Immortal Path (Something's Wrong with Kitty Swan Book 3), page 1
Copyright © 2024 by Sam Gao
Cover design by MiblArt.
Edited by Ruby R.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
NOTE: This series contains sensitive content, including but not limited to: Abuse; Cultural Appropriation; Eugenics; Graphic Gore and Violence; Murder; Racial Slurs; Racism and Colorism; Slut-Shaming; Torture; Underage Drinking; Victim-Blaming.
CONTENTS
Immortal Rules
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Continue the Adventure!
Glossary
Terms of Address
About the Author
IMMORTAL RULES
Avoid Demonic Cultivation: You must strictly avoid any practices associated with demonic cultivation. This path often involves using negative or harmful energies and manipulating others for personal gain, which goes against the principles of righteous cultivation. Only qi must be used for cultivation.
Live in Harmony with Nature: You should strive to maintain a profound harmony with the natural world. Remember, your powers and existence are deeply connected to the balance of nature and the cosmos.
Show Compassion to All Beings: It is essential for you to practice compassion and empathy towards all living beings. Avoid causing harm and seek to aid others in need whenever possible.
Seek Balance and Moderation: You are encouraged to emphasize balance in all aspects of your life, including your cultivation practices. Avoid extremes and pursue a path of moderation and equilibrium.
Stand for Justice and Integrity: You have a duty to uphold justice and maintain personal integrity. Stand against corruption and injustice, act as a protector of the weak, and defend the path of righteousness.
CONTENTS
Immortal Rules
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Continue the Adventure!
Glossary
Terms of Address
About the Author
ONE
AT YOUR FAMILY’S HOLIDAY PARTY, WOULD YOU RATHER WEAR THE MOST EMBARRASSING HOLIDAY SWEATER EVER OR BE FORCED TO MAKE SMALL TALK WITH YOUR AWKWARD COLLEGE PROFESSOR?
Cyrus Ward resigned himself to death via embarrassment within an hour. ‘Do it for the Hos’ stretched across his chest in thick yarn, accompanied by an image of a muscular, tanned Santa Claus lifting weights. The sizable bulge in Santa’s pants was an unnecessary detail, in Cy’s opinion.
Christmas didn’t appeal to him. Maybe he never outgrew his teenage rebellion. His primary reason for disliking the holiday? His father enjoyed it. It was one big joke to him—a trueblood angel celebrating Christmas. Cyrus thought the whole thing was just an excuse for his father to celebrate himself. His mother, Beth, loved hosting, and Dad enjoyed being the center of attention. A match made in Heaven? Perhaps, though his father was both an atheist and an angel.
The party was in full swing now. The clock chimed one-thirty AM as everyone arrived straight from Midnight Mass. The tree, over ten feet high, stood in the center of the living room. Decorators used a ladder to arrange all of Beth’s decorations, passed down from her mother. The past week had been a flurry of preparations, with caterers, event planners, and designers swarming the house. Times like these made Cy wonder if the investment in his family’s annual Christmas party would be better spent on group therapy sessions.
Overhead, Mariah Carey crooned over the speakers. All Cy wanted for Christmas was to take off the second dorkiest sweater known to man. Melody’s held the number one spot—hence her refusal to leave her bedroom. Singing in the church choir was bad enough; Beth bought her a shirt that read ‘Deck the Balls.’ You could guess what the image was. Hint: Not ornaments.
“I’m not coming out!”
“Come on, it’ll be funny,” Beth cajoled, pressing her face against the wooden door. She wore a reindeer headband and a wide smile. Her brown hair, a dull chestnut, was swept into a bun, putting her sweater on full display: Rudolph snorting gingerbread crumbs. Very classy.
“You got me a sweater with a penis on it!” Mel wailed.
“Honey, you’re concerning me. Did you not pay attention in health class? That’s a scrotum, not a penis.”
Cyrus tried to pass by with his head down, but Beth pulled him over as soon as she spotted him. Her grip was unreasonably strong for such a small woman. “Baby, what are you doing up here? You’re not hiding from the guests, are you?”
“If I were hiding, I’d still be in my room,” he pointed out.
“Make sure you mingle. I saw a pretty girl down there, the one with the red dress and the bow in her hair?” Beth smiled. “Why don’t you ask her to dance?”
No one was dancing, as far as Cy knew. Also, the ‘pretty girl’ his mother referred to happened to be Sienna Churchill, a seventeen-year-old deeply invested in astrology and birth charts. Bringing up Kitty would definitely start an argument. Despite everything, he didn’t want to ruin Beth’s holiday.
“I’m going to find Blake,” Cyrus said.
Beth let him go and continued her futile attempts to coax Melody out of her bedroom. Cy descended the steps, his hand trailing along the polished wooden railing. To the left was the sitting room, which hosted a variety of food trays. Unfortunately, it also had Loren Blackwood, feeling up some trueblood werewolf in the corner. Blake’s father knew the meaning of discretion, but acted regardless of anyone else’s comfort. A powerful alpha werewolf like that could do anything he wanted. Who would stop him? Not Malcolm, who, despite disapproving of Loren’s philandering ways, continued to associate with him.
“He’s just being a werewolf. That’s how they are,” Malcolm would say with a shrug. “It’s not up to us to get involved.”
Right—because they were different species.
Cyrus looked to the left and saw the Churchill family, somberly sitting in the drawing room with their shoulders hunched and heads down. All the women wore matching grey dresses, and the singular man, Mr. Churchill, watched over them. He looked as though he’d slap anyone who moved too quickly, as one would hit a fly with a swatter. If somebody told Cy that Mr. Churchill’s parents were Tinkerbell and Hitler, he’d believe it; the trueblood fae might have had wings, but his temper and rigid beliefs on fae superiority made him impossible to be around.
Nancy Churchill was the only one fidgeting. She had a spot of chocolate on her face, but didn’t seem to care, even as her father glared at her. Earlier, she asked Cyrus why he had green eyes since he was Asian and all. He tried to explain genetics and recessive genes, putting into practice all the courses from his pre-med track. He even drew a Punnett square on a napkin to illustrate his point. She walked away mid-sentence. Harsh.
Cyrus found himself in the ballroom. The majority of the guests gathered there, so he figured it would be the perfect place to be alone.
His father invited everyone in town, and since he was Malcolm Ward, they all showed up. There w
Blake Blackwood approached with an entire platter of shrimp cocktail, stolen from the kitchen. He was handsome, like his father—blonde hair always perfectly coiffed, bronzed skin that, despite coming from a bottle, made him look permanently sun-kissed and carefree—but boyish. Like he still hadn’t fully grown into himself.
Blake’s father sired numerous children with different women. Blake was the only boy, and as such, high expectations were placed on him—all of which he failed to meet. It was a game to him of how low the bar could go, like limbo with the only prize being scorn.
“Shrimp?” he asked.
“I don’t want your contraband seafood.”
“More for me, then.” He dipped a piece into the marinara sauce, bit it, and dipped it again.
Cyrus winced. “Avoiding your dad?”
“Yup. Just like you’re avoiding yours.”
“Well, I didn’t much feel like singing kumbaya and holding hands with the children of the world today.”
“Children of the world? Have you looked around?” Blake asked. “You’re the only person of color here, and you’re only half. No offense.”
“Why is that offensive?”
He shrugged. “It felt right in the moment. But I guess you’re right about your dad making a whole big thing about this community togetherness initiative.”
“It’s hardly an initiative.” His father just made some grand speech at church about sticking together and how everything would be alright.
The round of applause that followed deafened Cyrus. He thought they would have clapped if his father suggested everyone go around and lick each other’s asshole.
How could everything be okay? The horde attack in November halved Northeastern College’s student population. Those missing were soon declared dead, as the survival rate of the feral illness was a big fat zero. Diseased bodies rotted to nothing after a few days, leaving their fates widely unknown. Though, Cyrus supposed dying was better than the alternative.
Seeing beastbloods turn into zombified versions of themselves, while disturbing, seemed more palatable than seeing a trueblood turn zombie. Cyrus could forget, albeit not easily, that beastbloods could be just as intelligent as humans, if not more so. He could forget they could love and laugh, that they had families and friends. All in order to make the thought of killing them easier to bear. Truebloods, on the other hand, were humanoid supernaturals. It would be much more difficult to kill someone who looked like him.
The feral illness caused the madness that led ferals to rage and frenzy. The beastbloods were victims, minding their own business until they contracted the infection. But without a cure, what could the shadowborn do but kill the infected? They had to prevent the disease from spreading somehow, not that they actually succeeded in doing so.
Which led to this. Cyrus knew the disease was evolving in the deadliest of ways. Before, the ferals were mindless, killing whatever creature had the misfortune of stepping in their path. Now, entire packs were affected, retaining just enough intelligence to hunt and kill as a group.
No one wanted to admit the truth, though. No matter how many times Cyrus brought it up, no matter how many complaints he filed to the SNPD—the joke of a police division for supernaturals—nothing happened.
The Christmas party was the last event Cy wanted to attend, but Beth clearly cared about it. He didn’t know how his mother managed to plan it, between the litany of funerals they had to attend, each one burying an empty casket.
Veronica’s was, hands down, the worst. Not many attended. Blake didn’t; he handled everything like Cy’s parents, pretending it didn’t exist and drinking in excess. (Or, in this case, stealing shrimp cocktail and double dipping like a barbarian.) Cyrus, however, thought that Veronica deserved some respect. While they hadn’t been friends, he knew her. Apparently, not well enough to know how her parents would behave.
Her mother’s sobs were so loud, they drowned out the pastor. Every sentence started with ‘I’ or included ‘me’ and ‘my.’ Meanwhile, Veronica’s father and his secretary got cozy in the pews. With selfish parents like these, it was a wonder Veronica didn’t become a complete narcissist.
Charity didn’t have anyone to throw her a funeral, or else Cyrus assumed it would have been just as bad as Veronica’s.
He couldn’t mention this to Blake, so the two young men looked at each other in silence. The unspoken words between them created a distance as wide as the ocean, but Cy knew that if he said anything aloud, the delicate balance they’d maintained for years would break completely.
“Cyrus? Have you seen your mother?” Professor Everleigh called. The tall, rail-thin man weaved through the crowd. He had a bird-like face, his nose resembling a beak. “I wanted to tell her how much I love the ornaments. She really has impeccable taste.”
Everleigh said the same thing for the past five years. Cyrus was surprised he even showed up; the man lost his wife and child this year, and ever since, he threw himself into feral research.
Cyrus actually liked the professor, so he was glad to see him attend the party, even if Cy personally wanted to be anywhere but here.
“I think Mom is upstairs,” Cyrus said.
“I see. And where is your father? I have been trying to find him all night. I wanted to ask him about something—a research opportunity in Tennessee,” Everleigh explained.
“Research?”
“Yes, it’s a new lab I opened dedicated to feral research in collaboration with colleagues from Southeastern. It’s new, clean, and has the best magitech systems on the market today. I’m in need of assistance, though,” he said.
“Assistants? Would this be an extra credit opportunity?” Blake asked, not that he needed the credits. He earned more than enough with all the extra hunts he took to the Veil.
“Well, yes—”
“And assuming it’s in Tennessee, I would need room and board.”
Everleigh looked surprised. “Would your father truly be amiable to the idea of you coming to Tennessee for a few months? You would miss the rest of the school year.”
“I think it would be a great learning experience,” Blake lied smoothly. Cyrus looked at his friend, trying to discern what he wanted. It wasn’t like Blake to take any interest in school, much less anything Everleigh worked on in a lab.
Cyrus frowned. “You’re already enrolled in classes for next semester.”
“Professor Everleigh will handle all that. Right, Professor?”
The professor smiled. “Of course. I will make sure the credits transfer over. Consider yourself part of the research team.”
Just like that? Cyrus wondered if he stepped into an episode of the Twilight Zone, and an alien parasite invaded Blake’s mind to make him more studious.
“Great, can’t wait.” Blake’s tone was flat. “Cy, are you in?”
Cyrus coughed. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
His parents would never let him miss his second semester of junior year. Moreover, he didn’t think it was a great idea to leave right now. “Given these attacks, maybe it’s best if we stay close to home—”
“Why? So the coroner doesn’t have to transport our bodies across state lines?” Blake snapped, his anger coming and going suddenly.
Professor Everleigh’s gaze shifted between them. “I think I hear someone calling for me. If you’ll excuse me…”
He left the two friends, his absence widening the gap between them. Cyrus rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache forming. “Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to jump into anything right now. You should stay local, especially since—”
“Since what?” Blake challenged.
Cyrus didn’t want to have this conversation, especially not with the backdrop of Porky Pig’s rendition of ‘Blue Christmas.’ But he’d been putting it off for far too long.
“You’re upset about Veronica and Charity,” Cyrus said in a low voice. “I don’t know if you feel guilty or what—”
“What the fuck would I have to feel guilty about?”
Uh oh. “You wanted to apologize to them, and now that they’re dead—”
