Page 54 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

54

EVANGELINE

M alachi landed us in a dark, cramped hole, barely bigger than a broom closet, where the dust was thicker than my hatred for this bastard and we were smashed so tight together I could barely breathe, which was probably a good thing since the air was choking.

“You are a fucking monster.”

He just laughed. “No, Vicious, I’m positively civilized. My Maker was a monster. That kind of vampire doesn’t exist anymore, and you should be glad you’ll never meet anything like him.”

His lips skimmed lightly across my ear before he set his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. “Now watch, and see what should have been obvious all this time.”

At eye level I peered through a small opening, high up, looking over…some sort of Great Hall, where wood-paneled walls were covered with portraits and tapestries, flames licking out of the enormous fireplace.

We were in some sort of spy hole, perfectly located to take advantage of the room’s acoustics. I detected every crackle from the fireplace twenty feet below and the sound of wine—or maybe blood—poured into tall crystal glasses as Tyrell turned to face his guests, that stick-up-his-ass, I’m-better-than-you expression still pasted on his face even though his castle was in chaos.

My sister sat in a chair beside him, hunched into a ball, hands folded in her lap, head bowed so low I couldn’t see her face, but from her shaking shoulders, she was terrified.

And Tyrell’s guests…My knees gave out, a ripple of horror going through me as I recognized that arrogant stance and the shock of dark-blond hair.

“You’ve put me in an impossible situation,” Laurent snapped. “This was to be a smooth transition. Your daughter for breeding in exchange for my continued alliance, and now…” Tyrell gulped his drink, not the dainty, calculated sips like before, but draining the entire glass in one go.

“Now I’m tearing my own goddamned home apart to root out a king who should already be dead, a half-breed bastard, and your other fucking daughter, who you should have taken care of nine years ago like we’d planned.”

I was suffocating.

This couldn’t be real.

Silas reclined in a chair to the right of the fireplace, legs crossed like he’d been in this room so many times it felt like home. Uncle Alistair crossed in front of the fireplace to pour himself another glass from the decanter.

Wine, that had to be wine.

Please let it be wine.

“Laurent, please.” My father swirled his glass, thickly coating the sides red. “This situation can still be salvaged. There was a reason we kept Angelique for breeding and trained Evangeline in our ways, though I must say, a girl could never come close to a man in strength or skill. But her blood, Tyrell…” My father shot the Ancient one of his trademark smiles.

“Her blood is the real weapon. Has the king, or the other brute…Blake, wasn’t it? Have either of them drank from her, perchance?”

“The king. I noticed the effects right away.”

“There you have your proof. Mission accomplished.” Silas and Alistair traded a pointed glance behind Tyrell’s back, one that sent fear skittering down my spine. “You know we’ve told you the truth, and now you can use her accordingly. Addiction, as you know, is a powerful weapon.” A low growl built in my throat, a mixture of helplessness and rage.

“Quiet.” Malachi’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “They’re not finished.”

“Angel will give you an heir worthy of your bloodline, and my other daughter will give you a weapon beyond compare. Keep her in your basement for all I care and drain her dry every night. You now have a steady supply of a substance more powerful than any drug. You control the source; you control the populace.”

“What the fuck is he talking—” Malachi’s hand slapped over my mouth and everyone down below froze, Tyrell scanning the room, Silas straightening up.

“Did you hear something?” Alistair was already armed, a gun in each hand, head swiveling around then up, scanning the ceiling, eyes skating right over the tiny hole I hid behind.

“My men, most likely, hunting down my miscreant progeny.” Tyrell spoke dismissively, a king secure in his castle, convinced he was untouchable.

“The blood oath will be broken by tomorrow, and Graves and Marten will be delivered into my dungeon master’s care, unless you would like to have a go at them first?” Tyrell’s smile matched my father’s perfectly. “They’re stronger than you’re used to; it might make for an interesting challenge.”

“Perhaps another time,” Uncle Alistair said diplomatically. “Unfortunately, we have places to be.”

“Until next month, then.” Tyrell lifted his glass to Uncle Alistair and my father. “Salute. To a profitable arrangement, ten centuries and counting. Once we have the king and his enforcer rounded up, Bosch will give you a list of your next targets. We meet next month, and payment will be arranged per the usual channels.”

I couldn’t look away, Malachi’s hand stifling every curse coming from my mouth as my father and uncle revealed the precious Silverwood legacy was nothing but a lie.

We weren’t hunting vampires on some pseudo religious fanatical mission to save the world. We were doing Tyrell’s dirty work and getting paid.

My father approached Angel, and Malachi tightened his grip. “Be a good child and obey your master. You’ve done well, Angelique. It’s a shame your sister isn’t cut from the same cloth.”

Red coated my vision when Silas patted her on the head like a dog, Angel shaking so badly her teeth chattered.

Utter shame washed through me. I should have gotten my sister out of here weeks ago, should have known she was being compelled by a fucking monster. I should have listened to my gut.

“Watch, Evangeline. This all could have been avoided if you’d only trusted me.” Malachi spoke so quietly his words were barely puffs of air.

My father and Alistair weren’t halfway to the door when the sound of a struggle preceded a bloodied Riordan being dragged into the room by five guards, followed by Collum nursing a nasty gash on his forehead. “We have the king, Master. Bosch is rounding up Marten and the girl. He should arrive presently.”

I grinned against Malachi’s palm. Fat chance, losers .

For the first time, I strained against Malachi, twisting my head, trying to see how to get out of here. I had to get down there, had to do something. Free Riordan. Find Blake. Get my sister out of this fucking castle. Kill Tyrell.

Anything except hide up here and watch this tragedy unfold.

“But you couldn’t trust me, could you?” Malachi said sadly. “And now, unfortunately, the only plan is you.” Cold shivered through me, that odd, heavy sensation telling me he’d set another guard around my thoughts.

I wiggled out of his grip long enough to spit, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Something invisible wrapped around me, stronger than any rope, any chain, squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn’t move a muscle. “I’m sorry, but this is the only way to salvage the situation. You should have taken my offer, Slayer. Whatever happens next is on you.”

One second, we were safely tucked in the nook, the next I was in front of the fireplace, bound up like a turkey in front of two of the most dangerous men I’d ever known, and Laurent Tyrell.

“My Lord.” Malachi swept into another of those stupid bows. “I located the slayer trying to flee the castle. No sign of Marten.”

I was going to kill this prick as soon as my hands were free.

Tyrell pushed up out of his chair, the very picture of triumph. “Thank you, my friend. I don’t believe you are acquainted with Silas Silverwood? His brother Alistair?”

“ The Silas Silverwood?” Malachi’s eyebrows shot up, one hand slapping dramatically over his heart and my urge to kill him increased by a million percent. “Only by reputation, never in the flesh. Have the girl’s kin come to claim her?”

My father preened at the flattery, even as his eyes landed on Malachi’s bare chest, right where a sharpened ash stake would deliver the death blow.

I didn’t know Malachi, and what little I did know I despised on principle, but something about him changed the moment he laid eyes on my father, and through the bond that imprisoned me ran a deep shudder of hatred, intense enough my entire body recoiled.

I managed to lift my eyes to Malachi’s face, and what I found there was so dark and devouring, the emotion so potent, it rattled me to the core.

Silas didn’t notice, dark eyes raking over me, cataloging every weakness as he came closer and caught my face in his fist, squeezing. “Claim her? We’re giving her away. She’ll become the next source of power for the Nocturne Clan, as long as they can keep her alive. Decades, centuries, perhaps. I’m sure Valaine will enjoy every minute.”

He was crushing my face, the pressure behind my eyes too much, too…

A menacing, animalistic roar filled the room, then Silas was gone, a blur of white and black shooting past me as I tried to get my eyes to focus.

Riordan landed on top of my father, ripping him to shreds with his bare hands, fingers carving grooves out of his skin with every blow. “Please…please…” Silas sobbed, begging—fucking begging—for mercy. Then Rohr froze, hands slowly rising over his head, powerful body trembling as he fought against Tyrell’s compulsion, Uncle Alistair pressing a gun to the back of his head.

“This is over,” Tyrell said quietly, gazing not at the bloody spectacle in front of us, but at Malachi. “You will break the blood bond tonight, and in the morning, I will publicly execute the false king and your reign will begin.” His head whipped to Collum. “Find Blake Marten. I want him in shackles within five minutes. Fail, and you will join them in the execution line.”

An ashen-faced Collum fled, taking the soldiers with him, a far less number than before.

My father crawled out from beneath Riordan, blood streaming from the wounds on his face, his perfectly pressed shirt soaked, shreds of skin hanging loose from where Riordan had clawed the flesh right off his face. Fuck, that was exactly what Valaine’s face looked like, only sewn back together.

Uncle Alistair, looking faintly horrified, gave Riordan a long, hard look before holstering his weapon and sidling away to a safe distance.

I hoped those wounds hurt. I hoped my father was suffering. I hoped…

“Come here, Silas.” Tyrell sank his fangs into his wrist as my father limped across the floor, one hand held over his face as if he was trying to piece himself back together.

Silas Silverwood dropped to his knees before Laurent Tyrell, took his wrist in both hands, and pressed his lips to the Ancient’s flesh, throat working as he drank, Tyrell’s other hand resting on my father’s head like an unholy benediction.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, couldn’t stop the horror from curling through me. When my father climbed to his feet, there wasn’t a mark on him, a fact accentuated by the sly smile he gave me on his way past.

“Now it’s your turn to serve me.” Tyrell turned his serpentine gaze on Malachi. “Break the blood oath. I want this travesty over.”

“I will, of course, be more than happy to break the bond, my lord, but I do require a few items for the ritual.” Malachi released me from his magical bondage, and I collapsed to the floor. “If I may have a few moments to prepare, we can begin the process of ridding you of these”—his nose wrinkled—“problems.”

“You fucking asshole,” I hissed. “I hope you fucking rot in hell, right along with the rest of these bastards.”

I’ve bought us some time, Malachi growled into my head . Where is the dagger? I assume somewhere at Crimson House?

Even with everything gone to shit, I hesitated. This situation wasn’t completely lost. Blake was still out there, he could…

A beat-to-hell Valaine dragged an unconscious Blake into the room, bleeding from pretty much everywhere with one leg turned the wrong way as Valaine hauled him across the thick, expensive rugs and dropped him in front of his master.

The dagger’s in a safe in Riordan’s office.

I nearly vomited when Valaine drew the point of that curved blade down Blake’s torso, such a look of delight on his face I saw exactly what lay ahead for all of us once that oath was no more.

I don’t know the combination. Hurry.