Page 8 of Blood as Sweet as Roses

Paige

The door slams open, the sound reverberating like a gunshot through the hazy lounge.

Immediately, the celebration stops. Every vampire and living human turns in fear as Roslyn Night steps into the room, her presence like a chill creeping across a graveyard.

Trembling, I follow her into the lounge. I wish I could leave, run away as fast as my legs will carry me. But she commanded me to follow her, and I don’t have the will to disobey her.

“Waylan Night,” Crimson shouts, her voice making it clear that this is a demand, not a request.

The other vampire steps out of the crowd, disentangling himself from the woman he had been eying earlier. It already seems like a lifetime ago. Waylan runs a hand over his chin. He can’t hide the surprise in his expression as he looks over at us.

“Crimson,” he says, with a frown. “I thought you would be…in your office.”

“I’m sure you did,” she responds, her lip curling. “You thought I would be enjoying the blood of one of our new donors, didn’t you?”

Waylan’s eyes darken as they shift to me. I shudder, knowing that what he suspects is true: I told Crimson about his ruse. I can’t bear to think what he’ll do to me now.

But before I can spiral any further, Crimson’s hard gaze falls upon me. My heart explodes in my chest when she gestures toward me with two fingers, beckoning me. Unable to resist her summons, I move closer to her and the other vampires.

“You were unsatisfied with our newest addition?” asks a voice from the crowd. It’s Sabina, her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised innocently. “If you don’t like the taste of her blood, I apologize…”

“There’s nothing wrong with her blood,” Crimson replies sharply. “I sampled her earlier tonight, which is why I asked her into my office. The office that Waylan was occupying when I returned.”

She narrows her eyes at him. The other vampires and living humans around him back away slowly, giving them a wide berth. A few people scurry out of the lounge.

There’s a whisper from over by the DJ booth.

“Two thousand on Crimson,” says one young vampire to another.

“Fine,” says the other. “But only if she silvers him. I want double if she stakes him!”

“You’re on!”

Crimson clears her throat, and the vampires immediately quiet. She turns back to Waylan.

There’s a malicious twinkle in her eye. “Her blood is delicious. So delicious, in fact, that I’d like you to taste her, Waylan.”

The blood freezes in my veins. Waylan’s lip twitches violently. He realizes that he’s been caught. I wait in agony, watching the gears turn behind his eyes. Crimson reaches toward me, and pushes the hair back from my throat. I inhale shakily at the villainous intimacy of her cold touch.

Waylan takes one step forward, but he doesn’t move any further. Instead, he lowers his gaze, submitting himself to Crimson’s wrath.

Her eyes blaze. “You poisoned this breather’s neck with a potion from a witch. A potion that would weaken me sufficiently so that you could stake me. Is this true?”

Waylan’s hands curl into fists, but he can’t deny it. He’s trapped, and he knows it.

“Murad?” Crimson asks, looking out into the crowd.

Another vampire steps out of the crowd, a serious expression across his face. He was holding a glass of the same thick red liquid that Crimson was drinking earlier, which he puts on a standing table. Everyone watches him silently as he bends to smell my neck.

“It’s true,” he confirms, in a somber tone. “It smells like evil magic. One of the Lucifer witches, perhaps.”

“This is treason,” Crimson says, her stare fixed back on Waylan.

“Treachery of the highest order,” adds the other vampire, giving him a dark look.

Their words seem to activate Waylan, who eyes Crimson fiercely.

“It can’t be treason to plot against a usurper!

” he declares, passionately. This provokes gasps and jeers from the vampires around him.

Several more humans rush out of the lounge’s exit, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of whatever comes next.

I can’t blame them, and I back away from the three vampires, wringing my hands anxiously.

“How dare you,” Crimson snarls, as her irises turn bright red. “I was Xavian’s right hand, his second-in-command, his eldest progeny! I earned my position through centuries of service and faithful duty.”

Waylan shakes his head angrily. “Just because you’re the eldest, doesn’t mean you inherit his throne! I’ve served this clan for almost as long, standing by Xavian through his worst. You followed him blindly, but you were only his tool, his Crimson Stake…”

Murad glances at Crimson with a worried grimace. But her expression has become oddly cold. She stands completely motionless, her previous fury extinguished, or at least subdued.

Waylan continues, moving closer and closer to her, as if attempting to provoke a response. “You’re so arrogant, you assumed you would ascend to his position! You’ve always been cocky, always acted like you’re untouchable, but we’ve all heard what the witches whisper…”

Crimson’s lip twitches. Her voice is terribly, horribly calm. “Enough, Waylan.”

But he doesn’t stop. It’s as though he’s been wound up and now he’s unraveling. “Your whole existence, you’ve been safe, but that’s only because Xavian always favoured you. Was always there to protect you. But he’s gone now. And you’re nothing without him. Nothing without your daddy.”

He spits the last word, hovering only a foot away from her.

There’s a heavy silence in the wake of his speech. Every living human holds their breath, every vampire tenses, watching from the shadows.

Then Crimson speaks. Her voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear her words.

“Listen to me, brother,” she hisses. “You may be strong, but you lack the iron will to lead this clan. Xavian favoured me because he recognized that I have what you lack: the fortitude to do what needs to be done to maintain my power. You claim the witches speak of my weakness, well, let me show you my strength.”

In a flash of supernatural movement, she grabs the other vampire by the nape of his neck, twisting her wrist to pull his body closer to her. With her other hand, she clutches a dagger. Its hilt gleams in the neon red light.

I grasp my chest, rooted to the spot in fear.

Waylan squirms, but she holds him fiercely.

“Xavian’s gone,” she whispers, almost tenderly. She runs her blade along Waylan’s body, stopping at his hips. Then she grins. A wide, red grin. “I’m your daddy now.”

Her dagger moves quickly, disappearing into the folds of Waylan’s pants, at his crotch.

Just in time, I cover my eyes, but I hear the blood-curdling scream that rips from Waylan’s lips as she dismembers him.

And that’s the last thing I remember.