Kings of Blood and Money (Underworld Kings)

“Not really swimming attire,” Noah says.

“I don’t have a suit,” I say stupidly, coughing, my lungs on fire.

“Most girls go in a bra and panties,” one of the boys says.

Noah’s bark of laughter causes something to scurry in the trees bordering the property. “What would she put in a bra?” he mocks.

“She’s a kid, dickhead,” Remi snaps. Pulling me to my feet, the PJs cling to me, dripping.

“Remi,” Noah barks, “Let’s go. We have people coming over and you need to set up the sound system.” Remi’s blue eyes hold mine, an apology in them.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have come down anyway. Have fun.” I half-smile before darting to the nearest door. My clothes squelch up the stairs. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t let myself cry.

Peeling the clothes off, I dry myself and pull out some clean PJs as music fills the house and more laughter roars through my open balcony door. Rushing over, I slam it shut, but not before seeing Noah peering up at me. I hold his stare until the first tear betrays me, leaking to my cheek.

I hate him.

Five

Freya

Staring down at the tranquil water, I dip my toe in, admiring the mist dancing over the surface. The Christmas lights strung up in the trees make the forest look magical. I love this time of year. There’s something special about Christmas even though I spend it alone in my room. I have my own tree, and Dominque always brings a small sack of presents to put under it when she thinks I’m sleeping.

A chill skates across the water, making the surface ripple. Running my hands up my arms to ward of the cold, I shake my toes off and head back inside. It’s late, but Noah’s away at a martial arts tournament so I felt brave walking around the house.

He’s always doing competitions and has stacks of trophies. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of one of his kicks. He’s still horrible to me, but he’s never used those skills to hurt me. His verbal abuse works just fine. Earlier today, I saw him lugging a suitcase out to a car. The scathing glare he sent my way when he caught me watching him would have been deadly had he followed it up with one of his moves.

The house is quiet. I’m not sure who’s still here. My tummy grumbles, leading me to the fruit bowl in the kitchen. Grabbing a red apple, I rub it on my shirt just as a door opens across from where I’m standing.

Crap.

I look to the exit, but it’s too late. Father stares at me from the doorframe. I hadn’t really taken much notice of the doors in here, assumed they were food storage, but there’s a huge passageway lit behind him. My stomach drops when I notice he’s wearing an apron and gloves. Does he butcher his meat in there? Is that blood? My feet shuffle backward, the apple dropping to the hard tile.

“Freya.” He says my name so calmly, it makes my insides squirm. “I need a bottle of water from the fridge,” he tells me, jerking his chin toward the refrigerator.

What the hell is happening?

Why is he wearing that?

“Water, Freya,” he repeats, a note of annoyance in his tone. My feet carry me to the fridge, my hands shaking as I pull it open and reach in for a bottle. I turn, holding it out in his direction, too afraid to go closer. Tears burn my eyes. Memories of a man covered in blood consume my thoughts. I try to cling on, dissect who it is, but it’s clouded like the sky when a storm is looming.

“Freya, bring me the water. I want to show you something.”

My heart pounds so loud, I fear he’ll hear it. He’s never given me a reason to be afraid of him, never hurt me, but the sight of blood alone sends my nerves firing.

He’s pulled the gloves off. Holding out his thick, tattooed hand toward me, I move across the room and place the bottle in his palm. Tucking the bottle under his arm, he takes my hand in his. It’s the first time he’s ever touched me. The grip is firm, warm. I almost lose the ability to walk when he tugs me into the corridor and enters a room on the right. I want to close my eyes, fearful of what I’ll see, but it’s too late.

A sigh of confusion leaves my lips. It looks like a doctor’s office.

A chair like you see in a dentist’s room is positioned in the middle. Monitors and machines. A fridge with a glass door, lots of medicines inside. “I have a very rare blood type,” he announces. His voice doesn’t carry in here. It’s as if he’s speaking on a whisper. “They call it golden blood, it’s so rare.”