Page 12 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

12

RIORDAN

W hen Bosch dragged the beat-to-shit female into the library, everything clicked into place.

That’s where I’d seen the stunning blond before, during a split-second glimpse on my way inside. The girl in the blue dress—what used to be a blue dress—had been in the front hall, cowering against a mirror.

Her hair was darker than the female in the painting, the color of spun honey, but her face had the same elfin quality with those plump lips and upturned nose.

On a human, that exquisite beauty looked so…alive. Not as perfect, but far more real. Especially with her big, expressive blue-gray eyes, those full lips twisted in rage and a rather creative string of curses coming out of her mouth as she cradled her broken wrist.

She jerked out of Bosch’s grip, and a momentary flash of admiration went through me. Not that defiance would save her, but her boldness was a pleasant alternative to the usual fear our kind invoked.

Laurent oozed in behind her, such a look of delight on his face, I braced myself.

Beside me, Blake did the same, his narrowed gaze darting to the female, her blue dress shredded, dark-blond hair in tangles, and blood streaming from a deep gash on her right arm. God, that fucking smell. Blake’s nostrils flared. So did mine, despite my best efforts to maintain my composure.

With that single stolen breath, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“As you can see, I did what you could not, Riordan. I caught my son’s killer.” With a low, slithering laugh, Laurent wrapped a cruel coil of icy magic around the girl’s throat and dragged her closer to him. Close enough to run a sharpened nail down her cheek. She fought his unrelenting hold, the powerful magic she couldn’t hope to defy, and again, anger—and admiration—sparked deep within me at the sight.

“You’ve made your point, Tyrell,” I hissed. “Stop this.”

“She snuck in tonight, pretending she was one of the blood slaves to be auctioned off.” He jerked her head back cruelly, bending her neck until tendons strained, a cascade of honey-colored hair spilling down her back in waves.

The scent of her blood filled the room, richer than any human’s had a right to be. I was drowning in that forbidden sweetness, my fangs punching out, blood rushing in my veins at the thought of taking a taste. Beside me, Blake began panting.

Goddamn it, Blake, keep your shit together. We get through this, and we are free of this place at dawn.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the struggling girl.

Tyrell preened. “It is my right, per the old laws, to seek retribution against my son’s killer.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that for two hundred years, he’d barely acknowledged Spencer, couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the body. But yes, according to custom—outdated, antiquated, barbaric customs—he could put this girl to death and there wasn’t a fucking thing I could do to stop him.

“But even such a fitting end won’t bring my son back to me. Won’t give me a fucking heir.” The girl twisted and fought, his hand sliding up her throat, nails digging in. Her eyes swung wildly. She made a little helpless noise and Blake lurched forward.

Only half a step, but that was enough. I closed my eyes. You are a fucking fool, Blake Marten, do you know that?

Laurent had won.

The bastard grinned. “Then I wondered if there wasn’t another option. A more fitting fate for this little killer, who thinks she’s grown teeth enough to sneak into my own home and steal from me. Who had the audacity to take my son away from me.”

Shoving her to the ground, he bared his fangs, and for once, his rage didn’t appear to be an act as he leaned into her face and snarled, “Tried to steal my fucking mate away from me.”

“Angel is a person , asswipe. Not a piece of property.” Even strangled by Tyrell’s magic, even in pain, the girl was a vision of enraged fury, her voice sharpened by anger, every word keen as a blade.

“Silence.” Her face turned red as she fought the Ancient’s compulsion, fought with all her strength against one of the oldest vampires on earth. I watched impassively; hands clasped behind my back. She would lose, as we all lost. Our world was cruel and unforgiving and the weak did not survive.

“You will turn her yourself.” Laurent’s creeping smile widened as he tapped his chin with his index finger. “Tonight. Or I will kill her. Those are the terms.”

“Not happening,” I snapped, while Blake growled, “Fuck off.”

He shrugged. “Fine, then. I’ll give her to Valaine. He’s been asking for a pretty toy of his own. She’ll do quite nicely, I think.” Laurent turned his glittering eyes on Blake, a ghost of a smile playing on his thin lips.

He knew.

The bastard knew exactly what this was doing to Blake, the effect that bruised, beaten girl had on my oldest friend. That earlier bullshit about not knowing who Blake was…Laurent remembered exactly who Blake Marten was, and every piece of their twisted history. The bastard was using the human as bait, because Blake, despite his harsh exterior, would never stand to see a female hurt.

“Go ahead.” I matched Tyrell’s cold smile with a careless shrug “As you said, the law is the law.”

Blake, we can walk away from this. Don’t let him suck you into his trap.

Laurent’s smile deepened. “I believe you remember Valaine from a few years back. He’s made breaking humans apart an art form and my guests deserve a spectacle tonight to distract them from the destruction she caused by blowing up my staircase.”

That was her? Blake remained still, but his regard intensified. Clever little thing.

Don’t fucking do it, Blake. She is not our problem.

This entire evening was a clever, intricate trap; she was the bait and Blake and I were the quarry.

I didn’t know what Laurent wanted, but the proverbial floor was about to drop out from beneath my feet. This girl…My gaze drifted back to the blond in the painting, Laurent’s smile widening when he noticed where my eyes had landed.

He can’t give her to Valaine. We cannot allow this to happen, Rohr.

You’re seriously suggesting we turn her? You and I will be lucky to survive the year, Blake. You turn her, you’re only delaying her fate.

Blake went silent, studying the human still clawing at the coils of Tyrell’s magic, her body one long, taut line of rage. She hadn’t stopped fighting since Bosch dragged her in, and I sized up the burly guard, his burned face only now beginning to heal.

She’d done that to him. She’d infiltrated one of the most secure fortresses in the country and blown Laurent Tyrell’s castle to cinders, nearly taken out his most trusted guard, destroyed his favorite staircase, and from the gash on her arm, had probably taken out a few more minions before they’d dragged her back here.

My question was…why?

I don’t fucking care what her chances are, they’re better than the ones she’s facing right now. I’m turning her. Blake stepped forward, eyes on the struggling girl. “I’ll fucking do it, now let her breathe, you fucking bastard.”

No. This is a mistake. Look at Tyrell’s face. You’re giving him exactly what he wants.

Blake glanced over his shoulder, his expression bleak as he touched his finger to the ring at his throat, like somehow, it might bring him luck tonight.

I know, but I can’t leave her here, Rohr. You know all the reasons I can’t.