Page 117 of Bitten Vampire

“No,” I growl. “I will stop you.”

“You? You can’t stop me. You can’t do anything. You are nothing, just a freak of magic, an abomination dressedin borrowed gifts. Day-walking, foresight—all of it…mine. With your visions, my plans will unfold perfectly. The world will burn under my command, and I will rebuild it in my image.”

His smile twists.

“I will start with the humans. They will be locked up where they belong: entertainment, food, nothing more. I will sweep through every country, enslaving them, breeding them like livestock, plucking the finest from the herd until they are broken husks.”

He lifts his gaze to the audience, his tone swelling with dark triumph.

“I will do whatever I please, because I can. Nobody can stop me.”

The vampires around us continue to stand silent, frozen in his web of power. I hadn’t realised how powerful he truly is until now. How do you fight someone like this?

“I will make us strong again,” he says, his voice rising like a war cry. “I will destroy the shifters and shatter the magic-users until they crawl like pets at our feet. I will reshape this world in blood and fire. And you…”

His gaze locks on me, his smile dark and consuming.

“You will be my weapon.”

He steps closer, each movement deliberate—a predator stalking prey.

“And you will watch as I kill your mate.”

Another vampire seizes my other arm. Pinned between two vampires, I can barely move at all.

My dead heart plummets.

Valdarr screams my name, thrashing against his clan,while the rest of the hall watches, enthralled by the Grand Master’s power.

Through the crowd another familiar figure advances, eyes as glazed as the rest: the executioner, ready to take Valdarr’s head.

We are losing.

No. We have already lost.

Chapter Forty-Five

My whole body trembles.Is this what my life will be now? He will kill Valdarr and then—then the world ends. My world ends with a sword strike. The thought is unthinkable.

I have to protect him.

I can’t. Two vampires pin my arms; the bones in my shoulders creak. The executioner stands ready, sword loose in his grip. He gives it a lazy practice swing, as though gauging the weight before the killing blow.

“It’s either you or her, son. Give up,” the Grand Master snarls.

Valdarr stops struggling. His eyes blaze—violet lit from within—brighter than I have ever seen. Despair burns in that light. If not for his own clan restraining him, I think he’d tear the room apart.

Forcing them to hold him is a cruelty beyond comprehension.

Valdarr could hurl them aside, kill them, but the ring of enthralled guards along the tiers stands waiting, mouths slack, eyes glazed, blades half-drawn. He might stop a handful. He cannot stop them all.

“You or your miracle?” the Grand Master taunts, chin jerking toward the executioner.

“Her,” Valdarr says. “Always her.”

“Good choice.” A flick of fingers. “Proceed.”

Tony’s grip tightens on my arm. I can only watch as Ralph and Harrison force Valdarr to his knees. He bows his head and bares his neck, and still he doesn’t take his gaze off me.