Page 3 of Princes of Sin
My skin begins to tingle, and just as the panic rises up my throat, it dissipates, and my whole body goes limp. In a flurryof movement, the man holding me loosens his grip and the first man grabs me and hoists me over his shoulders.
“Now,” one of the men says.
I hear a match strike before a whoosh fills my ears, and the dry heat of a flame licks my face and arms.
I’m carried down the hallway, body limp, and then down the stairs. The man who’s carrying me is quick and sure on his feet.
A second later, he lays me down on the floor of the foyer with more care than I would’ve expected. He kneels over me with a resigned expression. His green eyes bore into mine, and I try to speak, but the muscles in my mouth won’t work.
“Sorry about this, kid. The medication will kick in soon and it’ll feel like falling asleep.” It seems like he wants to say more, but his furrowed brows and concerned expression don’t make me feel any better about the situation.
He stands as black spots fill my vision, as my body gets heavy, as my heartbeat slows.
My head lolls to the side, and the last thing I see is a pair of shiny, black shoes walking away from me.
Smoke.
I can’t breathe.
Gasping, I sit up as black smoke swirls around me, as orange flames envelop the wooden foyer table. Despite feeling sore and heavy, I stand up and pull the front door open, coughing as I cover my mouth with my hand.
That’s when I notice the blood.
Looking down, a sob cleaves through my chest at the sight of my bloodied pajamas, hands, and feet.
Mum and Dad.
I look back at the house, staggering backward as a window shatters above me and flames escape the structure.
Those men–they killed my parents.
They tried to kill me, but for whatever reason, it didn’t work.
I scan the premises frantically, looking for any sign of them, but there’s nothing.
Just me, alone, standing in front of my house as a fire burns through everything in my life.
Every memory.
Every piece of clothing, picture, and piece of art.
Every sheet of music I composed.
Every room I laughed in with Dad, every bed I slept tucked in Mum’s arms.
Gone.
What about Cocoa, our dog? Did she escape? She must’ve…
Without thinking, I walk around the perimeter of our country estate to the separate garden house. It’s locked, so I rear my foot back–
Wait.
The voice in my head is my own yet it still surprises me. I’m trembling so hard, teeth chattering, that I can barely stand straight, let alone think straight.
I am Lord Alaric Cross.
The name clangs through me, and I realize where I’ve heard that name before. Just yesterday I’d walked in on my parents arguing–something they rarely did. My father was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, and my mum was leaning against the bookshelf.
