Eighteen-year-old witch, Vera Tate, attends a magic university where she meets vampire prince Lucien Lacroix. After being the target of an attack, Vera finds herself in the middle of a century-long feud that results in murder. Now she has no choice...
Between assigned reading and learning new spells, the days passed without as much as a whisper of trouble. In the cafeteria, and all by myself, I sat at a table with the book on old laws. It was getting rather interesting when a newspaper slapped the table right next to me, scaring me out of my wits. I looked up.
My sister, Jordan, stood before me with a tight smile on her face. "Hello, Vera."
"Jordan." Snatching the paper as my nerves untangled themselves, I sank into my chair. "I'm surprised you were allowed inside the wards."
"Visitor's pass." Jordan sat across from me and dangled a lanyard.
Sighing through my nose, I examined the paper. The header was of a straight-forward nature: LACROIX TELLS ALL. It was submitted by Rayna and edited by Spencer. I couldn't believe it. My stomach dropped. It was a puff piece. A work of romantic fiction that twisted the attacks as a hazardous result of our union. It barely contained anything I told her. It wasn't even referencing my statements. They were Lucien's.
"This is what she wrote?"
"Oh, goodness no." Jordan chuckled. "She wrote a good piece, this Rayna, but you don't seem to know who your husband is. Lucien Lacroix came in with his own story and my boss was more than happy to have Rayna re-write the article. The romance sells better than the action."
How embarrassing. I tossed the paper on the table. "What are you even doing here?"
"I insisted on delivering it to you myself. Now that I know the real story, I have questions."
"No comment."
Jordan groaned. "Please. Don't be silly, Vera. Just tell me one thing."
"What?"
"Did Lucien Lacroix trick my baby sister into marriage?" She leaned closer, her eyes darkened with an inquisitive edge. "Is that what happened?"
Yikes. I hadn't even told Rayna about the deeper elements of the story. How did she come to that conclusion? I shook my head. "I made my choice."
A frown slid over Jordan's face and her shoulders fell. "We were close once."
"What do you want me to say, Jordan? I've told you the truth."
"If you're ever in trouble—you'll come to me?"
I shrugged. "Why do you hate him?"
"It's not that I hate him," Jordan said, leaning back with crossed arms. "I just don't trust him."
"Well, I trust him completely."
Jordan didn't answer.
"I chose this," I said.
"I hear you." Reluctantly, Jordan pulled a folder from her satchel and slid it across the table. "I just . . . well, I'll leave this with you."
A shiver chased my spine as Jordan left, her heels clicking on the floors with determined steps. She was too confident. That was bad. I waited until she was out of sight before I flipped the folder open. There was a document inside, a council report from the night I was cursed. Confused about its relevance, I read each line with painful focus until I spotted it. My throat tightened as I fell back in my seat, staring blankly at the page in my hands.
The person who found me the night I was cursed? Lucien Lacroix. That couldn't be a coincidence. Lucien had repeatedly said I was the only one. The only choice. His easy acceptance of the situation had come from years of knowing the outcome. He planned this. Just like his mother had planned her own war.
But why?
Crunching the paper into a ball, I conjured fire. Smoke twisted in the air above me and ash fell in a mess down my front. Even as the fire vanished, the molten heat of rage coursed through my veins and demanded an outlet. My hands fell in fists upon my thighs as I tried to breathe. The world blurred. I curled inward and lowered my forehead to the table as hot tears dripped free.
Goddess, I trusted my gut and it was so wrong. Wrong about everyone and everything. A wave of cool regret slammed into me full force as I considered everything that happened through the year.
Whatever he was planning, whatever he thought he gained from all of this, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Turning my hands over, I uncurled my soot-covered fingers and exhaled. One way or another I'd get my answers, and if I didn't like them, Lucien would pay.
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