Page 2 of Vicious Knight
In his eyes I see dread laced with the undertone of fear. He doesn’t know I can see the latter, but it’s as clear as his presence before me.
In his eyes I see his fear of the threat he thinks I’ll become to him some day.
He’s scared I’ll be just like my father. A man who could unearth the deepest of secrets. People say that’s what got him killed. People also say that’s why no one to this day has been able to find out who was responsible for killing my family.
Since I’m a literal chip off the old block, my uncle thinks I’m death. A disaster waiting to happen.
That’s why he didn’t want me to make it this far. But that’s too fucking bad because I’m here.
“Iuramentum est vita nostra et mors nostra,” I say in Latin, which translates to: The oath is our life and our death.
Aleksander picks up the ceremonial blade from the stand next to him and slices a thin line across my palm. Blood seeps from the wound and I turn my hand over, allowing it to drop into the fountain between us.
My blood blends with the water and he nods his agreement with my vow, displaying acceptance so the members can see. However, we both know this is just for show.
The Oath dictates that my uncle now owns my ass. Except he doesn’t really.
You can’t own death. It’s a bitter truth for him. At the same time, I won’t be a fool and take comfort in that notion.
To get what I want, or have any part of my family’s legacy, I’ll have to play by my uncle’s rules for a little longer.
He will make everything harder for me from tonight onwards.
Tonight is round one, and I won.
Now I just have to keep on winning by doing what I do best—being the conqueror.
Failure is not an option. To fail is to die.
I would never give my uncle such a pleasure.
I’m Thorne Ivanov. I always get what I want.
This path will be no different.
I’ll make sure of it.
Chapter 1
Ivy
Present Day
I’m supposed to be dead…
I promised myself I would never think about that cold, callous truth.
That secret part of my life is supposed to stay locked away in Pandora’s box, but for the last few months the wretched thought is all that’s been living inside my head. Along with the past.
My hands glide over the keys of the piano, summoning each note to life with the grace of a renowned concert pianist.
Music fills every corner of the living room, flowing from my heart in a dark melody of Wagner meets Debussy. That’s my style. I marry Wagner’s deep emotion to Debussy’s atonal structural pattern.
The tune rises with the sounds of the oncoming storm outside my parents’ manor. My fingers dance across the ebony and alabaster keys and a fierce gust of wind sends a shiver through the windows. Thunder rumbles across the skies and lightning strikes in the distance, piercing through the blanket of night.
The weather has been like this all week. Unsettled, unstable, unhinged.
And so have I…