Page 58 of Fated In Blood (Nocturne Vampire Clan #1)

58

EVANGELINE

I didn’t know who was more shocked, me or Tyrell, but his momentary hesitation bought Angel the time she needed to jam the dagger’s hilt into my hand and stab three fingers straight into Laurent's eyes.

I moved before the thought was even fully formed, before my hand had fully curved around the smooth leather handle, my body becoming an extension of the weapon. This was what I was born for.

What I’d trained for, night and day for all those years.

This was muscle memory and twisted loyalty to my family and rage for my sister, all wrapped up together into a deadly package of intent, delivered straight to Tyrell’s turkey-thin, outstretched throat.

Right between the two major tendons and a vicious twist to sever both carotid arteries. A direct hit, so that even if the magic in the knife didn’t work, even if he killed me, the blow would incapacitate him long enough for someone else to take him out.

I’d accounted for damn near everything, except how strong my rage made me.

The blade punched through one side of his neck and out the other, showering my poor sister with blood, the forceful blow obliterating half of Tyrell’s throat. His eyes went wide, hands clawing at the gaping wound on his neck, blood pouring out in gout.

I stepped directly in front of him. “This is for taking Angel.” I stabbed him again, straight through his Adam’s apple, twisting that blade mercilessly as I yanked it out, metal grinding against bone.

“And this is for Cassmira.” There was a sharp intake of breath behind me. Blake. But I didn’t hesitate. This final, fatal blow I angled upward, until the broken, shattered end embedded deep in his brain.

Laurent’s eyes met mine, then I stepped back with a gasp, pulling Angel with me.

I watched him decay in fast motion, Tyrell’s once piercing gaze fogging over like frost on a windowpane, the flesh on his face melting down the front of his elaborate, ruined waistcoat as if he was made of wax and left out in the blazing sun.

It’s working. Blake’s voice came out raspy, even in my head, but he was talking. How did you know the knife would work? How did Angel know?

Blake was…cradling a broken hand, but up and moving. Riordan’s bleeding was slowing, both of them shifting to trap Valaine between them.

Malachi had a theory. I told them . He was right.

Not that I would give the traitorous bastard too much credit, since he practically handed me over to Tyrell in the first place, most likely to save his own skin.

Semantics, my dear. You got the job done, that’s all that matters.

Fuck off.

Tyrell screamed but no sound came out. It usually didn’t when your vocal cords were severed—liquefied, in this case—and he couldn’t even make a pathetic whine. His body was disintegrating around him like melting snow, rotting hands clawing at the knife lodged deep in his flesh. I must have wedged the broken end in his skull, because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pull it out.

“I hope this hurts,” I said softly, Angel watching raptly, her pulse pounding beneath my hand where I held onto her. “I hope whatever story your kind has about the afterlife, you end up somewhere hideous, suffering for an eternity.”

Laurent Tyrell was fading away before us, eyes white as the moon, his face carved from skin and bone, so little flesh I could now see the broken blade with my own eyes.

The air around me trembled, a wicked wind whipping through the room and smothering the fire, acrid smoke coating the gooseflesh on my bared arms. “What is happening?” Angel swayed against me and Blake and Riordan trembled, the air humming hard enough to shatter my teeth.

The once mighty Tyrell collapsed into a pile of bone, as decayed as if he’d been in a tomb these past thousand years.

The next second I was shoved to my knees as a hideous crack rent the air, like the veil between time was tearing apart, and the darkness grew smothering, some unseen force pressing down and down and down until I wondered if we would all be crushed.

Valaine crawled toward the door, dematerializing before he reached the opening, leaving a smear of blood and brains across the floor. Blake lunged after him, but Riordan yanked him back. “No. Too dangerous.”

“What is this?” I could barely speak, weighed down by exhaustion and pain and crushing darkness. “What’s happening?”

We were all going to die.

Whatever this magic was, would kill us when Tyrell had failed.

Riordan threw his head back and barked out a hollow laugh. “Tyrell’s dead. This is the blood hierarchy breaking. This is two millennia of dominance and control falling away. Tyrell can’t fucking touch us now. This is our new beginning. My new beginning.”

No, this was like weathering an earthquake, booms of power reverberating through my bones and tearing me apart at the seams. Blake’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and I tried to reach for him but my body wouldn’t obey. A crescendo of shadow and echoing sound swept through the room, plunging everything into total darkness.

Cold rolled over me, bitter and heavy, like winter’s first blast but kissed with the faint scent of rich, spiced coffee. That scent. Why was that smell so familiar? Then everything stopped, leaving a shiver of energy buzzing in the air.

A sweat-soaked Blake reached me first, arm circling my waist, then Riordan was there, brushing a finger down my cheek. I sagged in relief. My two saviors in every way that counted. My shield and my sword, and I couldn’t believe we’d all survived.

“Oh God, is he really gone?” Angel leaned into me, sobbing so hard she gasped for air. I tucked her beneath my chin, even though my arm bleated in pain and my body still trembled from that strange power shift.

But…I glanced at the pile of brown bones. Tyrell was gone.

“It’ll be okay, Angel. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll go somewhere far away and start over again.”

I tried to ignore the way my heart twisted at the thought of leaving.

Blake’s and my situation was complicated, and while we had made some promises to one another, family came first. Angel came first. Surely, given what happened with his own sister, he’d understand.

But Riordan…he and I were just a business transaction. Riordan had been crystal clear about his terms, and I’d kept my end of the bargain.

As far as the blood addiction…that was his problem.

“We’ll leave as soon as we can travel. Tomorrow morning, maybe.” My mind whirled.

I’d dreamed of this moment for a year. I’d never wanted anything as badly as saving Angel and keeping my word to Mom. Except…except I was acutely aware of the two vampires glaring holes in the back of my head.

“Can I get a little help over here?” Malachi lay at a grotesque angle, head facing the wrong direction. “I’d think you’d all be a little more grateful, since I pretty much saved your asses.”

“We should leave the bastard. Torch the place around him,” Blake said matter-of-factly with not a trace of humor.

One glance told me Riordan was—possibly—considering it. I grit my teeth, barely believing I was making this choice. “You can’t leave him here. He did help us. We owe him.”

“We don’t owe him shit.” Blake shook his head, “I’m still torching this fucking place. So he’d better start healing. And fast.”

Malachi couldn’t move, but his eyes changed. They grew brighter, cagier, and right then, I saw this was another trap. Not as deadly as Tyrell’s, but a trap I wouldn’t escape.

“I can’t, I’m too weak. I need to feed.” His calculating eyes landed on me with the weight of a thousand mistakes. “I’m calling in my favor. I want to feed from Evangeline.”

“Fuck no, she?—”

Riordan lifted a hand and Blake went silent. Power rippled through the room, hitting me in the solar plexus like a physical blow. My head emptied out.

I wanted to bow before Riordan.

I wanted to obey.

I ached to worship at his feet, supplicating myself before him. Angel sucked in a quick, frightened breath, and Riordan’s answering smile sent a spear of fear through my heart.

Cold and calculating, nearly matching the spark in Malachi’s cunning gaze.

“Once, and never again, and only if she consents.” Riordan’s smile grew icier. “No mind games, no compulsion, or I’ll kill you where you lie.”

Blake glared at his friend like he wanted to throttle him.

“In case there are any doubts, Tyrell’s power went to me. I am the Nocturne King by blood and right, and my word is law.” He dipped his head to me. “If you want to save him, it’s your choice, Silver. Or not, that is your choice as well.” His smile was terrifyingly knowing. “I expect you can add to your count, if you choose the latter.”

Malachi looked worried now, but Riordan knew me far too well.

He’d given me a choice that really wasn’t a choice at all. If I allowed Malachi to die, that choice would haunt me for a long time. Better to save him and have no regrets.

I walked over, offering Malachi my good wrist. “One time and never again, and only because you saved us tonight when the other choice must have been tempting.”

“You have no idea,” Malachi murmured, but his pupils dilated when he locked on my upturned wrist, my blue veins running beneath pale white skin.

“My blood’s addictive,” I reminded him. “Won’t it hurt you?”

“That’s my problem to worry about, Vicious, not yours.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt her, you bastard,” Blake snarled.

“Please.” Malachi somehow managed to peer down his nose, even though he was lying on the floor in a twisted heap. “Skip the lecture. I’ve been doing this ten times as long as you, Marten.” A fire ignited in his eyes when I stepped closer, his tongue rimming his bottom lip in anticipation.

“I can be gentle. When I want to be.”

Since he couldn’t move, I pressed my wrist to his mouth. True to his word, his fangs slid in painlessly, warm lips sealed to my flesh with all the fervor of a dying male, gaze locking on mine.

He drank deeply, never breaking our stare. Neither did I, telling myself I needed to win this battle of wills, and not because the ring around his irises looked like living flames, or how good he smelled right now, as I got caught up in the memory of how delicious he’d tasted.

After he tricked me.

And just like that I yanked my wrist away, splattering blood across Malachi’s perfectly chiseled cheek, droplets glistening in his pale hair like rubies.

He was the enemy, and I would be a fool to ever trust him.