Chaos Theory Read online

  Katerina roamed her eyes over the crowd, and I suddenly found my hands remarkably interesting.

  “In death, I have no doubt those who made great sacrifices to preserve the lives of many are now reborn in Eden with Eve, where their battle is over and they can bask in the happiness of the forever garden.”

  Breathe, Ryan. Breathe.

  “May we remember them this evening and rejoice in the parts they played in our lives, for death is not the end. Our memories will keep them alive in our hearts for eternity.”

  Breathe, Ryan, breathe. Just breathe.

  “And now we will cast roses into the lake in remembrance of the dead. Step forward, those who grieve, and remember your dead.”

  I stayed planted to my seat as everyone who was meant to throw roses into the water got to their feet and formed a line. I waited until I had no other choice but to steady my legs, stand up, and walk forward. I could feel everyone studying me, waiting to see if I would lose my mind and freak out.

  I kept going until the procession had moved enough that I was the last to reach into the basket containing roses. Only two remained—one for each of my parents. Cursing my trembling hands, I took the stems in my fingers and closed my eyes as the queen stepped forward, a hand from her son the only reason she stopped and I did not crack.

  I knew she’d lost her best friend. They were as close as sisters. I should’ve clung to the person who knew my parents even better than me. But I knew when the queen looked at me, she saw a pale imitation of my mother, that my strange lavender eyes were my inheritance from Imogen. That when I smiled, on the rarest of days, I looked just like my father.

  I was the perfect combination of the two people who created me out of love, and I hated myself for it.

  Spinning away from the queen, I found myself alone as I came to the water’s edge, thankful my hesitation had left me in the only company I felt comfortable in—my own. Already, people had begun to gather in groups behind me to mingle, ignoring me as the mild inconvenience I was to most—as if they could no longer bear to witness my grief. After ten years, they’d spent enough time watching me wallow.

  Copper scented the air, and I glanced down to see I’d pricked my finger on a thorn. I snorted out a bark of laughter, startling some vampires standing nearby. Pressing my finger to the petals on the roses, I closed my eyes and tossed the blooms into the water, watching as they drifted away with the current, taking a little piece of me with them.

  As they did every year.

  A moment later, the queen clapped her hands and trays upon trays of food were brought out, the scents of delicious cakes, pastries, and other mouth-watering delicacies dragging a growl from my stomach. Sucking the blood from my finger, I made my way back up the embankment, my eyes roaming over the crowd as everyone seemed to gravitate toward their cliques.

  If this was an American high school movie, you could pick out the cliques right away. My classmates were the jocks, the debutante like girls were the mean girls, the parents were like members of the PTA and then you had me…the loner…the teenage dirtbag.

  I ambled my way toward the food and found an empty stretch of wall to lean against while studying the crowd like the weirdo I was. I picked up a piece of cake with a fork and shoveled it into my mouth, standing in the cover of shadows, hoping if no one realized I was still here after I horsed down some food, I could manage to slip away.

  Washing down my cake with a blood-infused cola, I almost choked on my drink as one of my fellow classmates broke away from his pack and walked toward me. Instantly tense, I set the drink down, my body prepping itself for a fight. Everything with them was a fight, but tonight… Tonight, I was tired.

  Edison St. Clair grinned, flashing me the megawatt grin that had already worked its way through most of the Heathers. Six feet of muscle, Edison was attractive if you liked men who looked like they were in a boyband and had more charm in their little finger than I had in my entire body.

  “Ryan.”

  “Edison.” I shoved my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t clench them into fists as Edison ran a hand over the back of his neck.

  “Listen, Ryan,” he began, his voice lowering to a hushed whisper as if we were buddies sharing a special secret.

  Please spare me.

  “A few of us were planning on sneaking out to a human club Friday night, and we wanted to know if you wanted to come.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry?” Edison stumbled, and I could hear his friends laughing.

  I felt my cheeks heat. “Why do you want me to go?”

  “Because we’re classmates, and we only have a year left before we graduate and have to work together.”

  Edison didn’t sound convinced by his answer, and neither was I.

  3

  “Bullshit.”

  “Pardon me?”

  I took a step closer to Edison, revelling in the sudden spike of fear I smelled as I slipped my fingers along the collar of his uniform and flashed him a toothy grin.

  “I said bullshit. None of you want to be my friend—don’t make me laugh. Why would I go to a human club with any of you when you despise me so? What did you plan to do, leave me miles from home just before dawn and force me to seek shelter in the human world?”

  Edison swallowed hard, and I laughed, a cold harsh sound as I reached up and patted him once on his cheek. A growl rumbled in his chest as he slapped my hand away, which made me laugh even harder.

  “You really are a crazy bitch,” Edison snarled, but he’d already lost any edge he’d had. His knuckleheaded buddies were beside themselves with laughter.

  “Oh, Eddy,” I sighed and roll my eyes. “Did you really think you would be the one to thaw the Ice Queen? Oh, you did, didn’t you? So, what’s the bet up to now? Couple of grand? I’m sorry, Eddy, but you won’t be collecting any money, friend. I mean, it’s not really attractive when I can kick your ass, is it? I mean, be a man…”

  I’d gone too far; I knew it and yet I couldn’t help myself. Edison raised his hand, poised to strike me, and I prepared to take it, wanting to feel the sting of his blow, wondering if it would match the pain in my chest. He hesitated, and I smiled smugly, inciting him again. But the blow never came.

  Atticus St. Clair, Edison’s older brother and current member of the Royal Guard, had latched onto Edison’s hand. “Enough,” Atticus growled at his brother.

  Edison yanked his arm free and stalked away from me in a blaze of fury, bypassing his friends and walking away from the gathering until I could only see his silhouette at the far end of the garden.

  Atticus rolled his eyes at me, an expression I seemed to draw from most people. “You walk a dangerous line, Ryan Callan.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and popped a strawberry into my mouth. “I’m just here to cause trouble.”

  Atticus shook his head, unable to hide his own smile. He continued shaking his head as he wandered away, glancing over his shoulder after a few paces. I gave him a wave before his attention was dragged elsewhere.

  It wasn’t strange I got on with most of my teachers and current members of the Royal Guard but not with my peers—I respected the hell out of most of them. They’d fought side by side with my parents, many of them under my father’s command, and they saw something in me that warranted extra lessons and instruction.

  It was Atticus who’d stumbled upon me one night, long after classes had ended, trying to work on my upper body strength. I was hanging from the salmon ladder, trying to drag myself up and failing miserably. Atticus had chuckled, but then he spent time with me, building the strength in my core so that, three years on, I had won the challenge day, scaling the bars quicker than any of the boys. After that win, everyone started looking at me differently, acknowledging me as the competition I was.

  Leaning my head against the concrete wall once again, I let my eyes wander to the mean girls. Remember when I said they were called the Heathers? It was their self-proclaimed girl-gang name because they loved the
movie. When I pointed out no one was named Heather, so their title didn’t make sense, I was met with more than just nasty looks. No, that hadn’t gone down well at all. I mean… I did make some spectacular suggestions for names of their snobby mean-girls-wannabees group. Some people just couldn’t appreciate creativity. These girls really did have brain tumors for breakfast.

  The Heathers acted like princesses because they were raised to think of themselves that way. Female vampires were rare, far less common than males. So, in a society where boys always outnumbered girls, it made sense some families raised their girls to consider themselves special.

  I suppose I was lucky with my parents. They never expected me to be anyone but me. When I picked up a toy sword instead of a doll, my mother’s eyes had watered with pride. When I learned the words to my father’s favorite song so we could rock out to it together, my father had tossed me into the air, the two of us laughing ourselves breathless.

  Maybe that was why I’d never made friends with the Heathers—we had nothing in common. With only Natalia Smyrnoi, Farrah Nasir, Kayla Johnson, Victoria Day, and myself in our age range, it was entirely likely one of the Heathers would be our future queen… unless Katerina decided to ship in a princess from another court.

  We were not the only vampire court; however, we were the largest.

  In order to increase our numbers, arrangements would be made soon for alliances through marriage. I had to admit I was petrified a decree would come from above demanding, due to the survival of the species, that I drop out of training and offer my hand in marriage to the highest bidder. As my legal guardian until I turned twenty-one, Queen Katerina had the power to do that.

  Yeah, I know. I should be nicer to the woman who held my future in her hands.

  Rubbing the ache in my chest, I grabbed another plateful of treats and pushed off the wall, slipping inside the foyer and away from the rest of the crowd. Apart from a few employees who milled about with more food and drinks, the entire compound felt empty.

  Our compound was nestled deep in the Irish countryside, outside the overcrowded city of Cork. As technology advanced over the past few decades, the need for additional centers to work on more advances led to farms being bought and clinical buildings replacing the lush countryside around the city. Having thus rid itself of everything that had made it such a charming, vibrant place to live, Cork was now considered a technological hub.

  Our home, our court, stood on a couple of acres far enough from the city so as not to arouse suspicion, a newer suburb created at Katerina’s request. To those on the outside looking in, we were foreign diplomats, choosing to live a cultish life. We even had large security fences and people manning them.

  Appearances were everything when the survival of your species was involved.

  Taken as a whole, the compound was a mixture of centuries, featuring high-tech, modern training facilities scattered throughout a maze of grand hallways and ornate antique furniture that looked like the set of Downton Abbey. It was easy to get lost if you weren’t paying attention to where you were going.

  For example, if I veered off to the right, I would find myself entering the royal wing—a place I had not stepped inside without cause for over a decade. To the front of me was the throne room and the conference hall, where not only were royal events held but also meetings of the Royal Guard.

  The stairs beside the oak doors to the throne room would lead to the second and third floors, where the council families resided. Another staircase by the edge of the third stairs led to my own rooms.

  To the left was a door leading to the main dining hall, where we celebrated events like Samhain and sometimes Christmas. We hadn’t done that, though, not since the last time children roamed the halls.

  Beyond the dining hall were classrooms, a library, gymnasiums, practice rooms, and armories. While it was most important to study weapons and martial arts, the queen wanted us to learn about life, languages, and history as well.

  She also implemented compulsory movies on Sunday nights in the theater room for all trainees. It was to help us relax before we began another week of schooling and training. Sunday was our only day off, and I was loathe to spend it with any of those idiots, especially when the Heathers happened to join us—with the queen’s permission, of course. Our queen was quite fond of “bonding experiences.” I usually spent the time by myself, up the back, feet on the headrest in front of me, counting down the seconds until I could leave.

  I made my way to a side door, situated right next to the throne room. Pushing down the handle, I slipped inside, using the dimmer switch to illuminate the room so I could find what I was looking for. Not that I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I could walk into that room blindfolded and still stride right on up to the pictures of my parents.

  The room in which I now stood was called the “Hall of the Fallen”. As was our custom, vampires burned the bodies of their dead, so there were no cemeteries to visit like the humans did. Instead, the queen commissioned this gallery of portraits for us to visit when we wanted to lay our gaze upon those no longer with us.

  There was no sound in the room apart from the pounding of my own heart in my ears. My eyes glanced over the royal portraits, starting with Anastasia Romanov and following down through her bloodline. I ignored them all and kept walking until I came to a corner, stepped around it, and then tears welled in my eyes.

  A portrait of my parents smiled back at me. Both posed with their weapons, depicting the fierce warriors they were. I’d always wondered how someone could paint a portrait so lifelike of my parents when they weren’t sitting in front of them. I only learned later, once the queen had given me a photograph of this exact image, that the picture had been used to paint the likeness.

  My father wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, his Irish-green eyes—as my mother used to call them—gazed lovingly at his wife. My mother stared straight at me, a warmth in her eyes I missed like an aching limb. Her smile was wide, a sense of happiness written all over her face. I didn’t remember what it felt like to know that kind of happiness anymore. I wasn’t even sure if I was capable.

  “That photo was taken moments after your mother told your father she was carrying you.”

  I startled, cursing myself for not hearing the queen sweep into the room. I was to be a Royal Guard, dammit.

  “Imogen waited until the camera was poised, and then she leaned casually into Tristan and asked him how he felt about becoming a father. Tristan was overjoyed, of course, as we all were.”

  Powerless to do anything but stand there staring at the picture, my heart breaking at this new piece of information Katerina revealed, I couldn’t help but look at the picture with new eyes. For the first time, I notice the palm of my father’s hand resting on my mother’s stomach. The realization I was in the picture with them formed a lump in my throat.

  “Tristan spent the next few months treating Imogen as if she were made of glass, which both irritated and bemused your mother. She would curse Tristan’s very name with the biggest smile on her face.”

  “Please stop.”

  My words were no more than a whisper, and the queen, lost in her own memories, didn’t hear me speak.

  “The moment you were born and Tristan held you in his arms…”

  The roar in my head and the abundance of cake I’d eaten threatened to spill out onto the floor.

  “…I saw him fall in love all over again with you, and—”

  “Please, stop.”

  The words come out harder than I wanted them to, and Katerina looked shocked. Swallowing hard, I made to apologize, halting when I saw the overwhelming pity and sadness in her eyes. I couldn’t be my mother for her, the childhood friend who died protecting her. I couldn’t be the daughter she’d never had, either, and I refused to be a burden to anyone. Spinning on my heels, I bolted for the door, wanting to be free of this wave of agony.

  “Ryan, wait.”

  There was a slight order in her tone, and I ski
dded to a halt, turning slowly to face the monarch I was sworn to obey. I expected her anger, which I could handle. It was the sadness my presence brought to the queen I could not face.

  “My Liege,” I said, fisting my hand over my heart in the traditional gesture.

  Katerina waved her hand in the air. “Oh, Ryan. There is no need for formality when it’s just us.”

  I remained silent but I dropped my hand to my side, lifting my eyes to meet hers. The last time I was so informal with the queen was the day my parents had died, when my Auntie Katy had given me a bag of sweets and told me to hide them from Nickolai.

  As soon as our parents had left the playroom, I’d shared my treats with my best friend, just like the queen knew I would.

  I watched in bewilderment as the queen casually slipped off her heels, sighing as she placed her feet on what I could only imagine was a cold tile floor. Clasping her hands in front of her, Katerina flashed me a genuine smile.

  “I had not meant to upset you, Ryan. I merely wished to share something with you that might help. I wish so much to be able to help you.”

  My mouth felt like sandpaper as I wetted my lips. “I’m sorry for being so… me.”

  Katerina’s smile widened, and she clasped a hand over her mouth as a bubble of laughter escaped. “Oh, my dear, never apologize for being who you are. Did your parents ever tell you how you got your name?”

  I shook my head so hard I was scared it might fall off, struggling between a longing to hear the queen’s story and a need to run extremely far away from her.

  “We fully expected you would be a boy, and Imogen had her heart set on the name Ryan. When you appeared, we were all shocked—Ryan had already been stitched onto your blankets and clothing. Your parents had no other name prepared. After three days of debate, your parents still couldn’t choose a new name, but they worried a typical boy’s name would do you more harm than good. Finally, do you know what Tristan said?”

  My heart was breaking with delicious agony, the pain thick and intense like a wooden stake being shoved deep into my chest. My emotions, those feeble creatures I kept locked in a box, had discovered a crack in their prison wall and were now seeping into my bones, into my blood.