Blood Oath

01

ONE

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

ST. VINCENT CHAPEL

Los Angeles was warm despite the rain. It hit me as soon as I stepped out of the limo, ready to follow my mother across the parking lot to the front doors of the chapel. It had been two years since I had been home and to say I was nervous was an understatement. I kept my eyes down as my heels clicked across the asphalt, only pausing to talk to people.

"Oh, Elizabeth." Mother stopped as a blonde woman took my mother's hands. "How are you making out? I can't imagine how hard things must be for you."

Elizabeth Godsworth put on a grim face under her over-sized, black lace hat. Automatically I tuned her out as she started spinning her stories, telling everyone what she wanted them to hear. No one would know the real story, not even me, the daughter of the deceased. She kept her power by withholding the truth, and in turn, spreading the lies.

I folded my hands in front of my black, Armani dress. It was above the knee yet still modest and covered my collarbone with matching lace. My heels gave me the height that I need to survey the attendees, nervous yet still wanting to see if I could recognize him.

Someone else came over to talk to us and I turned away. I didn't want to fake any smiles or pretend to know what happened to my father while people looked at me with sad eyes.

With a look of fake concern, Mother took my hand. I didn't understand the warm gesture until she pulled away, and I felt the small, white pill in my palm. She looked at me briefly while she talked to the women, giving me a stern look.

Take it.

On my tongue and down, down, down it went until I realized I no longer heard my mother, droning onto her crones. In fact, I no longer hear anything at all. I'm buzzing like a bee, ready to take off and fly away.

A limo pulled up to the curb of the church, only twenty feet away, and suddenly I was back on the ground, faintly listening to the murmur of people walking among us. Two years had drastically changed my life, and I'd forgotten what Hunter Cross had always been infamously known for. He was never on time for anything. He had even shown up late to his own mother's funeral, or so I had heard. Sometimes when I couldn't sleep at school I read online for news of my old life, however minimal the truth the words actually held. It kept me company when no one from my old life would.

I gently touched the crook of my mother's arm, my black gloves stark in contrast to her porcelain skin. She was saying thanks and turning to leave, but I haven't yet seen him.

"Mother, wait." I stopped so she couldn't pull me along and she slowly turned her gaze to the street. For a moment her red lips pressed firmly together. I wonder what her expression held under those big, dark sunglasses. Was she tired? Was she surprised? "Are they supposed to be here?" I whispered.

Everyone's chatter slowly died down to a buzzing when the door opened. My father's death remained unsolved, but even I had heard the rumors.

Mother didn't answer me. Instead, the church bells rang, gathering us and she was off, walking solemnly towards the ancient wooden front doors. People paused, looking from her to the limo. They wanted to stay to watch the entrance but my mother wasn't one to anger. Bodies started brushing past me, gradually moving towards the church.

I didn't join them.

It's only a moment and then he's outside, dressed in a tailored black suit with a tie that could only be tied in precision Cross fashion. Of course I recognized him. He still had the same strong jaw and the full lips I had kissed two years ago. I blushed and wondered if his eyes were still the same amazing blue I remembered. The color of the sky at midnight, I had told him once before.