Page 47 of Dance of the Phoenix (Cloak of the Vampire #3)

Aileen

I woke up after a restless sleep in an empty bed, and it was only when I entered the lounge that I realized where Ragnor was.

“The Lords have to be isolated in the waiting room for an hour before the battle,” Magnus told me in the kitchenette, handing me a plate of breakfast. He looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink, much like everyone else in the Rayne League.

“It’s some sort of old Hecatomb rule. There used to be a reason for it, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. ”

Nodding to him in thanks, I took the plate and sat down next to Isora. The mood was bleak, the recent losses hanging over everyone’s heads. Plates remained half eaten, if touched at all. I could barely take a bite of my eggs and bacon.

No one spoke when it was time to leave for the arena. We all walked in silence, taking our seats in the gallery.

Like yesterday, the arena filled up entirely. It wasn’t every day, after all, that vampires got to see two Lords battling it out. And these weren’t just two Lords, but the famous Ragnor Rayne and Orion Atalon.

Unlike yesterday, I didn’t feel nervous when it came to this battle. I knew that Ragnor could take Atalon in his sleep.

I was still worried, though. I didn’t want even a hair on Ragnor’s head to be harmed.

When Renaldi, now wearing a penguin suit that made him seem somehow even more extravagant than when he wore that stupid toga yesterday, entered the arena with his Lieutenants, everyone cheered, knowing what was to come.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called into his mic.

“You know what’s on the menu today, don’t you? ”

The audience’s response was deafening.

“Then without further ado, let us get to the main course!” Renaldi grinned toothily. “Please welcome Lord Ragnor Rayne and Lord Orion Atalon!”

I clapped along, watching as Ragnor and Atalon entered the arena from their respective entrances.

Ragnor was wearing a simple uniform of jeans, combat boots, and a black tee.

Atalon, on the other hand, was wearing fancy white pants that did not seem fitting for combat, a far-too-tight leather shirt painted dark red, and surprisingly old, beaten sneakers.

He also wore oddly shaped earrings colored gold.

Renaldi stepped back and said into the mic, “You know the rules: You either die or you win. Surrender isn’t an option. It’s time you settle this for once and for all.”

Once he was on the outskirts of the arena, along with his Lieutenants, he said, “Let the battle begin!”

Neither Lord moved. They were both staring at each other, their faces blank.

Tension rose in the air as the audience, which went silent, waited with bated breath for either of them to make a move.

As the minutes ticked by, and with no change in the arena, I grew more and more confused and anxious. Why wasn’t Ragnor attacking? He could take Atalon. That shouldn’t be a problem for him, especially since I knew what he was capable of.

Ragnor had the magic of manipulating his aura. He could use it to force any emotion he wanted into Atalon, rendering him utterly helpless and easy for the taking. But as it looked now, Ragnor wasn’t doing anything of the sort.

And it wasn’t just Ragnor, but Atalon too. He just stood there, his hands in the pockets of his fancy pants, staring unblinkingly back at Ragnor.

But then, just as I was watching Atalon on the big screen, I saw his face change ever so slightly. It was a minuscule change, barely visible to those who didn’t know him.

His lips twitched, as if he was pulling back a smile.

My heartbeat quickened as I turned my gaze to Ragnor. His face was still blank, but his eyes ... those midnight blues looked strange. Unfamiliar. Vacant.

An awful memory of my battle yesterday came to me just then. Eleanor, with her dead eyes, operating like a robot under the command of another ...

“No,” I blurted, slowly rising from my seat. “Ragnor, no —”

Atalon moved just then.

He walked leisurely toward Ragnor, as if he had no cares in the world.

His face broke into a smile as he got closer to Ragnor, and the look on his face was triumphant.

He didn’t speak as he pulled out a knife, a knife he was allowed to bring to the fight of the Lords, and pushed it into Ragnor’s chest.

As though he was frozen, unable to move due to some sort of external force, Ragnor simply stood there and let Atalon carve his heart out.

And my own heart stopped.

As if in slow motion, I watched Ragnor crumbling to the floor while Atalon walked away with his heart impaled on the knife.

And then, the pain came.

Pain like no other I’d ever felt.

It was as if someone was carving my own heart out.

And the pain was so agonizing, I screamed.

And screamed.

Nothing mattered.

Ragnor was gone.

And my soul was being sucked out of my body, as if it had just lost the one thing that kept it in place.