Page 76 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

“So?” Mariano lifts his chin. “You requested this meeting. What the fuck can I do for you, little lady?”

Mariano’s face is pudgy and pock marked, under his nearly bald scalp, and his nose was clearly broken at least once back when he was human.

If I had to guess, I’d say he was in his fifties when he became a vampire.

And given that the transition from human to vampire enhances a person’s appearance, I shudder to think what this man looked like before he was turned.

My security detail fans out. Three stay behind Timur and me, and three move to each side of the table, spacing themselves about four feet apart, facing toward the four massive Mariano guards at the table’s end.

“That’s far enough!” Mariano barks.

My guards had stopped moving well before Mariano spoke, but none of them reacts to his threatening tone, all remain stiff and ready, their left hands tense around the handles of their briefcases.

“As you know,” I say as firmly as I can, “the vampire known as Octavia Puglisi committed several crimes during her tenure at DEFTA, crimes to which she has now pled guilty.”

“Cunt.” Mariano grunts.

Timur leaps onto the table. “Apologize to Her Highness!”

Mariano’s four guards shift. Their movements are barely perceptible, but somehow they now seem even bigger, even more intimidating.

Physical danger wafts toward me. The one on the far end lights a match, seeming to strike it on the skin of his palm, and then he lets it burn until it fizzles out at his fingertip, leaving the faint scent of burnt skin.

In the hands of another, this guard’s act might come off like a magic trick, but in his, it’s a clear threat.

Leaning back, Mariano laughs. “Don’t get your skivvies in a twist, A-rab .

” He says the last word to Timur, like an insult.

“I wasn’t calling your princess a cunt. She might be one too, but I meant Octavia.

” His eyes narrow. “Although I do have Octavia to thank for this—” he gestures around the room “—not to mention my immortality and taste for blood.” He parts his lips, revealing his fangs.

Reaching up, I touch Timur’s leg. He glances toward me, and I gesture with my head for him to come down off the table. He leaps down, landing without a sound beside me.

“Was Octavia your Maker?” I ask Mariano.

He flips his thick fingers. “If you mean, did that cunt turn me into a vampire, then yeah, she did.”

This is an interesting development that wasn’t in the background materials provided by DEFTA. They did tell me that the Mariano crime family were rivals of Octavia’s human father’s, back in the 1920’s. If she was his Maker, it better explains why he and Octavia formed an alliance.

“I understand that Octavia granted you authority over other vampires in the Baltimore area.” I keep my voice calm and firm.

“However, that authority was never hers to give. For our species’ survival, it is imperative that vampires remain united under one common system of laws and governance, especially now, given the heightened threat from humans. ”

“I hate that fucking word.” Mariano leans onto the table again.

“Which word?” I ask calmly.

“Imperative.”

“But you do understand loyalty , correct?” I smile softly. “And the mutual benefits of working together toward a common goal?” I try to use the concepts my research told me would make sense to this former gangster. Although the former part is seeming less and less accurate.

“And what goal do you think we have in common, princess ?” He uses my title like an insult, just like the ethnic slur he used with Timur.

I clear my throat. “The common goal of surviving in a world predominantly populated by humans.”

Mariano scoffs. “Humans are no danger. Nothing but food. Sex puppets.”

My back stiffens. This man is so much worse than I imagined. Perhaps he too should be serving a sentence in DEFTA’s prison alongside his Maker.

“You do understand, Mr. Mariano, that taking a human life is a crime.”

“You do understand, princess , that I could give a fuck?” Standing, he grabs his crotch.

The DEFTA guards, reach under their jackets for their hidden stakes.

Mariano slams his palms on the table.

The arches at the sides of the room pull back to reveal openings. In an instant, the room is swarmed with vampires holding old-fashioned machine guns, pistols, bayonets. The same kind of weapons used to murder my family.

“Get back.” Timur pulls me toward the door we came through, but it’s now closed with no visible way to open it from this side.

Shots fill the air, and the room fogs with gun smoke and screams, as the scene seems to play out in slow motion. As they retrieve their concealed weapons, the guards I brought are flung about, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.

Blood spray clouds the air, and my mind flashes back to another battle. One also fought with machine guns and bayonets.

The DEFTA guards are badly outnumbered; their actions hampered by wave after wave of armed vampires, swarming in from both sides of the room, their machine guns providing a constant torrent of bullets.

Bullets aren’t lethal. This ambush was designed to create carnage and a distraction from the wooden stakes that can kill.

Blood fills the air and paints the walls and I struggle to banish childhood memories that haunt me.

“Stop this!” Shouting, I shift out from behind Timur’s protective body, now bleeding and riddled with bullet holes.

I try to spot Mariano. A bullet punctures my abdomen.

Clutching my belly, I try to press away the pain, as my body works to expel the bullet and heal.

Aiming a crossbow, Timur scans the group.

He shoots a bolt, and one of the machine-gun wielding intruders lands with a thud on the edge of the table. But then others open fire on Timur, and his body is shredded again by bullets.

Lethal or not, this is brutal.

And it’s too much. Way too much.

And far too familiar.

The scents of blood and gunpowder consume the air.

More than a hundred years of time evaporates.

My bravery vanishes. My combat skills disappear.

Crouching, I’m again a teen girl, cowering in the basement room of the Yekaterinburg house, where my family is hostage.

Bolshevik guards swarm the room, shooting us all in a chaotic barrage of bullets. Dozens, hundreds of bullets and bayonet blades strike my family’s flesh indiscriminately. I will myself to stay still, to make myself small against the wall.

I must avoid the bullets that continue to fly through the room for what feels like hours, taking the lives of my parents, my older sisters, and our most loyal servants.

The Bolshevik’s have no discernible plan, beyond inflicting maximum damage.

They begin to argue about whether we children should be allowed to live.

Some say that my little brother Alexei should die since he’s the heir.

Others say there should be no witnesses.

A bullet pierces my body. My right shoulder is thrown back. Searing pain floods my mind, and another bullet perforates my thigh. I watch, stunned, as blood spreads through the finely woven fabric of my favorite silk gown, worn for the portrait we were told would be taken.

I shake my head, trying to fight the memories.

What is happening now is real. I am in the Mariano headquarters. It’s as if someone has staged this massacre to re-enact my past trauma.

From my crouch, I glance through my fingers. Timur stands above me. He aims and shoots his crossbow, then he pulls a new bolt from under his jacket and reloads. He turns back to check on me, pointing his crossbow.

The four Mariano guards land on the edge of the table close by Timur. The largest swears as he pulls a bolt out from between his ribs. Blood has dampened his shirt, but the bolt clearly missed its target.

Timur raises his crossbow and aims, but then falls back.

I jump to the side to avoid him, and then horror steals the last of my senses.

My eyes are open, but my brain can’t process the scene.

It’s not possible. It can’t be real.

A wooden stake protrudes from Timur’s chest, and his once warm eyes stare up at me, lifeless, as blood soaks his cashmere sweater.

Huge shadows block the light above me.

The four Mariano guards jump off the table, their massive bodies towering above me.

Murderers! I try to shout, but the word is caught in the web of terror sealing my throat.

“Take her,” one of them says.

Shaking my head, I skitter away from them, trying to pull Timur’s body with me.

My back strikes the wall. Nowhere to go, I put my hands over my ears and I scream, hoping to at least drown out the sounds, to quiet the gunfire, the shouts of pain and…and the laughter coming from the other end of the table.

“Fuck your king. Fuck his deals,” Mariano calls out. “And fuck you, princess . You’re mine now.”

“Come.” One of Mariano’s guards opens a trap door, revealing a dark hole in the floor.

Another one of them grabs me, lifting me into his arms and holding me tight against his massive body. Before I can struggle, he drops down through the hole.

I scream, but the sound is muffled by his chest, and my heart migrates to my throat as we drop for what feels like a hundred feet. My vampire captor lands softly, easily absorbing the shock of our landing.

Still holding me, the massive vampire springs to the side, and the other three guards drop down behind us. My face buried in male chest, I can’t see, but I can tell that the other three have joined us.

I heard them land; I sense their presence, their breaths, each of their distinctively different scents and heartbeats, but my face is still pressed hard against the chest of the one who’s holding me, his powerful heartbeat penetrating my body.

“That way.” One of the vampires shouts. “Take her away from here. I’ll blow up the tunnel entrance.”

My whole world bounces, as the vampire holding me starts to run.

An explosion smashes into my ears. Then the heat of fire fills the air, followed by more explosions and the crash of rocks behind us.