Stomach rumbling again, I sighed. If he wanted to talk, he could talk. He would only find me again if I ran right now. Plus, I did have to eat. Two birds, one stone. “Fine. Let’s go.” A bag of blood rested in my clutching hand while I glared at it. I really didn’t want to drink. It didn’t look appetizing at all; my attention was better served watching where Antonio was turning down a back road, driving at a slow pace in his Hummer. No frilly car for him, and nor had he ever had one. He was the person who had taught me the art of the getaway.
He pushed my hand higher, placing the bag closer to my mouth, not releasing his grip on my hand. “Get it over with, Lil. You look like shit. You’ll end up tearing into a throat if you don’t, and I would prefer it not be mine.”
I considered the sloshing, crimson liquid, and gulped back the rising bile in my throat. I had already scarfed down the turkey sandwich, chips, and soda. I probably should have waited until I had managed the blood first, but it was too late now.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and sliced my fangs into the sterile bag.
Gagging on the disgusting, cold, bland blood, I felt Antonio’s grip tighten on my hand, keeping the bag against my mouth when I started to yank it away. He ordered, “Drink up. You want to go at the neck later? Fine, but right now you need this. Drink.” His voice was kind, but still carried an underlying command.
I pinched my nose, sucking it down quickly.
Only to have him hold up another. “One more. You’ll have your color back then.”
Groaning, I did as ordered. Vile, nasty stuff. Tossing the second bag in the plastic trash sack, I grabbed the toothpaste he handed me. An ample amount went on my tongue.
He hadn’t spoken anything of significance yet, but in his now extended silence, I mumbled, “They think I’m going to be the Queen Shifter.” I didn’t want to talk about Dominic, so I didn’t lead with him. Best to ask Antonio how to get out of this mess I was in. “They’re telling the press I’m sick with grief. Recovering from my loss, instead of revealing I’m missing.”
Antonio’s fingers beat a rhythm only he heard on the steering wheel as he cocked his head, apparently thinking, while I began finger-brushing my teeth. He finally spoke when I was through, asking, “What makes you think you won’t be the Queen Shifter?”
I stared. “I’m a hybrid, Antonio. You know I can’t be. And I don’t want to be.”
He sighed heavily, resting further on the leather seat, still driving at a snail’s pace. “Not touching on the hybrid part, do you really think every previous King or Queen wanted to rule?” His golden brows rose as he stared into my eyes for too long to be done while driving. No wonder he was going so slow. “That they woke up one day, and thought, ‘boy, I get to run the entire world for my Mys group, and it’ll be so much fun?’” He shook his head. “No, Lil. I can guarantee almost all Rulers didn’t want their crown in the beginning. It’s not something they had to work for. It was just thrown on them from birth. Slammed so brutally onto their heads, they either learned to deal with it or took drastic measures to get away from it.”
“How do I get away from it? How do I give the power to someone else?”
He gave me the look. “The only way to transfer your Queen’s power is to die.”
“There’s no other loophole?” I asked, trying to think of anything else. “What about the person who would have gotten this power if Dominic hadn’t been mated? That person can have it!” I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I won’t be able to do the Awakenings. It would be ludicrous to put me on the throne.”
His sideways gaze held sympathy. “The power goes to who it’s supposed to. So it doesn’t matter who might have gotten it if Dominic hadn’t mated. You have it. It’s yours. There’s no passing the buck to someone else.” Antonio reached to open his glove compartment and pulled out a tiny, ancient book, dropping it on my lap. “Take a look at page fifty-four, third paragraph.”
Gingerly, I picked up the leather book. It was flaking it was so old. I carefully turned the tips of the pages until I got to page fifty-four. Skimming down the page, I found the third paragraph, and read aloud from the handwritten chicken scratch, “The unimaginable was proven tonight. They were wrong, and so, my son died in vain. All these years, I believed them. Joseph’s death justified. Needed. And now, I weep tears of torture, of anguish, for they were wrong. A hybrid can be used as a magical vessel for an Awakening. Joseph, my beautiful boy, I am so sorry. I will surely burn in Hell for what I let him do.” Immediately, I stopped, flipping back a few pages. It was a journal, dated May 31, year rubbed out, unknown.
“It’s only a madman’s ramblings,” I mumbled, brows furrowed, gently closing the book and placing it back in the glove compartment, even as my heart fluttered. “Nothing more.”
“You know it’s hard for us to conceive compared to Coms,” he glanced to me, “a hybrid birth even more rare with self-induced faction separation, but in my extensive searches I’ve found more journals with similar words inscribed as written proof. I don’t believe those accounts are all mere insane ramblings. I believe them to be fact.”