Page 37 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

37

EVANGELINE

I put another quarter in the ancient bed, debating my options as the mattress began vibrating.

Four enchiladas plus two more cherry slushies, and my stomach was still a hollowed-out mess.

I dug my nails into the undulating mattress, trying to use the shaking sensation to take my mind off the fact I was starving. Starving in a way I’d only read about, but never experienced, not even as a child.

Vampire hunger was different than human hunger.

There was a razor-sharp edge to this bone-deep craving, carving away all the logical, rational parts of myself until I couldn’t think.

Maybe without such deeply ingrained training and self-control, I would be in worse shape than I already was, but I refused to give my father a single bit of credit. Still, I was in trouble.

I’d nearly gone over the fucking counter at the Easy Mart after the clerk, barely managing to make it back here without biting someone . I convinced myself I could out-willpower two millennia of vampire instincts, but I had to finally admit Riordan was right.

I couldn’t, not even with a wicked sugar buzz.

But even more pressing than my need to feed was the impossible choice before me.

I had a very narrow window of time to succeed, and a far larger window to fail. Today was Monday. After tonight, Silas, Dante, Virgil, and their team would return and my chances of securing that dagger were pretty much fucked.

But I only had one night of intel and Uncle Ezra always followed a three-day pattern before his carefully planned routines repeated themselves. I’d be flying blind if I went after that dagger tonight, but I’d be dead if I waited.

And I could barely even think around this hunger, could barely keep track of my thoughts since they kept slipping back to how fucking good Riordan tasted, my poor fangs aching at the roots.

In the end, I jogged the five miles between the motel and White Chapel, cursing my hunger, cursing Riordan and Blake, but mostly cursing my utter lack of options.

“I must be insane,” I muttered to myself after my second circuit around the perimeter, carefully staying downwind from the dogs, who were far better at picking out prey in the dark than any of my cousins, and certainly the mercs, who relied on night goggles and heat sensors.

As far as those mercenaries who’d joined the Silverwood ranks, they were wild cards, but after an hour, when the patrols finally changed and they took the dogs inside to be fed, I fit my own night goggles to my face, figuring my chances wouldn’t get any better.

Between the human tech and my vampire vision, I could make out the finest details—the moonlight glinting off every blade of grass, the trip wires and pressure plates strewn throughout the lawn. Remarkable, these newly honed senses, though some jaded part of me wondered if I’d need every one of them to survive tonight.

I paused at the edge of the property, some strange, unnamed fear shivering through me.

Consecrated ground .

Bullshit. I’d played on that lawn. Had the shit kicked out of me on that lawn. But I’d never experienced anything like the instinctual fear coursing through me right now.

I gingerly stepped out of the trees, setting my foot onto Silverwood property. A tremor rocked through me, pressure squeezing me tight as I stepped fully onto the grass. I couldn’t breathe, feeling like I was underwater, drowning, drowning beneath heavy waves, and then…it passed.

I stood stock-still, positive guards would rush me from every direction, but…nothing.

Nothing except a prickling in the soles of my feet, leaching up through my bones, followed by a strange, odd sensation, almost like I was being sapped of my strength.

But it was child’s play to race across the lawn, avoiding the traps.

Harder to dodge the random piles of dogshit.

Seriously, they needed to take the mutts over to the tree line or something.

I hadn’t set foot in White Chapel in over ten years, but every inch was familiar, right down to the unsecured basement window on the southern side. Over the years, water leaked around the frame, rotting the latch right off, and the azalea bushes were so thick, I doubted even Silas took the time to check this side of the house.

Virgil, of all people, had discovered this rare chink in the Silverwoods’ armor and said nothing to his father, and from that moment on, this tiny hole had become our only path to freedom.

I was bigger than I’d been ten years ago, but I managed to wiggle through headfirst, landing on the damp stone floor that still stank of damp and petroleum.

The moment my feet hit the floor, a wave of weakness swept through me, my head swimming for a moment until I got my bearings.

Maybe this hallowed ground thing wasn’t bullshit after all.

Luck remained on my side and the basement was empty, with no creaking floorboards overhead, either, so hopefully most of the household was fast asleep. Even the storage room looked the same, filled with sagging wood shelves loaded down with dust-covered mason jars, rusty tools, and junk.

The Vault lay another four flights down. Forty feet below the crumbling house and this ordinary looking basement, was a room carved out of solid granite and encased in enough iron to build a fucking battleship.

I pressed my ear to the door, closing my eyes and assuring myself this was worth the risk.

That once I had the dagger I would kill Tyrell, free my sister, and my life would go back to normal. Whatever that looked like now . I skimmed my fingers down the soft edge of my leather jacket, reminding myself of the promise I’d made.

The one I’d broken.

Then I pulled on my gloves.

I’d gotten the idea from my father. Since I’d been turned, I wouldn’t smell human to them anymore, maybe not even like a Silverwood, but if I left fingerprints, it would be child’s play for them to figure out who penetrated their security.

Half the fun of this was them floundering around in confusion.

Getting over on my father was a lifelong dream, and stealing his most precious possession, right out from under his nose…I could tell myself all the lofty, noble reasons I was doing this, but in the end, fucking Silas over was at the top of that list.

Nothing but silence waited on the other side of this door.

That and four flights of steps leading straight down. Damp washed over me the second I cracked it open, along with the reek. My nose wrinkled immediately. I’d never been able to figure out where this strange scent came from. Fetid, but not organic, more like a chemical reaction gone bad, the stench seeped from the walls and floor and ceiling, unbearably strong to my newfound vampire senses.

I didn’t waste time, hurling myself down flight after flight until I reached the bottom, heading straight for the thick, bulky door, my vampire eyes detecting what my human vision had missed.

The metal was gilded with a faint bluish glow, flaring like a flame when I reached out to push the door open. The second I touched the tip of my finger to the surface, pain seared up into my hand, everything going numb from the elbow down. I curled my fingers back.

The leather glove was burned through, the end of my finger bleeding.

Just a single drop, and even as I watched, the tiny wound closed.

Fucking hell.

Magic . Somehow, my father had used magic to seal this room.

I slowly drew the blade I’d purchased on my way here, hesitated, then pressed the point to the iron. A faint blue flame curled up around the blade then sucked back into the door. Okay, that was weird. When I poked the door again, nothing else happened, like the glow had gone back to sleep.

There were only two choices. Give up and go home empty handed or follow through.

I heaved a sigh then shoved through the door. This time, there was no flare of magic, no pain, and I stepped inside the Vault.

Sometimes I didn’t remember things quite like they were, but in this case, reality matched my memories perfectly. In the center of the darkened room, the gleaming box holding the dagger was displayed on an altar. Every wall was lined with priceless artifacts, that ungodly pillar of ripped-out fangs taking up most of one corner, surrounded by screaming, mummified vampire heads mounted on the wall behind.

Horrible.

So fucking horrible, the things we did to one another in the name of vengeance.

I went straight to the box and lifted out the dagger, still wrapped in a soft velvet bag, the fabric sliding like silk against my leather glove. I tucked the weapon down the front of my coat and zipped it closed, securing my prize for what was coming.

Getting in was always easier than getting out. Always .

I was almost to the door, almost to freedom when something caught my eye. A glint of light, bright enough to stop me in my tracks. I ground my teeth together. I’d gotten what I came for, but something about that flash drew me in, like a moth to a flame.

Every treasure inside this room was kept for a reason, which meant every object had value…or a purpose.

The glint flashed again, brighter this time, like a signal beacon.

“This is so stupid,” I hissed through my teeth. “You are so stupid, Evangeline. Just take what you came for and stop wasting time.”

But I couldn’t have stopped my feet from walking my curious ass over there, like a cat who definitely didn’t have nine lives left. More like eight, and that was if today went as planned.

I sifted through a pile of worn, gold coins with squared-off edges and a bunch of jeweled rings strung onto a leather cord before I found what was emitting the light. A small glass globe, fairly nondescript except for the galaxy of lights swirling around inside.

I cradled the tiny ball in my hand, no bigger than a marble. It was heavy. Heavier than something this small should be, and the longer I stared into the light, the more fascinated I became.

I wanted to keep the tiny, glowing relic forever.

In fact, I couldn’t live without this thing.

I couldn’t explain where this dragon-hoarding urge came from, but I slid the globe into my pocket, deep enough the thing wouldn’t fall out. Then rechecked the dagger—the real reason for risking this trip—turned, and stepped across the threshold to freedom.

Pain tore through me like a spear of blue fire, cleaving me in two. Light flared, bright enough to blind, and I ripped off the night goggles, the room fading in and out of focus as wave after wave of agony splintered me apart.

Dimly, I recognized this.

Well, not precisely what caused it, but its purpose. The blue glow hadn’t been there to keep thieves from getting in, the seal had been put there to keep them from getting out, and the containment magic was fucking working .

I was trapped here, my body crumpling beneath this nonstop assault.

The pain coalesced, turned into a hot brand of fire between my shoulder blades, like someone was pressing a glowing iron to my skin. The reek of burning flesh filled the Vault, and I collapsed on all fours.

I tried breathing through the pain.

Which just made everything worse.

I couldn’t scream, though, I couldn’t. Screaming would be the death of me. I clamped down on my lips, fangs sinking in, blood pouring down my chin and splattering onto the floor. This was a fucking disaster, and I was going to be trapped down here. And when my father found me…

Oh God, the things he’d do would make this pain seem like nothing.

That singular fear galvanized me into action, forcing me to move despite being torn to pieces. I crawled forward, straight through the bowels of hell, that spot between my shoulder blades screaming, my vision darkening and blending together with the black walls of the Vault.

“Keep going, Evie,” I wheezed. “Keep going or you’ll be stuck in this place forever. And she gave her life so you could be free.”

My fear for my father paled against my fear of disappointing my mom.

I couldn’t let her sacrifice be for nothing.

Couldn’t leave my sister in that castle.

I slid one hand forward across the cold stone floor, then the other, then my knee, dragging my body forward, the magic raking over me like claws. Finally, I tore myself away from the light and the pain faded, leaving me trembling, clambering to my feet before the steps that rose and rose without end.

My strength was sapped, legs so rubbery I doubted they’d support me. Whether from this whole hallowed ground thing, or the magic that had it me up like a sparkler, I was toast.

But I sure as fuck wasn’t dying in the basement of a house I despised with every fiber of my being.

By the time I’d cleared the last flight, my legs were too heavy to lift, and I was pulling myself up with bloody fingers dug into the rough stone walls, sweat dripping down my spine, off the tip of my nose.

I had to drag a table over to the window, barely able to lift the thing because of my burned, ruined back, fingers slipping off the edges as I staggered beneath the weight. I didn’t know how I managed, but I climbed up and pried the window open.

I tumbled from the cool basement into the full heat of a Virginia night, thick with humidity and mosquitoes, rolling through the window onto the deep loam beneath the azaleas.

I was so screwed.

I’d severely underestimated my own strength, my need for blood and my wonky muscles were so weak I doubted I could crawl across the lawn to those hickory trees.

I tipped my head against the wooden clapboard siding, showering myself with tiny chips of flaking paint, vaguely wondering if vampires were immune to lead poisoning.

I’d just rest here for a moment.

Only long enough to work up the energy to get myself out of here.

Then I’d go back to Thorndale, kill Tyrell, and save my sister.

But first…first I had to close my eyes.