Page 55 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

55

EVANGELINE

M alachi took his leave as soon as I gave him the location of the dagger, and I prayed I hadn’t just fucked everyone over.

Bad enough my sister sobbed like her last hope was gone.

Blake was barely breathing, and a kneeling Riordan was trapped on the floor in front of Tyrell, hands clasped behind his head, unable to move a muscle.

I was the only one who had any sort of physical autonomy, and I couldn’t make a goddamned move because if I did, Collum, Tyrell, or certainly Valaine—holding that curved blade—would start carving up the people I cared about.

Silas approached, his expression a mixture of permanent disappointment and elation, Alistair right behind him, who’d traded in his guns for a wickedly sharp knife. “You always were a disappointment, Evangeline.” My father shook his head, and on the other side of the room, Angel hiccuped out a sob. “But these past few days, you have really outdone yourself.”

“What can I say? I’m on a roll.”

Alistair handed the knife to my father, who weighed the blade in his hand, never taking his eyes off me.

“Despite your smart mouth, I am glad I didn’t kill you that night I took Aurora’s head. You’ve made a very handy pawn, Evangeline.” I trembled in rage at the sound of my mother’s name, at the memory of how he’d stood exactly the way he did right now, feet braced wide, eyes as cold as the grave.

“I will kill you for that. I’ll use every trick you ever taught me to carve you into pieces.” I snarled, well aware of how I looked, blood-splattered, fangs bared, eyes glowing like stars. I embodied everything my father claimed to despise.

I’d never been a slayer. Not really . Perhaps I’d only been biding my time until I discovered my true nature, until I found myself alone in the darkness with nothing but the shadows and a lover’s sharp bite.

Tonight, I was glad I was a vampire.

Glad Silas could no longer claim any part of me.

Glad I craved blood and violence and death.

My father’s pleased chuckle skated over me. “You will spend the rest of your life strapped to a table as one of Valaine’s experiments.”

Riordan bellowed out a strangled curse, but I kept my eyes on that blade dangling loosely in my father’s hand.

“Have you ever asked yourself why there are no girls in our family?” my father asked, Alistair snorting softly as if the question answered itself. “We were cursed, you see, by an ancient spell, destined to only produce boys. Not that I’m complaining. Girls are useless…until, it turns out, they are not.”

“Silverwood blood— female Silverwood blood—was rumored to possess special qualities, highly prized among the first of our kind,” Tyrell interrupted smoothly. “But the witches decided that made us too powerful, and thus, took away our source. For centuries we’ve searched for a way to undo their foul magic, discovering, to our dismay, the coven who cast the original spell were the only ones who could undo it.”

“Turned out vampires killed off most of the covens during the Dark Ages, including the one who cursed us.” Alistair, ever the teacher, pointed out wryly. “Kind of poetic, when you think about it. But we managed to find one .” Uncle Alistair huffed. “A single witch descended from that bloodline, but one was all we needed.”

Tyrell chuckled. “That witch gave us her daughter, Aurora. A witch with little magic, but power that wasn’t our concern.”

Horror turned my veins to sludge. Magic . This was the deep, dark secret mom had hidden away, had made me promise to never reveal.

But… everyone already knew.

“Yes, your mother wasn’t particularly powerful, unfortunately.” Tyrell went on. “Some form of common elemental magic, but she had a womb, so we gave her to Silas for breeding. We didn’t hold out much hope, but the product of that arrangement was you. The first female Silverwood-witch offspring in eleven hundred years. Then came Angel, who was destined to be my pet.” He gripped a handful of my sister’s hair and dragged her head backward, forcing Angel to stare up into his face.

“You, Evangeline, will be bled every night. My children will feed, and once they are addicted and answer only to me, we will become the strongest clan in North America. I shall have the heirs I deserve, and my arrangement with the Silverwood family will continue as it always has.”

I didn’t think I’d ever seen my father happier than he was right now, but Valaine looked even happier, running his tongue over his bloodless lips.

That was our future, right there.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

This room was filled with monsters, and I had no weapon, no way to defend myself. Rohr and Blake were down, and Malachi was, at best, a wild card.

“Until next month, Lord Tyrell,” my father said by way of goodbye. “Oh, and I’ll be sure to say hello to my girls when I return to check on your progress. I have a feeling Valaine may succeed where I did not and finally tame you, Evangeline.” Then Silas and Alistair left, my father taking one final look over his shoulder at the daughters he’d sold like chattel.

A tremor of pure hate went through me, tears running down Angel’s face like a river as she huddled by the fire then slumped over, eyes closed, hands still gripped together like she was praying to the God who’d abandoned us.

I didn’t know if I’d ever been as relieved as when Malachi popped back into view balancing an armful of books, tattered scrolls, and what looked like decorative metal stakes and tall beeswax candles wrapped in a bright red piece of fabric.

“That took me longer than I expected,” he complained. “I would have been more prepared if you told me we were doing this right now .”

He dumped everything off onto the library table behind the couch, shoving empty bloodstained glasses and an elaborate candelabra out of the way. No sign of the dagger, no assurances he wasn’t about to fuck us over.

Tyrell looked appalled as Malachi began setting everything on the table, fluffing out the garishly bright cover like a dime store magician, then arranging the metal stakes, setting the candelabra in the center of the table, and humming merrily while he replaced Tyrell’s candles with the new ones.

They were too small and garishly red and kept tipping over in the too large holders and they looked utterly ridiculous.

On the floor between us, Blake stirred, pained little twitches that told me was waking up, but with his leg bent the wrong way, he’d never be able to fight. Likewise, Riordan was locked down in an unbreakable web of Tyrell’s compulsion, sweat soaking a line down the center of his back, arms trembling, fingers laced across the nape of his neck.

Malachi was confident the dagger would work against Laurent, but how? He was impervious to silver; I’d seen the proof with my own eyes. He could compel everyone in this room except for me—and theoretically Malachi—quickly enough we’d never get the chance to kill him.

“You,” Tyrell snapped to the two guards left in the room. “Find Collum or Bosch. One of them should have returned by now.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell them Bosch would never be back when Malachi’s eyes flicked to mine in warning.

Keep quiet, Vicious. One less complication for what comes next.

I crawled the five feet to Blake, gently laying my hand on his back. Bile rose in my throat as I took in the bones sticking out of his twisted leg, the gashes across his abdomen, like Valaine had hacked and hacked at him. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here, Blake.”

You’d better know what you’re doing .

Me? Malachi made a big show of rearranging everything on the table while Tyrell stormed across the room to pour another glass of blood, Valaine drifting closer to the table, inspecting one of the metal spikes curiously before setting it down.

I haven’t the foggiest, darling. I’m just stalling until your brutish friend wakes up. Feed him a bit of blood while Laurent and the sadist are distracted, and he’ll be right as rain.

That’s not happening. My blood’s addictive. It did something to Riordan. I rubbed my wrist . Look at him. He’s not in control.

I should certainly hope not. Chop, chop, we don’t have all day. I can only keep up this charade for a few more minutes before they get suspicious. Malachi slipped off his crushed-velvet jacket and hung it over the back of the chair closest to me, patting the right shoulder.

Right inside pocket. Don’t fucking hesitate or we’re all dead. Now get the brute powered up and moving or we all have a very uncomfortable evening ahead of us.

This won’t work, Malachi. It’ll be suicide.

Oh ye of little faith. He waggled his eyebrows as he tried to get those stupid candles to stand up. A little trust, Vicious, goes a long way.

I brushed Blake’s hair out of his face, my stomach twisting as I leaned down to press a kiss to his bruised cheek, well aware Valaine tracked my every move with that creeping smile on his horrid face.

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.” A tear slipped out and splashed onto his face, tracking through the blood.

This was a mistake.

Even worse, I knew this was a mistake, and still, I had no choice.

“When I say it’s time, I need you to drink from me, Blake.” The order was little more than a puff of air. “Take as much as you can, as quickly as possible. We’ve only got one shot at this.”

“I’ll bet you’re wondering what the spikes are for.” Malachi said loudly, brandished one of the long, metal stakes in front of Valaine, which looked more like something you’d use in a vegetable garden than a blood magic ritual. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Tyrell tipped his head curiously, rapt gaze fixed on the absurd arrangement laid out on the table.

Before I could comprehend what was happening, Malachi speared the length of the spike straight through Valaine’s throat, just below his jaw, the tip punching out through the back of his skull in a shower of blood and brain matter.

For a second I mirrored Tyrell, mouth hanging open.

Then I sank my fangs into my vein and jammed my bleeding wrist into Blake’s mouth. “Drink. As fast as you can. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

He feebly latched on, then with a feral growl, wrapped his huge hands around my arm and began to feast.