after her trips, urging me to squirrel them away.
“ Build a stash, Briar,” she’d whisper conspiratorially.
“ When you’re old enough, we’ll spend it all on a spree, just you and me. ”
That spree never came. Not because Bex didn’t want to, she always kept her promises, but because my mother drew a line and held it fast.
Now, standing at the counter of a cheaper hotel that smells faintly of a citrus scent barely masking a sour stench, I accept the flimsy key card with a tight smile.
My chest squeezes with the quiet realization that this is my life now.
No castles. No gleaming chandeliers. If I want to make this work, I’ll have to shelve whatever taste for luxury was drilled into me and learn to live on less.
The elevator lurches as it begins its climb, metal groaning like even it disapproves of my choice.
My reflection stares back at me from the smudged chrome wall, my usual sleek waves of hair now a poofy mess from this realm’s humidity.
My undereyes are smeared with some smudged mascara, giving me an exhausted appearance.
For the first time, I don’t look like an immaculate Van Helsing princess, just a woman trying to figure life out.
My stomach growls low, a reminder I can’t ignore. I press a hand against it, trying to soothe the ache. There are still some blood bags tucked in my satchel that I need to refrigerate soon, but once those are gone…My throat tightens as the question curls through me.
I should’ve asked Ms. Tomlinson what accommodations the school could provide for my diet, if any.
The thought of walking into her office tomorrow and asking where to get my next meal makes my skin crawl.
I hate feeling so dependent upon others.
Not to mention I have yet to tell her what kind of magical being I am.
I can already imagine her look of horror and disgust when I ask if they can supply me with blood bags. A small, tired laugh works its way up my throat. Maybe it’ll make them less excited to use me as their poster child for the program.
The elevator dings, signaling I’ve arrived at the third floor.
I quickly navigate the long halls to my room at the end.
The room itself smells faintly of the same lemon scent in the lobby, but I’m just not convinced it’s truly cleaned away the grime of all who have stayed in this room before me.
I close the door and lean back against it, my satchel still slung over my shoulder.
For the first time since stepping foot in this city, I let myself breathe.
While I might not have achieved everything I set out to do, yet, the future looks promising. For now, I at least have a place to lay low until I can get on campus.
I walk into the small room, taking in the queen-sized bed with a particularly awful floral bedspread that would make my mom shriek.
There’s a small desk shoved against one wall and a TV atop it.
To my left, a bathroom door is cracked open to reveal a tiled shower and laminate counter top that has what looks like makeup stains rubbed into it.
My body shivers when the feeling of ick comes over me, but I quickly take in a deep breath and hold it.
I count backwards from ten and then blow it out, focusing back on manifesting my dreams. I’ll be moving into a dorm tomorrow.
A real place to call my own with other students bustling in the halls.
Safety in numbers, safety in being ordinary. But for now…this will do.
I drop my satchel onto the desk, the leather landing with a soft thud, and glance toward the doors on the furthest wall.
I pad over to it, pushing the musty-scented curtains to the side to reveal a small balcony that overlooks a courtyard.
Easing the tight lock open, I step outside and let the light breeze lift my hair and wrap around me.
“I did it,” I whisper to the night sky. “I actually left Sanguis.”
The thought prickles, sharp at the edges, but I shove it down. Tonight isn’t about how my family is likely reacting right now–it’s about me finally carving out a path of my own.
After locking the door again, I make quick work of getting ready for bed, heading to the shower first. I tip my head back, eyes closing as the water beats against my face.
For a few precious minutes, there’s nothing but this.
The white noise of the shower spray, the warmth seeping into my skin, and a fresh start.
I breathe deeper, letting the heat soak into my bones, and a thought slips past before I can stop it: I hope they forgive me.
I picture Mom’s eyes watering when she realizes I’m gone and the way Papa, Father, and Dad will immediately jump into action in a frenzied state of panic.
I want them to understand. I want them to see me standing on my own two feet, chasing my dreams when I graduate. I want to see the pride shining in their eyes for taking the hard path just like they did, because it’s what they knew needed to be done.
The thought tightens in my chest until it aches faintly.
I shut off the water and exit the shower before the thought brings me to tears, dragging the thin hotel towel around me as if I can wrap myself in resolve instead.
They’ll understand one day.
With a clean pair of black, loose cotton shorts and an equally boring black tank from satchel now on, I pad barefoot across the carpet and collapse onto the bed. The mattress sags beneath me, lacking in lumbar support, but for tonight it’s enough.
Tomorrow, I’ll face the questions. Ms. Tomlinson's too-bright smile at what I am, the strings attached to that scholarship, and how to get a blood supply in this world.
Tomorrow is the real first day of my new life.
I pull the covers back, sliding under them to curl up on my side. The hum of city life outside the balcony doors is a lullaby I never thought I’d crave.
Sleep should come easy after a day like this, but the moment I close my eyes, my chest stays tight, like something inside me refuses to unclench and give way to unconsciousness.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling where the shadows bend and stretch from the moonlight breaking through the thin curtains.
Elias’s cool, steady gaze comes to mind, quickly replaced with Callum’s grin. The heat of both of their hands.
Their defeated gazes as they got into that damned car.
I groan and flip onto my side, shoving the pillow beneath my cheek. I shouldn’t care. I don’t even know them. But the image of them tensing at their Uncle appearing, shoulders squared under the weight of expectation, presses hard against me.
It’s not fair.
The unfairness digs under my skin until I’m restless, shifting beneath the blankets like I can throw it off. He’s clearly not a good guy and a part of my heart rebels at the idea of them being stuck with him.
They may have their own issues, but I know nothing good can come from being groomed by a man like that.
I shake the thought away, pressing my fist against my sternum as if I can quiet the ache there. Sleep finally drags me under some time later, heavy and fractured, with the brothers’ faces lingering behind my eyelids.
T he subtle click of the door lock giving way rouses me from sleep, and instantly I focus in on the sound of a gun cocking.
My body doesn’t hesitate. Instinct rises faster than fear, and I pull from inward, reaching for the bond that thrums hot at my sternum. Kael and Lyra spill into existence with a shimmer, the hilts molding perfectly to my grip.
“At last, some time to play,” Kael growls, his voice rumbling like thunder.
“ Don’t hesitate, Briar,” Lyra whispers. “Taking their lives will be a mercy to all future magical targets they would have killed.”
For once, my daggers are in agreement. Kill.
I may have had thousands of hours of practice with fighting and combat, but never have I had to take a life.
My mom’s words push to the surface, a haunting reminder. “You’ve never seen war and bloodshed. You’ve never seen the people you love slaughtered or been forced to kill them with your own hand.”
Thankfully these aren’t people I love. They can rot in hell.
The door crashes inward, wood splintering against the wall as people pour into the room with black helmets, padded vests, movements sharp and practiced.
Hunters.
The air thickens with their numbers, heavy boots thudding across the carpet as they surge toward me.
I slide from the bed, bare feet gripping the carpet, every muscle coiled.
The first hunter lunges, a baton raised high.
I twist, fluid and fast, and drive Kael upward, slipping cleanly into the narrow gap between helmet and vest. A hot spray of blood bursts across my knuckles.
The man collapses with hands raised to his neck as if he can shove the blood back inside if he wills it.
Another comes from my left. I pivot low, hair whipping across my face as I sweep his legs from under him. Lyra whistles in delight as I shove her tip through his throat, the steel parting flesh with ease.
The room seems so much smaller as I gracefully move through the space, using the walls to dart away and jump off of for force. Every heartbeat is followed by a strike of my dagger, every breath a kill.
Their slow movements and reactions are no match for me.
Four. Five. Six.
Their bodies fall in heavy thuds, one after another, blood seeping into the crappy carpet.
No lemon cleaner will cover this up.
I spin and shove Kael into the side of another hunter’s throat before quickly pulling him out and breathing heavily as I stare at the empty doorway.
The hunter joins his other dead partners on the floor.
Seven.
I stand amidst them, chest heaving as adrenaline floods my senses, my daggers thrumming with bloodlust.
I’m not just surviving. I’m winning.
That can’t be all of them, though.
“She’s dangerous!” a voice cracks from the hall, urgent and desperate. “Test the new weapon now!”
The words flow through me like ice water dumped over my head. What new weapon?
Kael snarls, “ Whatever it is, we can take them. ”
Lyra’s usual singsong cuts sharp and cold, her voice hissing, “ Let them meet their judgment.”
Then something is tossed into the room and the door slams closed.
Whatever it is detonates, and a mist explodes from it in one swift explosion, swallowing me whole. The first touch of it sears across my bare skin like acid, eating into me with a pain so sudden and raw my breath rips out in a scream.
My daggers shriek in my hands, my bond to them relaying just how much pain I’m in.
“It’s burning her,” Lyra sobs.
“ Move, Briar!” Kael roars, “ Out the balcony! ”
I hurl myself forward toward the doors, my movements stunted and my eyesight beginning to blur. My fingers fumble for the lock, but I can’t get them to cooperate with gripping it.
“Shit!” I scream through the agony as desperation claws at my throat.
“ Break through it! ” Lyra shouts.
I take a step back and summon all my strength as my shoulder crashes through first, the glass exploding outward in a spray of glittering shards that cut across my arms and cheeks. The night air rushes in cold and sharp, flooding my lungs with the taste of city smog and freedom.
I hit the narrow balcony hard enough to rattle the iron railing, breath tearing out of me in a gasp. My muscles coil as I push shakily to my feet, ready to jump down to the courtyard. I block out the pain as I bend my knees and leap up into the air, clearing the railing.
But mid-air, every muscle locks tight. The mist seems to burn deeper, clawing through nerves, wrapping my body in agony so sharp I can’t tell if I’m breathing or screaming as my mouth opens.
My limbs convulse, then refuse me entirely, dead weight in the air as the wind whips at my body as I plummet to the ground.
I slam into the pavement below, skull cracking against concrete, the world detonating white behind my eyes.
My daggers vanish from my palms as I lose the ability to hold onto our connection, their voices cut off mid-cry.
Kael’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “You can’t give up now, Bri–”
“Briar, hold on!” Lyra shouts. “Just–”
I claw weakly, trying to push myself up, but my arms won’t answer. My legs twitch uselessly against the fire lancing through them. The chemical sting is everywhere, sinking into every inch of my body.
Voices shout from nearby, boots pounding against the pavement at my ear. “There! Get her restrained immediately!”
Move, Briar.
My chest heaves, desperate for air that won’t seem to fill me.
Fight.
My vision blurs, the sight of the pool chairs scattered around me bending and fading.
“Crazy how the boss has such an instinct for finding these fuckers.”
My eyes close and my parents’ faces break through the haze of pain. I was so sure I could prove myself. Now all I can think is, I’m sorry. You were right. I should have listened.
The words scrape against the last thread of my consciousness.