Page 23 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWELVE

The ringing in Raziel’s ears deafened all other noise.

There hadn’t been much time to react to the grenade. He barely had a second to process before he had grabbed Monica by the upper arm and half flown, half run with her toward safety.

The heat at his back and the sudden percussion had sent him tumbling and crashing through a table and into a pack of panicking guests.

It took him a few precious seconds to recover.

Bullets were already flying—volleys both toward him and return fire from his guards and those of his guests who had been packing.

He suddenly regretted not carrying his own gun.

It looks so tacky under the suit , his mother had scolded him. No one would dare come for you at your own wedding! Besides…vampires have their own methods of defense, should someone be so foolish.

Yes, if he lived through this, he would enjoy wielding this moment against Volencia in the future. He loved his mother dearly, but all was fair in love and politics. He bared his fangs and readied himself to shred his nails through the flesh of anyone who got in his way.

Someone would bleed for this.

He managed to get to his feet just as the smoke began to clear enough to see what was going on.

Bodies lay strewn about, blood pooling from wounds.

It was only a moment later that Ivan and Hank were at his side, with Ivan handing Raziel his secondary firearm.

There were no words exchanged. There was no need.

It seemed the invaders had achieved their goal. The attackers had come, done their damage, and fled. There was only one body on the ground that was not dressed in formal wedding attire. One of the attackers.

Walking up to the single corpse, Raziel ignored the rest of the chaos as his guards did their jobs of chasing—and hopefully capturing—the bastards who’d dared do this.

Nudging the body with his foot, he rolled it over onto its back.

A human man, dressed in a green, simple linen shirt underneath a black wool vest. His eyes were open, locked on a view he would never see again.

Hank grunted. “Lee Iltani.”

“ Fuck. ” Raziel shut his eyes. Of course.

Of course the Iltani gang were to blame for this.

“Of course. Of course! ” Snarling, he clenched his fist at his side.

He warned his brother—didn’t he? That damned fool—fae and the humans who bred with them were all animals.

Rabid things, meant to be put down, not kept as pets .

One of the wedding attendants rushed up to them, trembling, her eyes wide in a panic. Her hands were clutched in front of her, and she was trying to make herself seem as small as possible, clearly fearing his wrath. “Sir! Sir!”

“What?” He barked the word at her, baring his fangs. He had more important things to deal with than the fact that the dessert course was ruined. “Spit it out!”

“It’s—your bride, sir—she’s…they took her.”

Raziel turned on his heel, surveying the scene. Sure enough, Monica was nowhere to be found. “She might have run.” It would have been the sensible thing to do, after all. Run and hide.

“No. I—I saw—I saw them carrying her out. A few of us did, sir.”

Raziel shut his eyes and began to laugh. Oh, how absolutely wonderful. Here he stood, married to a woman he did not wish to wed, who he was meant to kill , and who his enemies had just dared to steal from him?

“You are going after her.” Volencia stormed up to him, not a blessed hair out of place. How that woman managed to get through an explosion without a smudge, he would never know, yet he was somehow not surprised.

“It’s likely too late for her, she’s probably dead already. It’s not worth risking the men.” Raziel tucked the gun into the back of his belt.

His mother took two steps closer to him, pulled back a hand, and slapped him . The sound was more jarring than the blow itself, but his head moved with the gesture, all the same.

Rage boiled in him. His jaw ticked. But he held perfectly still.

His mother was not to be trifled with.

“You idiot boy ,” she hissed. “She is a sacrifice . These are the old ways . You do not piss on family traditions like one of your rented whores. Do you understand me? You will fetch her, and you will complete what must be done!”

Several of his more loyal foot soldiers had gathered in front of him. Mael was there as well, soot from the blast smeared across his forehead, his lips thin and his jaw fixed in anger. This was now a full-on family matter.

Even Lana stood prepared for the fight.

Raziel laughed quietly, shutting his eyes. What a farce. What an abomination. “This is your fault, Mael—your pet dogs have grown rabid. You’re coming with me to fetch my wife.”

His brother wordlessly nodded, knowing not to get in the middle of the mess in front of him.

Cracking his neck from one side to the other, Raziel let out a breath. “Tonight, we hunt the Iltanis. Tonight, we end their miserable bloodline.”

Was it ever okay to murder someone?

That was the thought that ran through Nadi’s head as she went in and out of consciousness. It was hard to remember what had happened. She was wearing someone else’s face and marrying her worst enemy. They were about to dance, and then…

A grenade?

Was murder ever acceptable?

Not killing. Murdering. Two different words for two different reasons. Killing and murder. Though the line between the two was usually up for debate depending on one’s point of view. One could kill a cow for meat or consider it murder to take an animal’s life.

She remembered the first time she ever murdered.

It was the second time she had killed anybody.

The first time she took a man’s life it had been in self-defense.

He had dragged her into an alleyway after she left a bar.

And no matter how she cried out for help, people had only glanced into the alley and kept walking.

No one would help her.

They all decided to abandon her with the monster who planned to rape her and then likely murder her. When she stopped struggling, though, he let down his guard. And before he could defile her, she snatched the knife from his hand and drove it up into his skull from under his jaw.

She would never, ever forget that moment. The look of panic and pain in his eyes that slowly turned glossy and dim as the life fled his body. The way his blood poured from the wound and covered her hand, her arm, and her clothes.

The warmth of it felt almost like an embrace.

It… hadn’t bothered her.

Oh, she was upset that she’d been attacked.

But the death? The killing? The blood? She expected to feel something—to cry, to weep, to panic—anything. But it…was nothing. If anything, she found it vaguely fascinating.

She felt far worse when she had to kill a jibba beast on a hunting trip with her father. She still didn’t know what that said about her. But it had been an innocent animal, it had just been trying to live. The man had been a bastard.

But that had been her first killing . Not her first murder . That came several years later. Generally, one doesn’t decide to go into being an assassin outright. Generally, one starts by getting good at murder and then making a career of it.

In her case, it was all Betty’s fault. Betty also ran a bar in the slums in the lower areas of the metropolis, which was a front for all of her…extracurricular work. And Nadi had taken a job waiting tables and pouring drinks. She was good at her job, and she got along with the regulars.

But, like all seedy places, there was competition. And Betty’s extracurricular work—like smuggling drugs, gambling, or the like—had drawn notice from rival gangs. When one of the boys from a rival gang had taken a shine to Nadi, Betty had paid her to quietly dispose of the lad in the canal.

Nadi couldn’t remember the young man’s name. But she remembered his face. His kind smile. Never mind the fact that he had also killed or murdered dozens of people in his life. She had taken her knife and stabbed him to death before rolling his corpse into the canal.

Betty had paid her handsomely. Nadi saw more money in one night of work than she had in a year tending bar or waiting tables. So, when Betty wanted to hire her again? She said yes.

And again, became again, became again. The deaths blurred together. She couldn’t remember them all. Only the ones that went really smoothly, paid really well, or went absolutely to shit.

But, slowly, little by little, it became…normal.

Was it ever okay to murder someone?

Was it ever righteous ? Was it ever justice ? Sure, the people Nadi killed were usually murderers and monsters in their own right.

But how bad did a person have to be, to make the murder just a killing ? When did it become an execution of a convict, and not a black mark on the person delivering death?

Where was the line?

Was there one?

The thoughts and memories swirled as she started to come to. She was lying on her side, curled half into a ball. There was movement underneath her. Her hands were tied behind her back with something scratchy—probably cheap rope.

She couldn’t see anything. Her breath was hot and close, and she smelled something musty and a little like straw, maybe? She had a bag over her head. And she believed she was in the trunk of an automobile.

Great.

Just fucking great.

Whoever it was who had crashed the party had taken “Monica” hostage. Either to get Raziel to do something, or to start carving pieces of her off and sending them to him in the post.

There was no point in trying to pay attention to which way the car was going.

She had been out for long enough that she couldn’t track the movements of the vehicle if she tried.

So, she lay there, and stayed calm. Besides, the metropolis was gigantic.

Not only was it enormous in footprint, but it was layers of buildings stacked on top of each other, with roadways on top of roadways on top of roadways.

There was no way in the void of knowing where they were.