Морган Райс - Betrayed

FACT:60 miles north of Manhattan, there exists a small, obscure island in the Hudson River on which sits a crumbling Scottish castle. This island is known as Pollepel, and was named after a young girl, Polly, who hundreds of years ago, was stranded on the ice of the Hudson and ended up on its shores.

Legend has it she was romantically rescued by her sweetheart, who married her on the island.

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Pollepel Island, Hudson River, New York

(Present Day)

“Caitlin?” came the soft voice. “Caitlin?”

Caitlin Paine heard the voice, and struggled to open her eyes. They were so heavy, though; no matter how much she tried, she could barely lift them. Finally, she managed to pry them open, just for a brief second, to see where the voice was coming from.

Caleb.

He was kneeling by her side, holding her hand in both of his, concern etched across his face.

“Caitlin?” he asked again.

She tried to get her bearings, to lift the immense cobwebs from her head. Where was she? She could see enough to see that this room was bare, made of stone. It was nighttime, and a large window let in the light of a full moon. Stone floors, stone walls, an arched, stone ceiling. The stone looked smooth and ancient. Was she in a medieval cloister?

Aside from the moonlight, the room was lit only by a small torch, fixed to the far wall, and not giving off much light. It was too dark to see more.

She tried to focus on Caleb’s face, so close, only a foot away, staring at her hopefully. His eyes seemed to light up, as he squeezed her hand tighter. His hands felt warm. Hers were so cold. She couldn’t feel the life in them.

Despite her efforts, Caitlin couldn’t hold her eyes open a second longer. They were just too heavy. She felt… sick was not the word. She felt… heavy. She felt free-floating, as if she were in limbo, stuck between two worlds. She didn’t feel connected to her body, didn’t feel like a part of the earth anymore. But she didn’t feel dead, either. She felt as if she were trying to awaken from a very, very deep sleep.

She struggled to remember. Boston…the King’s Chapel…the sword. And then…getting stabbed. Lying there, dying. And Caleb at her side. And then…his fangs. Approaching her.

Caitlin felt a dull, throbbing pain on the side of her throat. It must have been from where she’d been bit. She had asked for it—had pleaded for it.

But the way she felt now, she was not sure she should have. She didn’t feel right. She felt an icy, cold blood racing through her veins. She felt as if she had died, but had not taken the next step. As if she were stuck.

More than anything, she felt pain. A dull, throbbing pain in her lower right side, and in her stomach. It must be from where she’d been stabbed.

“What you are going through is normal,” Caleb said softly. “Don’t be afraid. We all go through it when we are first turned. It will get better. I promise you. The pain will go away.”

She wanted to smile, to reach up and caress his face. The sound of his voice made everything perfect in the world. It made all of this worth it. She would be with him forever, now, and that gave her hope.

But she was too tired. Her body was not responding to what her brain wanted. She couldn’t get her lips to smile, and she couldn’t summon the strength to lift her hand. She felt herself drifting back into sleep…

Suddenly, her thoughts shifted again, jolting her awake. The Sword…it was lying there, and then…stolen. Who had it now?

And then she remembered her brother, Sam. Unconscious. Then, taken away by that vampire.

What had happened to him? Was he safe?

And Caleb. Why was he here? He should be pursuing the Sword. Stopping them. Was he here only for her sake? Was he sacrificing it all to stay at her side?

Question after question raced through her mind.

She summoned every ounce of strength she had, and opened her lips just the slightest bit.

“The Sword,” she managed to say, her throat so dry it hurt to speak. “You must go…” she added. “You must save…”

“Shhh,” Caleb said. “Just rest.”

She wanted to say more. So much more. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. How grateful she was. How she hoped that he would never leave her side.

But it would have to wait. A new wave of fuzziness washed over her, and her lips simply would not open again. Despite herself, she found herself sinking, sinking, reeling back into the blackness, back into her state of immortal sleep.

As Kyle flew over northern Manhattan, he had never felt so elated. Behind him flew Sergei, his obedient soldier, and behind him, hundreds of vampires that had joined them along the way. Kyle now held the fabled Sword in his belt, and nothing more need be said. Malevolent vampires all along the East Coast had already heard the news, and as Kyle flew over, many covens were eager to join him. They knew war was coming, and Kyle’s reputation preceded him. These mercenary vampires knew that, wherever he was going, he would be up to no good. And they wanted to be a part of it.

Kyle felt the thrill of the growing army behind him, and felt another surge of confidence as he flew over the city. Sergei had done well in grabbing the Sword and stabbing that girl, Caitlin. In fact, Kyle had been surprised. He’d never imagined Sergei had it in him. He had underestimated him, and as a reward, he’d decided to keep him alive, realizing that he’d make a good sidekick. He was especially impressed that Sergei had dutifully handed him the Sword immediately after leaving the King’s Chapel. Yes, Sergei knew his place. If he kept this up, Kyle might even promote him, might even give him a small legion of his own. Kyle hated most things about most people, but the one thing he appreciated was loyalty.

Especially after what his people, the Blacktide Coven, had done to him. After thousands of years of loyalty, Rexius, their supreme leader, had cast Kyle out as if he were nothing, as if his thousands of years of service had meant nothing. All for one little mistake. It was unthinkable.

Kyle’s plan had worked perfectly. Now he wielded the Sword, and nothing—absolutely nothing—would get in his way. War with the human race, and with the other vampire races, would soon be his to wage.

As Kyle continued downtown, now over Harlem, he dipped closer to the ground, using his vampire vision to zoom in on the details below. He grinned wider.

His spreading of the Bubonic Plague has really worked. Pandemonium and chaos ruled. Those pathetic little humans were scrambling every which way, racing their cars the wrong way down one-way streets, arguing with each other, looting stores. He could see that most humans were covered in the horrible sores indicative of the plague. He could also see the corpses, already piled high on nearly every street corner. It was Armageddon down there. And nothing made him happier.

It would only be a matter of days until every human in the city fell. At that point, Kyle and his men could easily wipe out the rest of them. They would feed as they had never fed before. And then would enslave the rest of the human race.

The only small obstacle that remained in his way was the White Coven, those pathetic vampires who fed only on animals, who thought they were better than everyone else. Yes, they would try. But they would be no match for the Sword. When he finished with the humans, he would wipe them out next.