Forsaken: Belford Vampire Brothers, #2

By Kat Cotton

Those who are fated will always find each other.

 

When Rebel's father dies, she returns to Kisel Bay against her better judgement. Before she can leave, danger and intrigue draw her in again and memories flood back, leaving Rebel wondering what's real and what isn't.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Cotton
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393605164

Book preview

Belford Vampire Brothers #2

Kat Cotton

.

.

.

Those who are fated will always find each other.

When Rebel's father dies, she returns to Kisel Bay against her better judgement. Before she can leave, danger and intrigue draw her in again and memories flood back, leaving Rebel wondering what's real and what isn't.

.

.

>>> Click here to check out my full reading list <<<

.

Want to know first about new releases, promotions and also get some freebies?

>>> Join my VIP list <<<

Chapter 1  Flynn

I'VE LOST COUNT OF the days that I've been chained in this basement but I know the seasons. I know when the sun is strongest and when the overcast winter days give me some relief. It's near on two years.

The drip of a distant tap drives me crazy if I let it and the wind howls through what's left of our home, the kitchen destroyed by fire and the rest of the house probably battered by the angry mob who came for me.

This basement is cold and dank but there's a catchment window, enough for a sliver of sunlight to sizzle my skin, day after day after day. Summer is the worst, the sun hitting me intense and evil but winter only brings a small relief. Every day I burn and every night I recover enough to let me go through that torture again.

This is my fate, my punishment and the price I pay for crossing the line.

As the room gets lighter and the sun rises higher in the sky, the strip of light moves closer to me. I twist my body to put off that moment of searing pain for as long as possible. I've learned how to contort my body to avoid the worst of it but these shackles limit my movement.

My father built this basement as a place to restrain my brother Bennet when he was turned. He needed to control Bennet's blood lust. Strong metal loops hammered hard into the stone walls. No chance of them coming loose, not any time this century. Attached to them are fine silver chains. Chain that looks delicate enough to snap, except the silver weakens me. The more I struggle, the more the metal gorges my skin. Digging in, leaving welts that don't heal.

When Max Miller chained me in this basement, I thought I'd be rescued, Bennet would escape his captors and come for me. If he hasn't by now, that means he's suffering as much as I am. Maybe more. The Charbonneau know of torments I can't even imagine.

But if not Bennet, then who? Who even knows that I exist? That I'm in this house?

I gulp in the darkness, hoping it will strengthen me for another day, knowing it won't. Not enough.

I need to feed. There's a supply in this basement. Bottled blood. It's close enough for me to smell, even though it's refrigerated. So close but impossible to reach.

One time, a bunch of kids broke into the house, thinking it was deserted. Their footsteps resounded on the floor above my head, their voices buzzed in my ears. Booming voices of teenage boys and shrill giggles from the girls. I called out but my voice, dried from lack of use, came out more like a feral moan. The girls shrieked. They ran from the house. My one chance lost.

No one's been near since then.

I try to disengage, to live amongst my memories, rather than go slowly mad here. Occasionally I call out, more to test my voice than with any expectation of help coming for me.

When I hear footsteps, I tell myself I'm imagining things. It's the wind. Nothing more.

Then the door to the basement creaks open, a sliver of light on that side of the room. The footsteps come nearer.

A whole ball of hope forms in my heart. It's her. She's found out I'm here and she's come to me.

I'm ridiculous. By now, she'd no longer remember that I exist. Her mind would be hollowed out, every single place I existed in her memories bleached clean of me. It's kids or an animal...

Still, I strain to see.

But it's not Rebel. It's her father.

Max Miller. The person I want to see least in this whole world. The man who trapped me here.

He walks until he's in my line of sight but I refuse to look. He deserves nothing from me. Is he here to gloat? To torment? Maybe he's decided to finish the job he started. If he wants to stake me, to turn me back to dust, I'll welcome it.

Max coughs. The air in here is riddled with dust. Worry creases his face, his skin turned ashen grey. Max Miller isn't a healthy man but I don't smell death upon him.

You need to help me.

What? Is the man a fool?

You must be desperate for help if you're asking me. My voice creaks, dry and disused. But Max won't offer me a glass of water, much less a bag of blood. I don't forgive so easily.

He runs his hand through his balding hair. They're after me.

I laugh, a sound even drier and creakier than my voice but all Max deserves is a dry laugh. Scorn and mockery.

Of course they are. You killed the Charbonneau father and you thought they wouldn't come for revenge? Are you a fool? I twist my body, trying to turn from him.

I did what I had to for Rebel.

And that's the only reason I would ever forgive him. He did it all. Shot Charbonneau with the sacred bullet meant for me, let them capture Bennet and chained me up like an animal while he sent her to that crazy school. All for his daughter. And I'd have done the same because the only thing giving me any relief from this torture is knowing that she's safely away from the Charbonneau. That she's safely away from me, too.

Is she safe? I choke out the words, hating to ask but too weak not to.

She's safe, she's thriving. She doesn't even remember you exist. She'll never come back to this town, she'll never look for you, never care about what happened because it's all buried in a deep hole in her mind. But she's fine. She's getting on with her life.

I groan but it's what I want. Her safety. More than I want to be with her. More than anything in this world.  I can't protect her and, if Hugh Charbonneau thinks that I care anything for her, he'll make it his mission to destroy her. He'll squash her like a bug just to make me suffer.

I'll release you but you must, under no circumstances, ever go near her. Max swings a set of keys on his finger. And, in return, you help me destroy the son.

I laugh until that laugh becomes a hacking cough. Can't you do it yourself? You killed the father.

The son proves much wilier.

He should thank God that he doesn't have to deal with the daughter. With Estelle. The evil in her ran deeper than you could imagine. She might've once had a heart but it'd withered and died long before I ever met her. Luckily for Max, Bennet and I finished her off. But Hugh isn't much better. I know what he's like and he'll stop at nothing to get revenge for his father's death. Max is lucky he's waited this long.

What do you want me to do?

The glint in Max's eyes tells me the answer to that. He wants me as bait. Maybe he thinks I'm valuable enough to exchange for his own safety.

I laugh at his audacity.

You're not worth that much to me, Max. Sorry. And what would I do with my freedom anyway? Without Rebel, I'll spend the rest of my life in chains of one form or another."

Name your price, he says. Money, blood, freedom.

And for a moment I'm tempted, not by the things he mentions but death. The final release. That's what I'd ask for. But I can't say it. I have something inside me—hope or optimism or just plain foolery that isn't ready for my final demise.

There's something else that stops me too.

They have Bennet. I glare at Max and he shakes even though I'm the one restrained. If I save you, my brother gets killed. Not going to happen.

So his offer doesn't tempt me.

But he holds something shiny in front of my eyes. When I can focus, I grab for it, ripping at the chains despite the pain.

My ring. The ring that lets me walk in the sun.

Maybe I'm not worth anything but I'm sure this is. Max walks across the room and sits my ring on a shelf, way out of my reach. All that sunshine and fresh air, just waiting for you.

I shake my head.

Think about it, Max says. I'll be back soon.

He walks out of the basement.

I wait for that first ray to hit my skin. Maybe Max is right. Maybe I should help him. His footsteps echo above me. I could call him back but I don't trust Max. He double-crossed me before and he'd do it again.

I'll persevere and I'll survive because those are my only options.

The tap keeps dripping and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

Chapter 2  Rebel

I PULL MY COAT AROUND me, huddling against the cold. It's meant to be the middle of summer but you wouldn't know it, not here, not today. The wind whistles through the trees like it's trying to warn me off, while unseasonal flurries of leaves fall from the branches. And the cemetery's on the side of the hill with no protection from the elements.

I'd turned up in a thin dress until someone, I had no idea who, wrapped me in this coat, the fur collar tickling against my chin with lingering traces of perfume.

Howls of distress cut through me, making me shiver even more.

Mum.

Mum but not Mum. On one level I know it's her but... it's not. My mother doesn't howl. My mother doesn't fall apart. My mother wraps herself a neat package – perfect hair, perfect outfit, perfect face. This woman is unraveling, all mascara streaks and broken nails. The howls rip from her as though they’re too raw and painful for her to keep inside.

I want to put my arm around her, to comfort her and let her know I'm here for her. But I can't. I stand apart. From her, from everyone. Lowering my eyes. Watching clods of red earth hit the hard wooden surface of the coffin.

That's easier than meeting their gazes.

I left this town two years ago but I'd lived here my entire life before that. I'm missing huge chunks of that time. Patchy memories play in my head, like a video that stops to buffer, the timer going around and around with just a black screen. Then the play jumps ahead and you have no idea what you've missed out on. Fragments of story with nothing to connect them.

Drugs. They messed up my life and left me with these dark holes.

But, while I remember nothing, I'm sure they do. The people of this town don't forget easily and never forgive, so I cast my eyes to the ground rather than face their stares.

The minister's voice drones like heavy machinery. None of his words make sense. My father's gone. My mother's almost gone too. The part of me who lived in this town has been obliterated. In less than twelve hours, I'll be out of here with no intention of ever returning.

I'm rebuilding my life far, far away. When I graduated high school at the beginning of summer, the staff at St Bartholomew's found me a job in the city. Soon, I'll start college but I need savings. I never wanted to take handouts from my parents and I hadn't wanted to return to Kisel Bay ever. The teachers at St. Barties agreed it was better for me to be independent, to make my own way in the world. No point going back to the place where all my problems started.

Sister Agnes found me a place to live with a woman who rents out her spare room. Mrs. Cuthbert is a sensible woman. A nice house, quiet and respectable with an eleven o'clock curfew. No drinking, no smoking, no swearing.

I've been working so hard over the summer, in an office during the day and in a cafe on evenings and weekends, that I'm too tired to do much more than sleep and eat and read anyway. So Mrs. Cuthbert and I get on fine.

At first, the girls from the cafe asked me to go with them for drinks after work but I always refused. One slip was all it took, one slip and I'd be back to rock bottom.

I don't need friends. I need savings and stability and quiet. That's what Sister Agnes said.

It'd been Sister Agnes who called to tell me about my father. I'd held my phone to my ear, not sure how to respond, waiting for Sister Agnes to give me the prompt I needed.

What was the appropriate behavior in a situation like this?

I expected grief to flood me but a thick, solid wall stands between me and any feelings I have about my father. He was a stranger. Distant and cold.

My parents only visited St Barties a handful of times while I was there. Occasionally my mother came alone, saying my father was too busy with work. I had no way of knowing if that was a lie or not. I didn't really care.

When they visited, they'd sit in the visitors' room, not knowing what to do with their hands, not knowing where to look. I'd jump in too eagerly to offer them cups of tea or to suggest we walk around the gardens. Anything to get out of that stuffy room and away from their anxious gazes. We'd make awkward small talk about the flowers in bloom or the weather. Sometimes Mum would tell me about Jessica's plans for her wedding. I'd smile and nod and, as soon as they left, I'd run back to my room and lose myself in a book.

Sister Agnes coughed, dragging my concentration back to the phone call.

You don't need to go back there, she said. People will understand.

Normally, I accept whatever Sister Agnes decides is best for me. But not this time. Even as my insides