To Kill for His Queen

By Carolina West

Living in the world of werewolves, vampires, and dark magic can have a certain effect on a child, especially when that child is Hassen Mason, who seems destined to bring ruin to those he loves. Hassen was abandoned as a child and was immersed in the world of magic by the strange creatures that raised him. His lineage was a mystery, but no mystery buried in the past can stay buried for longespecially when that mystery is strong enough to span centuries.

An accident leaves Hassen without memories, and he must find a way to remember who he was and what his life meant to him before his past creeps up and kills him. He encounters evils worse than abandonmentvengeful demons and walking dead. Somehow, Hassens family was involved in this dark underworld. Now he has to fight his own internal battle: Is he a good guy or one of the villains?

Then he meets Carissaa woman he suspects he knew before he lost his memory. She has had a similarly troubled past, and although the two of them are from different worlds, they find a common bond that even dark spirits cannot break. Will Hassens good side be strong enough to battle the side that longs to be bad? Will Carissas love keep him sane, or will the truth about his family finally cast him into the endless abyss of insanity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475903447

Carolina West

Carolina West is a high school student living with her mother and younger sister in Arizona. She has been writing since she was fourteen years old. This is her first book.

Book preview

1

"H ASSEN, PLEASE, J-JUST LISTEN TO me," he begged.

Hassen only glared at him, despising his former friend.

Blake held out a hand, as though he wanted the boy to help him escape. Hassen’s dark eyes widened in shock; held within Blake’s ruined, bloody grasp was a single ring, engraved with the ancient phrase of Hassen’s people.

Where’d you get that? Hassen growled, revelling in Blake’s pain.

It-it doesn’t matter, Blake gasped. The bleeding had gotten worse, flooding the ground beneath them. Hassen didn’t care; he hated him, his heart full of rage. I need you to give this to her… please.

What will happen if I don’t?

Hassen, please! He gripped the hem of the teen’s coat, gazing up with tear-filled eyes. I don’t have much time… help me finish this… for my family.

Blake coughed, and Hassen knew the last of Blake’s soul was about to vanish from his wretched body. Hassen knelt down; gripping what remained of his enemy’s collar, making sure the twenty-two year old man saw his fangs. Ha, you abandoned them, he hissed, pulling Blake closer. Bastard. Why should I help you?

Because… because… I love her. The light faded from his eyes, cinders blowing around him. His jaw fell slack, and Hassen dropped him into the ash.

Damn you, he growled. How dare he, he thought. How dare he attempt to murder my kind, then expect me to help him? His entire clan had fallen under Blake’s spell, and now he was the only one left. But who better to avenge them than the son of their chief? He may have been young, but that didn’t matter, as he had never been considered a weakling. Hassen took the ring from Blake’s hand, burned black by the fire. He then stood back, watching as the flames licked at the corpse, then consumed it.

His claws itched to kill, to shed the blood of anyone who was kin to this monster, whether they were guilty or not. All he wanted was to avenge his family, his friends, everyone he had ever known. He’d known them all since birth, and now they were gone, thanks to the heartlessness of this one man. His power was at its peak, as it was the night of the full moon, and he knew he could accomplish any task. The forest was empty, life frightened away because of the blaze. He gazed up at the sky, seeing dark clouds eclipse the evening’s sun, feeling drops on his face. There would be no fear of a wildfire. He turned back to his home, now no more than a pile of burnt lives and embers. Resting right on the edge, half covered in ashes, was all that remained of Blake Sommer—all that remained of a selfish killer.

Why? he asked, knowing he would get no reply. Why did you do this?

His gaze fell to his hands, which were red and dripping. He couldn’t tell if the wetness he felt on his face was from the rain or tears, but he didn’t care, just so long as the fire was extinguished.

Rest in peace, he spat. I hope you enjoy hell. That was the last thing he hoped to ever say to Blake. He turned, what remained of his clothes trembling in the wind, and left the scene. Every fibre of his being mourned the loss of his pack, yet they were supposed to be incapable of any type of sadness. Once more, the legends had been proven wrong. He glanced once more at the ring, slipping it onto his own finger. The thick silver band fit perfectly.

It reeked of Blake’s blood, but he dared not get rid of the ring, as it was the only thing still connecting him to his people. He vowed to avenge them, but had no idea just how he would do it.

I’ll find a way, he hissed, knowing he would. He looked up, but the heavens were hidden by the storm. He sighed, again dropping his gaze to the forest floor.

He could feel his rage decreasing the farther he went, as though the rain were cooling it. The night was chilled, air misting when he breathed, and he could no longer see the smiling moon; even this far from the village, he could sense no other life. It was as though the fire had evaporated everything that moved, except for him. He still smelled the smoke, but he no longer felt the heat of the blaze. He didn’t know where he was going, just so long as he was able to leave the sight of the burning village behind.

He had searched every hut, looking for survivors, but it had all been in vain. The flames had glowed blue, and the very soil had been steeped with accelerants. The scars on his hands burned, appearing there after just a few moments in the flames. Where could he go? Most people accepted him, but he had his doubts about who would allow him in their home long enough for him to recuperate.

He knew somehow there were no more of his kind, lest those he could trust, so anyone he stayed with would either be a human or a vampire; after a moment’s thought, he figured it would be best if he stayed with humans. And he knew just who they would be; his other family, the Masons. He decided not to inform his cousin, who lived on the mainland.

A friend of the Masons had found Hassen in the woods, wounded and starved half to death. He was eleven years old at the time. His older brother had been slain in front of him a few weeks before, then the killer had come upon him. A few well-placed strikes had allowed him to escape, but not before he had felt the sting of a silver blade. He had run into the woods, going quickly despite his injury, but he was only able to go a few minutes before he collapsed. Panting, the young cub had dragged himself to a cave, smelling blood in his wake. He fell to his stomach on the hard dirt floor, barely able to see through his tearing eyes.

I’m sorry, Cadin, he whispered. Cadin was just fifteen at the time of his death, the first one to perish in childhood. No longer would he hear his brother’s ocean-like laugh, and no longer would he have his sworn protector. The boy cried bitter tears, turning the floor below him into thick brown mud. He still smelled the blood from his wound, though it had long since stopped flowing. The assassin was coming for him, he just knew it, but he knew that the man had only been human.

They don’t have the senses we do, Cadin had told him when he was six. Humans are weaker and more vulnerable than we are.

But why? he’d asked.

Cadin shrugged. We don’t know, he said. It’s just the way the gods wanted it.

Hassen had prayed to them then, spilling his forsaken cries into the night—to Kanjin, god of life, Hanu, goddess of compassion. Each of them had received a helpless plea, asking that he could avenge his brother’s death, to be the most powerful of his kind. For the weeks he had remained in hiding, it seemed the gods had ignored him, that they instead were stealing what little of his life remained. He couldn’t hunt because of his wound and the fact that the killer was still out there. Each day, he wasted away, until he felt his life was finally going to end.

He then whispered his own prayer for death, calling out to Sy, reaching out as if to embrace the cold form. His vision faded, his sense of smell virtually vanishing. He was unconscious but somehow knew that, yet again, his prayers had been ignored. He had woken up a few days later, in the arms of a young woman.

You’re awake. She brushed at his burning brow, smiling tenderly. Thank goodness.

Where am I? His voice was rough from disuse, and he felt sick.

You’re in the hospital, she whispered to him. You’ve been out for a week now.

A week? he said, sitting bolt upright. He felt dizzy, but he didn’t care. He gazed around, taking in every part of the snow-white room. How did I get here?

It was my daughter’s friend, she explained. He and his father found you, unconscious in a cave.

Why didn’t they just leave me there?

You were hurt, she said. If they hadn’t found you when they did, you would have died.

That’s what I wanted, he said, voice rising in anger. How can I live knowing I couldn’t help my brother? Tears had begun to form in his eyes, and sweat ran down his forehead.

What happened? She was unfazed by his bitter tone, as though she were used to such outbursts.

He sighed, feeling for the first time defeated. My brother was killed, he said. I can’t remember how long ago. I saw it, and his killer came after me. I managed to escape, but not until after he sliced my leg.

How old was your brother? Her voice edged between shock and disbelief, but he answered anyway.

He was fifteen, I’m only eleven. He knew what question would come next, and the words left his lips before he could stop them. I don’t know how I was able to get away and he couldn’t, but it was probably what the gods fated us for.

Hassen shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He had spent months in that hospital, his body healing slower than normal. After he had been released, the woman, who called herself Amber, brought him to her home. There he met her daughter, Trinity, who was two years older than him, and her friend, Gerico, who claimed to be one of those who saved his life. He got along well enough with the two but still felt crushed by the loss of his brother. He noticed, though, that his body was subtly changing.

He’d grown since he was in the forest, the wound now no more than a faded scar. His hair had changed from a pale shade to a dark brown, his eyes constantly changing colour. It was slow, but he could feel his powers return, and they seemed different somehow.

My claws are sharper than they used to be, he wrote one night. And my vision is clearer than ever. I can run faster than before, and it’s easier for me to take down prey. Is it possible my prayers haven’t been ignored? Confused as he was, he enjoyed rediscovering what he could do, whether it was running like the wind or watching fire spin from his hands. Every day he grew stronger and faster, but then he realized it had been a year since he had been home. He’d come to accept Amber and Trinity as family, calling them his aunt and cousin when he mentioned them in his journal, and Gerico had grown to become his best friend. He didn’t want to leave them but knew he had to tell his parents that he was all right. So, one night, he snuck out after everyone was asleep.

He was miles away from the village, but he found his way as easily as if he had never left. He heard them long before he had spotted them, able to tell his parents apart from the fray. He ran toward them, silent on padded feet.

Mama! he cried Papa!

Magena and Arron switched back to their human forms, both crying as they embraced their long lost son.

Hassen, his mother sobbed. Where have you been?

Son, what happened? said his father. What happened to your brother?

Cadin’s dead, Hassen replied bitterly. The man who killed him nearly killed me too, but for some reason I was able to get away.

I’m just glad you’re safe, said Magena, apparently having not heard the boy. But where have you been?

I was cut by a silver knife, he showed them the scar on his left leg, going from his knee to his ankle. I wasn’t able to hunt, and I almost starved to death.

Why didn’t you come home? said his father.

I don’t know, he admitted. I was scared. I just ran like my instincts told me.

Why did you disappear? his mother asked. We looked everywhere, and we couldn’t find you.

I was afraid if I left the cave the man who killed Cadin would find me.

Pulling himself back into the present, he tore himself from the memory, not wanting to relive it any longer. Yet, in a way, he found that he was; only now it was worse. Almost his entire family had succumbed to that fire, but he couldn’t figure out why. He hadn’t seen any bodies, but that didn’t mean they escaped. The very air had smelled of burning flesh, and not just his own. He had quickly recognized the scent of every member of his pack, from the greyest elder to the youngest cub. Why hadn’t they run? He sighed, feeling thoroughly defeated.

I promise, he vowed silently. I will avenge all of you. He lowered his head, heading toward the city and his human family and—unknowingly—a whole new life.

Son, please, help me!

Don’t leave me like this!

I need you!

I’m so sorry!

Please, come back!

I love you!

It didn’t connect. The mess of words was just that, a confused babble of voices shouting scraps of nonsense. He didn’t care; he never had, watching the blurred faces shift and change, adding to the chaos. It would come to an end; he knew it would, because it always had before. He waited for the memories to fade, just like they did every night, but tonight, something was different. A single image appeared in the middle, absorbing the swirl of sound and colour, taking up the space before his eyes.

It was a room, small and square, with windowless walls of faded brick and a floor of filthy concrete. He stood near the centre, watching as two other shapes appeared. One was a man, bitterly familiar, but he didn’t recall the other, a young woman. She stood with her back pressed to the crumbling wall. Her eyes were glazed with fear, a small bundle of blue cloth wrapped tightly in her arms. His gaze returned to the man, and a name rose with a growl.

Blake, he hissed angrily. Blake smiled, showing yellowed teeth that were unnaturally sharp. It was a foul expression.

That’s right, he said. I’m here to settle a little score.

What are you talking about? Hassen was confused, but it was hidden beneath a veil of malice.

Blake grinned, stepping aside. This. He gestured to the girl, who was now holding an image of Hassen as an infant, except his eyes were blue. The smile vanished, and Blake moved back in front of her. You killed me, he said. Then you raped my wife and left her with the child. His voice sounded strange, high-pitched.

What are you talking about? asked Hassen. I’ve never even seen her before.

Enough with the lies! Blake cried suddenly. A large knife appeared in his hand, and he leapt at Hassen. He tried to dodge but found he couldn’t move. He was frozen as Blake came at him, unable to avoid the blade as it sank into his chest. The copper of his own blood filled his mouth, and he could hear his heart pound as it was exposed. What did Blake intend to do?

Blood covered the knife as it was pulled away, a thick red mist obscuring the room around them. Yet he felt no pain, nothing more than a faint, stinging sensation. Hassen gazed through blurring eyes, trying to see the man before him. A thin, wet substance dripped slowly down his face, but his hands wouldn’t move to see what it was. Blake moved closer. The image of the woman and infant had vanished, but he could still hear their tortured cries. They heightened into near deafening howls, the walls seeming to crumble around them, until they stood in an empty field.

The ground around them was barren and dead, the air was still full of red fog, all strangely light by a sickly green sun. There was no other life to be seen, save for the black, shapeless mist that Blake had now become. Hassen still felt the blood pouring down his body, dripping from his fingers and being swallowed by the ground below. He tried to move, but what liquid wasn’t absorbed seemed to fix him to the spot where he stood. He tried to speak, but his throat was so tight that he could barely breathe. When the voice came, it seemed to emit from everywhere at once but was centred on the blot of night floating in front of him.

Why did you do it? it said; same bitter tone, undoubtedly Blake’s voice. Tell me, and I won’t have to kill you.

I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, he managed to reply. Hassen dropped to his knees, feeling the strength being sucked out of him. He finally felt the pain pour into him, wrapping his arms around his midsection. He gazed up through still blurred eyes, still feeling that strange substance run from his eyes, drip faintly across his lips. The echoes of that woman’s terrified shriek still sung in his ears, so that he could barely hear the voice of the figure before him.

You know what I mean, Blake told him. Now just admit it.

Anger exploded inside him, but he could hardly lift his head. Y-You’ve gone insane! he cried hoarsely. You were the one who always abused her! He stopped, groaning in pain. And you deserve to rot in the lowest pits of hell!

He heard the grin in Blake’s voice as the misty spirit floated over him, felt the vibrations of his laugh in the soil. So, you won’t admit it, he said. Fine, I could use some… company.

The blade reappeared in the figure’s claws, and silver lightning flashed in his eyes as it dropped into what remained of his heart. He screamed, but no sound emitted from his bloody lips.

Hassen Mason tore himself from the sight, breathing heavily. A hand flew to his chest. He felt his racing heart, smelled the cold sweat soaking his skin and clothes. He gazed around, eyes black with fear, but they soon faded back to their normal forest green. The faint light of the crescent moon filtered through his open window, dark blue drapes fluttering in the breeze. It had been just another hideous dream. His heart soon returned to its normal pace, but he knew that it was pointless to try to go back to sleep. After all, an assassin’s work always took place at night.

The young man pulled his sheets away, rising to his feet, peeling off his soaked shirt. The air was cool and comforting to his skin, which burned despite the low temperature. It had been more than two years since Blake’s death, yet he still felt a boiling rage consume his heart whenever he thought of what the human had done.

And they say my kind are animals, he thought. He pulled a dark shirt over his head, then reached for his black jacket. It was important for him to blend into the night, and it felt so natural to walk around by the light of the moon. He heard footsteps in the hall outside his room and turned just in time to see a small form enter. It was his adoptive sister, Trinity.

Gerico’s here, she said quietly. There was a small black flashlight clasped in her hand, and her long blond hair was wrapped in a loose braid. Her grey eyes shone with concern, but also fear, just like they always did. Hassen, are you sure about this? I mean, what if you get caught?

Hassen glanced at her, sliding the knife in its sheath beneath his coat. Don’t worry, he said with a small smile. I’ll be back before Mum wakes up.

She shook her head. That’s not what I’m worried about, she whispered. I’m worried you won’t come back.

I won’t die. I’ve done this before, he told her.

I know, she said. And that’s what I can’t understand. I mean, I just got a job with Scotland Yard, and my little brother’s a serial killer.

You haven’t turned me in yet, he observed, slipping a small gun in his pocket. He pulled on his boots, gazing down at her.

I know that, she argued. But if this goes on any longer, I may have to.

He laughed darkly, putting a hand on her shoulder. You couldn’t prove anything, he hissed before vanishing. She sighed in defeat, knowing he was right.

Gerico, quit stalling, we only have two hours before the sun’s up. A half-hour had passed, and Hassen and Gerico were standing outside a large, dark house. Gerico was a slender man, tall with blue-violet eyes and messy hair that was shaded dark blond. He gazed in awe as his accomplice silently scaled the fence surrounding the property, even though he was supposed to watch for trouble. He came back to reality when Hassen dropped in the grass on the other side. Gerico shook his head, beginning to climb. He did his best to remain silent, but the structure rattled beneath his weight; strange, as Hassen weighed more than he did. Hassen sighed when his partner stood next to him, not bothering to hide his impatience.

It’s about time, he muttered, then turned and dashed through the unkempt yard. No matter what, he was always silent. Gerico didn’t know why Hassen had chosen to be a hired gun, but he had to admit the kid did it well—almost too well.

And he’s only nineteen. That was what really surprised Gerico, that Hassen was a master murderer at such a young age; it was astonishing. He followed slowly after his young friend, remembering when he had stumbled upon the boy, nearly half-dead from starvation. Upon being revived, Hassen had told him how his brother had been killed and that he himself had barely survived. The scars that covered his body added credibility to his words, but there was still something about the tale that rang false.

Either he’s not telling us something, or he’s lying. Gerico was gifted with being able to know when something wasn’t whole, no matter how discreet or obvious it was. He gazed up at the house, realizing Hassen had already vanished inside. The house itself was large, but he couldn’t be certain of its colour, as it was almost pitch black. The filthy walls were covered in vines, lush as the lawn beneath his feet.

The sound of a muted gunshot caught his attention, followed by the ring of steel. Gerico didn’t understand; surely a wound to the head would be enough to kill a person, but Hassen still opted for a single slash to the throat. He figured the wound was to tell the police just who the man’s killer had been. The man they had been sent to dispose of was a forty-one year old gambler by the name of Austin Valdez, a notorious con man who lived in infamy for refusing to pay his debts. The gangs and men he’d cheated decided it had been going on long enough and that it was time to receive the cash they were owed.

Austin was a poker player, always biting off more than he could chew. Raised by a poor family, he had risen through society thanks to what he called his natural luck. He spent nearly every night in city clubs, drinking and cheating—both in cards and on his wife. Samantha Valdez had finally left her husband when she found out he bedded a different girl every night and that they always walked away with a small fortune in their pocket. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had also been a life-long drug abuser.

And I thought Jolon was disgusting, Gerico thought with contempt. Jolon was a man they’d confronted in the past. His thoughts were interrupted by Hassen and the thick scent of blood.

Well, that’s done.