Page 57 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

57

EVANGELINE

T he moment Rohr moved, I burst from beneath the table in a lunge that might have made even my father proud.

By the time I was within striking distance, Tyrell had already forced Riordan back down to his knees, blood streaming from his nose and ears, his face so pale he had to be seconds away from passing out.

The only good thing about this fucked-up situation? Riordan was out of the way. There was no chance of me stabbing him accidentally with the deadliest weapon known to our species.

My trajectory was perfect, the angle of the knife accurate to a millimeter as I drove the blade straight into Tyrell's heart…only for the tip to skid off something unforgivingly hard, the keen edge shearing through his fancy embroidered waistcoat.

He roared, the burn of sharpened nails slicing across my sternum before I darted away, barely twisting out of range before he stopped me for good.

I recovered, swinging the knife in an arc that should have cleaved soft, pliable flesh, but again, metal shrieked when the blade struck something solid, the shrill screech piercing my eardrums. The impact ricocheted up my arm and into my shoulder in a wave of agony that turned the edges of my vision dark.

But I didn’t care about the pain.

Not when the ancient blade shattered in half, the deadly tip flying through the air, embedding itself in the thick rug, leaving me holding a worthless metal stub attached to an equally worthless leather-wrapped handle.

Like the fucking ruby was going to do me a bit of good.

I grit my teeth in frustration, and in that one precious second when I faltered, Tyrell’s fist collided with my face, my vision exploding into a galaxy of stars and blackness. I’d acted like a fucking novice . I should have gone straight for his exposed throat.

Tyrell might not be able to compel me, but he’d been a warrior in his last life, a fighter strong enough to become a general, and that crushing blow sent me flying backward, my back shredding as I skidded across the carpet. My scalp screamed when he gripped a fistful of my hair and lifted me until my feet dangled.

Riordan made a desperate sound, and even through my pain I heard Blake’s panicked curse.

We were well on our way to failing, and we all knew it. For all Riordan’s careful planning, for all our valiant efforts, even for Malachi’s surprise alliance, this was almost over, and honestly, I saw no way to win.

The broken knife glinted in the firelight, flashing yellow and silver, a reminder we were completely out of options.

Gold.

The knife’s core was made of gold .

Somehow, that struck me as important, but I was busy trying to breathe as I hung there, blood pouring from my broken nose, air hissing from my mouth.

Tyrell was wearing a metal breastplate. He had to be . Commonplace with Roman soldiers, he must have continued the tradition. Any body blow would be futile, but how was I supposed to kill an immortal with a broken sword?

I wasn’t.

But maybe…I could incapacitate him long enough for Riordan and Blake to finish him.

Malachi lay prone, back clearly broken, incapable of moving anything but his smart mouth, and Blake was fighting Tyrell’s compulsion, roaring out my name as he struggled, arms straining as he tried to reach me.

Riordan was bleeding so bad his shirt was drenched with blood, and Valaine…

My heart crashed into my ribs as he rose like some monstrous apparition, tottering on unsteady feet, his ravaged face twisting in pain, a macabre sight as he tried to yank the stake from the back of his head.

Tyrell’s gamey breath poured over my face. “I’ll give Valaine another minute, then you are all his, Evangeline. I admit, you came close to killing me, but you will never get another chance.” Tyrell dragged me by the hair toward his executioner, trampling over Blake’s reaching fingers so hard they cracked.

“You’ve failed. Four of you against me and you couldn’t land a single blow. Pathetic. Your father was right.” He yanked me close until our noses touched. “Females are worthless. But your blood will make me a god.”

My vision cleared enough for my eyes to drift once more to the dagger’s fragment, my gaze catching the glint of yellow.

Gold. Something about gold.

“You’ll never be a god, not in this world or the next. You are the rot at the inside of a fallen tree, waiting to consume the last, ruined pieces.” I gained enough leverage to swing the broken, worthless knife once more, but he caught my right arm and twisted, snapping delicate bones as easily as he’d crushed Blake’s hand. Pain blared and the knife fell to the carpet, the ruby on the pommel picking up the dying firelight.

Riordan lifted his head and our eyes locked for an instant. If you make it out of here, take care of my sister like you promised. That’s all I ask. A tremor shook him, his mouth worked, but Tyrell kept heading toward his executioner, and I knew how this ended.

With me tied to one of those metal tables downstairs, and once Valaine went to work, I’d never leave this castle again.

Valaine reached behind his head, then blinked at his hand, speckled with gray matter. “Looks like your executioners a bit busy stuffing his brains back into his skull.” I smirked. “While we wait, why don’t I show you what a worthless female can accomplish in only a few seconds?”

One chance.

All or nothing.

I’d lost our best weapon, but I still had a regular knife in my thigh holster, a working hand, and nothing to lose. A single blow would be all I could manage, but maybe…just maybe the pain would break Tyrell's concentration long enough for Riordan or Blake or even Malachi to make their move.

The knife slid into the side of Tyrell’s neck too easily, puncturing skin like tissue paper, and I had him right where I wanted him, until his hand closed around mine and tore the knife out of his throat with impossible strength.

The world spun in a nauseating circle, then I was on my knees in front of him, that same knife pressed against my jugular, and while he couldn’t outright kill me because of my supposedly magic blood, that blade would be a good way to get it.

“You little fucking half-breed.” He yanked my head back, the knife edge slicing through skin with a stinging bite. No surprise, since Blake was probably the one who’d sharpened it.

“Do you know how fast you’ll bleed out when I sever your aorta?”

I did, in fact.

Seven minutes.

Faster, probably, given how fast my heart was racing.

I closed my eyes and dropped my shoulders in defeat, glad my sister was unconscious and wouldn’t have to watch this bullshit play out a second time. This was over. There was no saving any of us now.

Get the knife, Slayer.

You have to get the knife.

I swiveled my eyes to my right. Malachi was dead serious, and I fought my urge to laugh. It’s as fucking broken as you are, and even more worthless.

Even so, my gaze drifted to the blade, or what was left of it. Ten feet away. Too far for me to reach, no matter how fast I moved. And if I so much as flinched, Tyrell wouldn’t hesitate in slicing me from ear to ear.

Not worthless…get the knife. Even now, when everything had gone to shit and he was lying on the floor unable to move, there was a hint of exasperation to his order . Think, Evangeline. The answer’s been right in front of you all along. Laurent might be impervious to silver…

But he never mentioned gold. I finished for him.

Laurent Tyrell. Malachi was right. The answer had been right in front of me, but I’d been too blind to see it. Back at White Chapel, Uncle Alistair forced me to memorize a rudimentary amount of Latin.

It might come in handy, he’d said in all seriousness, when you least expect it.

The core of the knife is gold. And Laurent Tyrell, arrogant to the core, had named himself after his only weakness. I’d never actually seen allegory brought to life, but here we were.

“Get her downstairs. I want her on a slab and under fucking control. Now,” Tyrell ordered, firming his grip on my hair. “Let’s find out if Silas has been telling the truth all these years.”

There was a blur of movement, not fast, more like a smudge of color in the darkness at the furthest corner of my eye, just outside the glow of the fire.

“Laurent?” Angel blinked adoringly at Tyrell, her hair falling in a tangled mess to one side, red lipstick smeared across her pale cheek as she limped toward us. “What…what happened? I was eating dinner, then I woke up here, by the fire.”

Angel drifted closer. “I had such odd dreams, Laurent. So very odd.”

My sister gazed so raptly at fucking Tyrell, I doubted she even noticed he held a knife to my throat. At her approach, he lowered his elbow, and the cold bite of steel eased off enough for me to suck in a full breath.

“Sit back down and shut up until I’m done here.” He jerked his head toward the fire, but my sister kept moving toward us like she was caught in a daze, that empty expression softening her beautiful face as she reached up and tenderly brushed his shoulder.

“Oh, Laurent, I would love to.” Angel gave him a sweet, dreamy smile, the kind they wrote about in fairytales, her cheeks glowing pink from the heat.

“But instead, I’m afraid I’m going to help my sister kill you, you monstrous fuck .”