Chapter 1 Death

Proudly did I sit upon my throne, a seat forged from blood and bone.

My skin marred with evidence of war, I was scarred and bruised. I was wounded and battered but it was a war I would never lose. The taste of blood on my lips, my fangs were sharpened by flesh. Eyes flashing with moonlight, a wolf howled inside my chest.

They made me a ruler and a King, I made them suffer and bleed. Feared more than fear itself, I was born to lead.

The moment I saw her, my eyes filled with fear. She scared mebmore than my demons, for them I learned to bear. Her eyes were wild with hope, although I knew it wouldn't beblong until she knew me for the monster I was. Fate had finally done wrong.

She could never know, I would hide it well. For how could she learn to love a monster that could never love himself?

Ella's P.O.V.

"Your grandfather is dead."

Those were words I never wanted to hear, but had been anticipating for too long.

Those words were the reason that I sat on a plane flying above German farmland, on my way to arrange a funeral I didn't want to attend.

I felt someone nudge my arm and I opened my eyes to see my older brother, Zak, staring at me. I took out my headphones, even though he didn't speak verbally. He pointed to the date window on his watch.

November 12th.

''Happy twenty-third birthday, '' he signed, smiling.

I sighed. ''It doesn't feel like a happy birthday, '' I signed back, my shaky fingers displaying just how exhausted I was.

Zak sat forward and pulled something from his backpack. I noticed as he handed it to me that it was a bag of peanut m&ms, my favorite kind of candy.

He winked at me before leaning back in his seat.

I opened the bag and poured out a handful and handed them to him. He took them gladly.

''How are you?'' Zak asked me once he finished them off.

His sharp eyes had been studying me the entire trip.

He knew the answer.

I nodded, signing that I was fine. I looked past him to my mom and dad, who sat in the middle row. Her tear-stained, red-rimmed eyes were staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of her. I sighed, knowing how hard she was probably taking her father's death. They had been close, especially after my grandmother died when she was young.

My mother and father were both German and moved to the United States after they were married.

After I was born, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and my grandfather quit his job and moved to Florida to help take care of her since my dad worked all the time.

The man practically raised me After he moved back to Germany, he fell ill and was unable to come back to see us. We had only made a few trips to see him since that time.

I couldn't believe he was gone.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the sad thoughts. I looked back out the window as my eyes filled with tears, blurring the sight of the setting sun.

It was late into the evening when the plane landed in Frankfurt.

We got a rental car and drove a little over an hour into the country to my grandfather's cottage. Driving up to the cottage was hard. I was used to the porch light being on, ushering us up to the house. This time the house was dark and uninviting.

As we got out of the car, I took my luggage and wheeled it up to the side door. I could hear Remi, my grandfather's Schnauzer, barking as I retrieved the key from underneath the doormat.

I unlocked the door and flipped on the light.

Remi trotted over and sniffed me, her tail wagging quickly. I smiled grimly as I leaned down to run my fingers through her fur, which had grayed since I'd seen her last.

Zak came in behind me, his suitcase and backpack hitting the doorway as he squeezed his way inside. In that moment, he looked more like an eight-year-old boy than a twenty-six-year-old man.

"Would you mind turning on some lights?" My mom asked as she came in.

I stood up and walked into the den and turned on a few lamps. Taking a deep breath and fighting tears as I looked around the room, I made my way upstairs to the guest bedroom that I normally stayed in.

Everything was the same as it always had been.

The green walls hadn't been painted in decades and the dusty, floral curtains were in serious need of being replaced. The wooden floor squeaked under the pressure of my footsteps as I made my way across the room to turn on the lamp. The lightbulb blew as I did so and I sighed, my mind continuing to turn over every worry and sad thought in darkness.

I sat my suitcase down on the floor and laid down over the duvet. Soon, the jet lag caught up to me and I drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next day was no better than the last, except for the first few moments when I woke up and had forgotten where I was and why I was there.

That blissful ignorance soon disappeared as I heard my mother's voice floating up the stairs. I got out of bed and went downstairs. My mother and father were both sitting at the old, oak dinner table clutching steaming cups of coffee.

"Good morning," she said.

It sounded more obligatory than it did loving.

"Good morning" I returned, stopping short from asking her how she was. I knew how she was.

"We're going to the mortuary in a while to make arrangements," she informed me.

"You're more than welcome to come. "

I fought back tears as I poured myself a cup of coffee. "I'll pass."

The kitchen was quiet as I poured cream into the coffee and stirred it. I picked the mug up from the counter and held it tightly. The warmth from the ceramic cup was a stark contrast to the cool air in the house.

"I want to have the funeral here," she said softly Looking up from my drink, I saw my dad reach across the table and take her hand in his as he nodded reassuringly.

"It sounds like a good idea," he said, giving her a grim smile.

I looked around small cottage with apprehension. It was far too small to hold a funeral, but I wasn't going to argue with my mom about it. It was her decision to make.

"Stop it," she said.

I snapped out of a trance to find myself looking at her as she returned the stare.

"What?"

"Stop looking at me like that," she said defensively.

I fumbled over my words.

"Like what?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Like you're assessing which stage of grief I'm entering," she snapped.

My mother stood from the table quickly, the chair sliding loudly against the wooden floor as she did so. I watched in disbelief as she stomped up the stairs.

I looked to my dad, who still sat at the dining table, and he sighed and shook his head as he took another sip of coffee.

"I wasn't," I said defensively.

"You were."

He stood up and placed his mug in the sink and began to rinse it out.

"I understand that you see this stuff every day and you study it in school---"

I began to speak but he raised a hand to stop me.

"---but don't negate your mother's feelings or brush it off like you would a client. He was your grandfather, try not to reason your way out of grieving yourself."

With those words he walked away and left me to stand in a cold kitchen holding a steaming cup of coffee. I shook my head as I placed the mug on the counter and crossed my arms. I tried to take his words at face value, understanding he had said them to help me.

But it still stung.