Page 88 of The Vampire Curse
He howls, jerking up, back arching. The black veins swallow up every inch of exposed skin. I pull the dagger from his side. He swipes at me, his fingers tipped black, the bones unnaturally long and coming to sharp points, like the skeletal claws of a demon.
Victor's mouth opens wide and he dives for my neck. I grip the hilt of the dagger with both hands and shove upward, twisting. There’s little resistance as the blade slides through flesh and bone.
Victor slumps forward, his weight pressing down on top of me, as still as death.
My vision blurs. I cover my mouth with one hand as the first whimper threatens to break free.
Tears blur my vision. The hilt of the dagger presses painfully into my chest, making it hard to breathe as my body forces out silent and aching sobs.
I don’t know how I survived.
The weight is gone, and I gasp for breath. Alaric’s face comes into view, distorted by the flood of tears I can’t seem to stop. I hurt everywhere. Alaric helps me to stand and draws me into his chest.
I feel nothing for having killed this vampire, but Victor’s death reminds me of another.
My hands are covered in blood. I have killed again. And the stark contrast of this time from the first is more apparent than ever before. What I did hits me with a force so strong, it steals my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my face into Alaric’s chest. “I’m sorry for Ro—”
Alaric smooths a hand over my hair and cuts me off with a shushing sound. “We will speak later.”
He leans back and cups my face with his hands. His thumbs brush under my eyes, wiping away the tears. Feeling more collected in Alaric’s arms, I look down at my would-be killer.
Victor is on his back, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling, and the night-forged dagger still embedded in his chest.
He is dead, yet the black veins continue to spread, slithering over his body until his skin resembles charred meat.
Alaric takes several steps back, pulling me with him. I can’t take my eyes off the grotesque spectacle. I tighten my grip on his and press into his side.
“Elizabeth will not be pleased,” Lawrence’s smooth voice says from the other side of the body. He crouches down and rubs his chin. He examines Victor as his body continues to morph.
“I don’t give a fuck what Elizabeth thinks,” Alaric snaps. “She sent a cursed vampire into my home.”
Victor’s skin dries and shrivels, spreading to his clothes and transforming them in much the same way as his skin.
I gasp as the fat, wart covered toad hops up onto his chest. The demon bloats to grotesque proportions, swelling and blistering like it’s being set on fire from the inside. The demon croaks—it’s a distorted sound, wet like melting wax—and then the power sweeps over them as well.
The toad crumples into a pile. The movement causes fissures to form all over Victor’s body, the rifts spread, cracking and crumbling, then he, too, becomes nothing more than an unrecognizable mound of ash.
“She killed a vampire,” Cassius says. “Demon cursed or not, there will be a price to pay.”
I want to say something. I should, but I can’t put together a single, coherent thought. I glare up at the man standing behind Alaric, a stoic expression on his face. For his part in organizing the fight, he doesn’t seem disappointed in the outcome.
My brain is muddled. He seems pleased that I won and that there will be repercussions. There is something else in the way he watches me… something akin to… admiration?
No, I’m mistaken, that can’t be right.
“And an unmarked human at that,” he continues.
“It was a fight to the death,” Lawrence interjects. He puts his hands on his knees and pushes up to stand.
I suck in a breath. Yes. That was it.
“She won. I have never seen it before, and it’s certainly not expected, but there is no law against it.”
“If she had been marked…” Cassius says, trailing off. Shaking his head, he turns away.
Alaric holds on to me a little tighter.