Beast of the Damned #2

*Chapter Twenty-Four*

~ KINLEY ~

I've always imagined my life would go a certain way, a predetermined destiny as I rise from the ashes of a past me who never quite got there. I've been a massarra-in-waiting since before both the wars, and who knows how long before that. I've been waiting lifetimes for destiny to reach out and grab me. To pluck me from the loop I've been stuck in and save me from the fruitless resolution of dreams that never come true.

The White Flame of Valderanna can burn no more. There will be no other chances for destiny to find me. This is it. My entire existence has come down to the mouth caressing my neck and the hands gliding under my silken robe. Zaidan is my lifeline, a raft thrown to me by the god who's taken pity. If I can't be a massarra, there is no place for me in Valderanna. But if I have him, the vampire whom I used to rock to sleep when Queen Kalista was not around, the vampire who'd chase me down the halls when the tables of time turned, I have a place here, a reason for being that's greater than the massarra-that-never was. I can be his.

Marianna! My mind shouts, pushing through the haze of hands moving and lips touching. She said she'd be back in twenty minutes.

"Is there room for one more?" A deep voice, thick and rich with an archaic accent, burrows past my eardrums and into my stomach. A deep voice that's most definitely not Marianna's.

The hitch in my breath is no longer because of Zaidan's impassioned exploration. It's because Tristan Darkos is posted up against the entryway to my chambers.

Mortification blisters my ears, curling my toes as the whole of me fills with glowing hot coals of shame, embarrassment, and what-the-hell-are-you-doing-Kinley. I could never be Zaidan's. He's the Prince of Darkness's son, and I'm the disappointment his father foolishly gifted immortality too.

"What the hell? How'd you even get in here?" Zaidan growls while I roll out from underneath him. I face the wall away from Tristan, clenching my robe tightly closed. There is nothing more humiliating than this.

Has Tristan come here to gloat? To see the massarra his warrior bloodline has managed to topple? But why me, why is Tristan allowing Cora and Adalynn to become a massarra and not me? What did I ever do to the Darkos bloodline to make them hate me so? It's as if I alone carry the burden of their loathing, despite Tristan's claim they hate the other massarra equally because all we bring is death to their bloodline.

"I don't need an invitation to enter these chambers." Tristan's voice carries like an arrow piercing straight to the nerves.

"Technically, you do. Anyone who enters Kinley's chambers is only permitted if they bear the sigil of the demon who casts the spell." The bed shifts, Zaidan's weight disappearing as he gets off the bed and grabs his shirt.

"I'm not anyone." The sounds of a chair being dragged screech like claws scraping against the stone floor. The force in which Tristan sits causes the chair to scoot back.

"Do you mind? You're interrupting." Zaidan's tone darkens, his agitation seeping through.

Where is Marianna when I need her? I'd much rather her give me a lashing about being improper than continually feel the scrutinizing stare of the Beast of the Damned scorching my backside.

"Not at all. I love a good show."

I curl into myself tighter, balling the material of my robe into my fist. I can't face him. Tristan has come here to rub salt into my wounds only to find me indecent in a way a massarra should never be. Perhaps he was right. I am no massarra. You can dress me up, spritz me with the most decadent perfumes, creams, and oils the earth has to offer, and, still, I fall short. Destiny will not reach out and grab me because my destiny has never been to be by the Prince's side.