Page 41 of The Serpent’s Bride (Bloodlines #1)

TWENTY-ONE

Staring at herself in the mirror, Nadi was lost in thought. Studying a face that wasn’t hers. A body that wasn’t hers. And a soul that…she wondered if she was quickly going to fail to recognize before long.

What was happening to her? What was she becoming ? Was a chance at destroying the Nostroms really worth killing Luciento? It was too late now. She had made her choice. Luciento was dead. There was no going back.

Her uncle had been sacrificed on the altar of her revenge.

All in the name of winning Raziel’s trust and convincing Volencia that she was worthy of joining the family.

Or, at the very least, convincing her to agree to Nadi’s preferred outcome—that the sacrificial honeymoon simply be postponed for a while.

All Nadi needed was enough time to kill them all.

Looking down at her palms—at Monica’s palms—there was another thought that was eating away at her, a worry in the back of her mind, a stray thought, something far more insidious and dangerous than even her wanton lust for her worst enemy.

It was a single blot of black ink on a white piece of paper in her mind. A tiny little dot, but impossible to ignore. And equally impossible to remove.

Raziel found fae disgusting . Beyond disgusting. Reviled them with every fiber of his being. That he made painfully clear. He found Monica attractive. That was also painfully clear.

Those two things led straight to the thought that would not go away.

Raziel would find my true self disgusting.

It was a statement of fact in her mind. There was no way around it. If he saw her real self, her oil-slick-colored scales and fins, her pale green skin, and midnight-opal eyes, he would turn away from her in revulsion.

That wasn’t the issue. She knew that.

It was the fact that…it bothered her. It twisted something in her that was akin to pain. No—not pain, worse than that. Shame.

She was ashamed of what she was through his eyes.

Her jaw twitched as she clenched her hands into fists hard enough that her nails bit into her palms and squeezed her eyes tight.

How dare he. How dare he make her think about herself in such a way!

No one had that right. No one in the world, in all of Runne, had the right to make her ashamed of who and what she was.

Of how she was raised, where she grew up, or what she looked like.

Anger boiled in her. She embraced it like an old friend.

Let it seethe into hatred. Added it to her armor like the scales of her tail.

She was letting him too close. Lust was one thing, lust was useful.

She could wield that against him, and there wasn’t any harm in enjoying it while it lasted.

But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him any closer than that.

She wouldn’t survive it.

Letting out a wavering breath, she muttered a quiet prayer to Luciento and her family in her native tongue.

An apology and a plea for forgiveness she knew she didn’t deserve.

She wished she had an altar where she could light a candle or place an offering out for Luciento’s soul.

A binding of bones, or a small animal sacrifice.

But she had nothing. Nothing but her own sorrow, anger, and rage. And a promise that blood would flow in exchange for theirs—hers or Raziel’s, either way, their ghosts would be paid.

Getting dressed, she decided to wear something polished, but not fully formal. Something that showed deference to the family, but that still said she had been through the wringer in the past forty-eight hours and was eager to get back to bed.

Whether to sleep or do other things remained to be seen.

She swore at herself in her head. “Idiot.” Yes, fine. Sex with Raziel was amazing . And now that she knew what it was like? She wanted more. The problem was, Monica would be far more battered-up. As a fae, Nadi felt…not great, but not the worst she’d ever felt, honestly.

A little tired from the blood loss, sure.

But once she had some food in her, she figured she’d be fine.

She just had to not let on that was the case.

Zipping the red and black silk dress up the side, she smoothed it down over her legs and walked up to the mirror to examine her neck.

The bite marks had even faded a little over the hour she had been asleep.

Damn it. The puncture wounds she could scratch at and keep fresh, but the bruises? The bruises would be hard to fake.

Blaming it on good genetics could only get her so far.

But Raziel seemed completely bought into the illusion that she was Monica.

Chewing her lower lip, she sighed. There wasn’t much she could do, except maybe hide it.

Monica wasn’t from the metropolis. She could play it off as being unsure if it was a faux pas to flash bite wounds at the table or not.

Finding a thin silk scarf in a drawer, she draped it around her neck, slipped on a pair of heels, and headed down to dinner.

Patience was the word that Raziel kept repeating to himself in his head like a mantra as he poured his sister a drink.

Lana was attempting to goad him into a fit of rage.

She had begun by insisting on bringing her favorite pet Azazel along to dinner, which was purely to offend their mother and put her in a bad mood.

Which, in turn, was purely to put him in a bad mood. But delivering the jab in this way, one step removed, made sure any attempts to call her out would seem melodramatic and petty.

Siblings. Sisters were always the most devious.

Patience.

He had a prize waiting for him this evening if he managed to make it through the night without smashing a bottle of wine over the table and digging the shards into his own skull to end the banal double-speak and thinly veiled insults.

His little murderer.

What a wonderful bundle of surprises she had turned out to be.

Bloodthirsty. Not only capable of killing but able to face it with an unflappable resolve that rivaled perhaps even his own. To not only murder Luciento—to drive a knife into his skull — but then to allow him to savagely fuck her with the corpse as witness?

How wonderfully and singularly depraved .

Could it be, he might have found someone whose capacity for violence—if trained and tailored and polished—might match his own?

But adrenaline had aided her in the kill.

Luciento had likely threatened to take her by force if she didn’t go willingly.

He wondered how she would perform if there was no threat to her life.

“Are you going to finish making that drink anytime this century, brother?” Lana sighed dramatically.

Patience.

Walking over to where Lana sat at his dining room table, he placed the cocktail down in front of her a little harder than was polite. Mael shot him a glare as if to reprimand him for his bad attitude. Yes, because he was being the problem child here. Not Lana.

“Have you given any thought to the trip north, brother? And what your choice will be?” Mael was sitting at the head of the table, frowning down into his wine glass. Raziel suspected his brother had already become fond of Monica, despite only having met her a few times.

“My choice is to make no choice at all.” Raziel shrugged. “I thought I might postpone the trip for a while, if not indefinitely.”

“Don’t blaspheme, boy.” Volencia grimaced.

His mother was seated at the opposite head of the table, leaning against the polished wood back of her chair, a long cigarette holder perched between painted fingernails.

The smoke curled up and away from the end.

“You leave on the trip as planned. And she dies.”

As if on cue, his new wife walked into the room, and as she always did, her eyes darted around to take stock of her surroundings. Counting the people present, including the staff and guards, and checking for exits and windows as if always pathing an escape. As if always prepared for an attack.

It was another one of the mysteries he had yet to solve about her.

There were… many.

Volencia watched Monica enter with such scrutiny that Raziel was impressed the younger woman did not burst into flames. “Speak of the beast and there she is.”

Ignoring their mother, Mael smiled, beaming in a sincere friendliness that made Raziel want to scream. Mael quickly stood from his chair to greet her. “Monica—are you well? Raziel told us about what happened.”

Monica stood her ground, though it seemed like she reflexively wanted to take a step back from the mountain of a vampire who walked up to her, even if he was smiling like a teddy bear. When Mael reached out to take her hand, she gave hers in return.

Mael bowed his head to kiss the backs of her knuckles.

Raziel once more wanted to scream. Patience. She’s mine. Not his. Mine.

“I’m all right,” she replied. “Though I wish he’d warned me about exactly what he was going to do once we got there.”

Ah, yes. Right. That. Raziel cleared his throat. “I was hoping you had overlooked that.” He handed her a glass of red wine, namely to get her hand out of Mael’s, and gave her a rather false smile of his own. “It was easier if I didn’t have to explain it all to you.”

She took the wine and sipped it. It was clear she wanted to ask why he hadn’t trusted her with the plan—the question was burning in her green eyes. But she was also smart enough not to ask in front of his family in case it was a sensitive topic.

Moons above, he wanted to bend her over the table right there.

Gesturing dismissively, he walked to the table to pull out a seat for her. “His people would recognize me without question, and I wanted to ensure that Luciento died in the attack. He was wily and escaped us for decades. The only way to keep him there was to promise a deal.”

He waited for her to sit before pushing the chair back in for her. Lana was seated next to her. Which was upsetting to him, but unavoidable at this point.

“It was still a stupid, dangerous plan.” Mael headed back to his chair. It creaked under the mammoth weight of his frame. “You put her in a lot of danger.”

Raziel took a long sip of his bloodwine before answering. “She is doomed to die, anyway. I thought perhaps giving her a chance to be useful might sway dear Mother’s mind. Clearly, I was wrong.”

That turned all eyes to his new wife.

Who simply raised her glass to them in a toast before downing half of it.

He was beginning to be quite proud of his little murderer. “Luciento tried to take her with him as he escaped. Maybe he thought it would be a perfect insult, to steal my wife. Maybe he simply wanted her for himself.”

“She is gorgeous.” Azazel winked at her from across the table. “And feisty .”

Raziel ignored him, instead reaching over to top off his wife’s glass of wine.

His staff served the main course of dinner while they continued to talk.

He had opted to skip a longer affair for the sake of his own sanity.

“But the bastard is dead. As is most if not all of his human family. The remaining Iltanis will be like lost rats, running to ground and taking shelter wherever they can.”

“Yes. We all heard what you did to the Iltanis, Raziel. Truly, did you need to end them in such a spectacular fashion?” Volencia took a slow drag from her cigarette, ignoring the steak placed in front of her.

She didn’t eat in public, but preferred food be served to her anyway to keep up appearances.

“Did you really need to tell them to hang themselves with their own intestines? That was barbaric, even for you.”

His wife’s fork hovered over her food for just the briefest moment before she resumed eating.

Raziel didn’t miss the hesitation—nor how short it lasted. “Another fae clan is likely to take their place at the edge of civilization. I wanted to ensure that whoever it was would remember what comes to those who attack the Nostroms.”

Lana shook her head. “Each time you kill, brother, it worries me more and more. Who are you competing against in these sick games of yours?”

“I loathe to ask how Luciento died.” Mael winced. “What did you do to him?”

“You would have to ask her.” Raziel allowed himself to grin wickedly. This part of the story he had kept to himself for now. “She killed Luciento.”

All eyes were once more on his wife.

Mael’s mouth was open.

Lana laughed. “Bullshit!”

“Language.” Volencia scoffed. “But the sentiment is true. You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Raziel sat back. “While I was dealing with his men, Luciento dragged her into a room intending to abduct her and escape. She had a choice. Go with him or use the knife I gave her to kill him. I found him dead in a corner, bleeding out. One stab up from the jaw into the throat and the skull.” He put a finger against his neck where the blade would have entered Luciento’s body.

“The knife was on the floor nearby. Luciento’s hands were clean. Right, Ivan?”

“He’s right,” Ivan confirmed from where he stood by the wall. “Hank and I found him right where Raziel said.”

“When was the last time I used my own hands to kill someone?” Raziel couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he sipped his wine. “I would have made one of his men do it. And the person who did it was shorter than Luciento, and I am not.”

Raziel was staring at his little murderer, who was dutifully cutting up her steak. It was cooked rare, nearly raw in the middle. She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His eldest brother shook his head. “Did you really kill him?” He paused. “I don’t mean to insult you, but…”

“I know this family is dangerous,” she said.

“And I could hear what you were talking about when I walked in here.” She put her knife down on the table.

“And I knew that if I wanted to survive, I had to prove my worth to all of you.” She stabbed a piece of her steak with her fork.

“Killing a person isn’t so different than killing a cow, in the end.

” Her green eyes met Mael’s gold ones. “Except he didn’t scream when I stabbed him. ” She ate the piece of meat.

Silence stretched over the room. Even from his mother.

Damn it all to the void—she was starting to make his life complicated .

Because Raziel wondered if this was what love felt like.