Page 23 of Entombed By Blood

My fist bashes harmlessly off the glass, but it doesn’t stop me from hitting it again. I beat on the window like a creature possessed until my punches turn to weak, half-hearted slaps, and my knees give out beneath me.

What am I doing?

It isn’t as if by shattering the window I can break the reality on the other side.

I slump against it, my whole body chilling as my naked skin makes contact with the cool glass. A single scalding tear drips down my cheek, and I grimace.

The Evie from before never would’ve cried.

She’d stand up, find some clothes, and get on with it. Accept her world has changed and move forward with the same stubborn determination that was once her hallmark.

But I’m so tired. I feel like I’ve aged thousands of years instead of a mere two hundred or so. Now just existing is too much. Surviving seems impossible.

It would be so easy—so much simpler—to just let go.

Surviving means playing Cain’s games on a playing field I’m hopelessly unprepared for. When I lose, I’ll be made an example of again.

Worse than before.

Can I really drag myself out of this madness, knowing that the same fate can befall me at my sire’s whim?

No.

The only way out is to stop playing.

My eyes seize on the wooden stools, tucked underneath the bar table which looks out across the alien view.

Splinters dig into my hand as I snap the leg off, leaving a jagged spike of wood.

It isn’t the nicest stake, but it will do.

The tip pricks at the skin over my ribs as I kneel, look out at the city one last time, and then turn my focus to the stake. One swift stroke and all of this will be over. I can be free.

I have to do this fast and hard. I won’t have the strength for a second strike.

“You don’t like the furniture, or is it Manhattan in general?”

The familiar, gruff voice from behind me makes me whirl, hissing at the intrusion with my fangs bared.

He’s huge, taking up the entire doorway with his shoulders alone. He stinks of lycan, but there’s a tang of vampire in there.

A hybrid. An abomination made by turning a lycan.

Not that it matters to my thirst. No matter what he is, he smells delicious, making my fangs ache with his very presence.

“Easy, Princess.” His voice is smokey, and I dimly recognise it from earlier, but I can’t put a name to his face. “You know that won’t work, anyway. It takes white oak to kill an elder like you, and we made certain there was none of that in this apartment.”

“I don’t want to play this game,” I whisper, staring at my makeshift stake with wide eyes. “You’re going to die if I do.”

The test is so glaringly obvious it’s laughable. Prove myself loyal to Cain rather than these new thralls. My sire will probably have me execute them to ensure I’ve learned my lesson. Maybe not right away. Maybe in a year’s time when I’ve been foolish enough to get attached.

Perhaps he’ll make me pick one to keep.

My chest aches in anticipation of the loss.

“Well, that’s a little insulting.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the blond giant lean against the doorframe, the picture of relaxation. The dawn touches him, but doesn’t burn him.