by Lili Zander
The vampire lifts her head slowly. Her fangs glisten with blood, and her eyes are blank. For a long second, she doesn’t recognize the man standing in front of her, and then she laughs. “Ragnar,” she says, her voice high-pitched and shrill. “Welcome, cousin.” She laughs again, the sound wild and insane. “Are you joining me for a meal?” She locks her hands around the boy. “This one is mine, but there’s more where he came from. My guards can fetch you a tasty treat.”
Great Spirit, she’s high as a kite.
Ragnar steps toward her. “Slenti mixed with blood,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “And what else? Delirium and nocturne. That’s one hell of a cocktail. Let go of the boy.”
“Or what?” She giggles. “You can’t touch me. We have a peace pact.”
Saber and Nero guard the door. Zeke moves to the girl chained to the wall, and crouches by her, blocking her view. “Hey there,” he says, his voice gentle. “What’s your name?”
She stares at him blankly. My heart lurches.
“Not any longer. Astrid gave me permission to break it.” Ragnar’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “There is no peace pact to hide behind anymore, Gerra. You remember the conversation we had when I came of age?”
She blinks. She’s a member of the Ruling Council. Her grandmother was Empress. All her life, she’s been treated as if she matters. All her life, people have deferred to her. Vampires have bowed to her, and humans groveled in front of her, and she’s started to believe that she’s immune from consequences.
No longer.
There is murder in Ragnar’s eyes. Cold rage in Saber’s expression. No mercy on either Nero or Zeke’s faces. I’ve seen this expression on my vampires’ faces once when we’d boarded Gratvar’s cargo ship, and Nero had found out that the children were headed to Banrilia. Nero had beaten the slaver, a massive, hulking, three-hundred-pound mountain of a man, to death with his bare hands.
Gerra Clay is a fool. A crazy, deluded fool, because she’s sitting on the couch, her wits addled by the drugs she’s taken, mistakenly clutching to the belief that nothing has changed. That she’s going to walk out of here alive.
She’s not.
“Because I do,” Ragnar continues. “We were on Starra, remember? And I warned you about this habit of yours. I promised you that there would be consequences, and you swore to me that the rumors weren’t true. You didn’t drink from children, you said to me. You followed the law. Everyone you drank from was of age and gave consent. Remember that conversation, Gerra?”
“Spare me the lectures,” she drawls. Oh, the fool. She still thinks she has a chance. “They’re so boring.” She sets the boy aside, and Nero swoops in and grabs him before she can react. He slices his wrist and holds it to the little boy’s mouth, feeding him some of his own blood. Color slowly returns to the boy’s face.
Gerra frowns in puzzlement. “What happened to you, Ragnar? You used to be interesting. Now, you’re just so self-righteous.” She nudges the dead little girl with her foot. “It’s just a human. We’re predators; they’re prey. That’s the natural order of things. Stop fighting it.”
She kicked the dead child. My nails dig into my palms so hard they draw blood. Ragnar’s gaze snaps to Gerra’s foot. “I thought I’d offer you a quick and merciful death, cousin. I was going to break your neck with my hands, but you don’t deserve that kindness.”
He draws himself to his full height. “I could break every bone in your body,” he muses. “I could make you beg for death. But you’re drugged, and that would be torture, and I don’t think Raven has the stomach for it.”
His gaze rests on mine, and in a rush, I know what he’s going to say next. I know what he’s going to do; I know how Gerra Clay is going to die.
Ragnar reaches into his coat and pulls out a pair of syringes. “Raven, could I trouble you for some of your blood?”
My gut roils. I don’t think I can do this.
Except there’s a certain symmetry about this death. A certain justice. Gerra Clay has gorged herself on human children. One of them lies dead at her feet.
This is the right way for her to die.
I wordlessly take the needles from Ragnar and slide the tip of one into a vein in my wrist. The barrel fills with blood. Gerra’s gaze locks on it, and she licks her lips. She’s so gripped by blood lust, so high on the drug-alcohol cocktail she’s taken, that even now, she doesn’t fully recognize what’s happening.
Zeke is still crouched protectively by the chained girl. She’s frozen, completely traumatized by what’s happened in front of her eyes tonight. Did the first little girl, the dead one at Gerra’s feet struggle for her life? Did she cry out when Gerra’s fangs descended?
“Let her watch, Zeke. She needs to see this.”
“Raven, she’s traumatized.”
“I know.” I know trauma. I was ten when I went into the re-education camps. I've seen things I want to forget. I’ve lived through things I rather not think about. I'm an expert on trauma. “She's already traumatized. This will provide a sense of closure.”
I don’t need two syringes. One drop of my blood is all Gerra needs. I still fill the second barrel. “You know,” I whisper. “Once upon a time, I couldn’t have done this. Once upon a time, I thought no one deserved this death. I was wrong.”
My middle name is Peace. My parents taught me to love. This vampire—this woman sitting in front of me, licking her lips, greedily coveting my blood—she’s taught me to hate.
I’m a fucking good student.
Ragnar moves out of the way, and I toss the syringe to Gerra. She catches it clumsily and brings it to her nose. Her nostrils flare. “So tempting,” she says dreamily. “So very tempting.”
“Drink it.” I hold up the second syringe. “There’s more where it came from.”
She plunges the needle into her arm. For a second, her expression fills with bliss. “Yes,” she murmurs. “So sweet. So perfect.”
Then she screams.
When Olaf drank from me, boils appeared on his skin. They got bigger and bigger as I watched, horror-stricken, and then they burst, and a green liquid leaked out of them. He died in agony, his entire body covered in burns. His screams still ring in my ears.
In the throes of bloodlust, Gerra wanted the hit so badly that she didn’t drink. She injected, in search of a faster fix.
She shouldn’t have.
She swells up, as if the boils are forming inside her body. In seconds, she’s unrecognizable. Her skin turns a sick shade of green. Her shrieks fill the room, and then they’re abruptly cut off. Her clothes tear. She tries to stand, but her legs give away as if…
Great Spirit, the virus is melting her bones. It is transforming the vampire into sludge.
The little girl stares avidly. There’s a wild, exultant look in her eyes. “Kill,” she whispers. “Kill.”
“Yes,” I reply, forcing myself to watch. To bear witness to a death I caused, a death I do not regret causing. “She’s being killed.”
“Get back,” Ragnar says, his voice sharp. “Get out now.”
We scramble to the door, only just in time.
Gerra Clay explodes like a piece of overripe fruit.
The words of the Prayer of the Long Night hover at the tip of my tongue. Sing your death song, vampire. Die like a hero going home. I choke them back. Gerra Clay doesn’t deserve the protection of my ancestors on her journey to the afterlife.
“It’s done,” Ragnar says flatly.
All of a sudden, I can’t take it anymore. There’s more work to be done, I know. Gerra mentioned more children. They’re somewhere in this club. We need to find them. The guards—Gerra Clay’s most loyal troops—will need to be arrested. There are probably consequences to what we did. We’ll need to bear them.
But I can’t process it. I don’t want to be here. I want to be on the Valiant. Strangely, it’s the only place that feels like home.
“I need to go,” I murmur. “I need to get out of here.”
&n
bsp; Saber takes one look at my face and nods immediately. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, it’s okay.”
There’s movement at the door, and then Team Gamma marches down the corridor, along with Nehal Kuri and Stefan van der Klein. “We have an exit prepared, Sir,” Egon Dalsgaard says, saluting Ragnar. “The floors are on lockdown, and we’ve taken out Club Tranche’s security.”
Ragnar gives me a troubled look. “Are you okay, Raven?”
“I’m fine.” The room feels far away. Everything is muffled. I just really need to be somewhere else. Somewhere where Gerra Clay’s remains don’t drip down the walls. “My blood is a weapon. I understand that.”
His eyes rest on me, then he nods crisply. “Nehal, Stefan, escort Raven back to base,” he orders. “Shut down the spaceports. I’m taking possession of Banrilia. Get a med-team in here. There are children in this building, and I don’t know how many there are, and in what condition we’ll find them.”
“This way. Please come with me.” Nehal takes my elbow and steers me through the corridors. Soldiers with weapons flank me on either side. I move on autopilot as we make our way out of Club Tranche and back across Banrilia in a skimmer. I feel stretched. Thin. My emotions feel like they’re ready to burst, the way Gerra Clay had. My eyes prickle, and my throat is dry, and it’s only when I see the Valiant that I feel myself relax.
A long shower. Some mindless holo-shows. Maybe the next episode of Forbidden Love. Maybe then I’ll feel normal again. Maybe then I’ll forget the way Gerra had nudged that dead little girl with her foot, as if she were nothing.
“Can we get you anything?” Nehal’s voice is very gentle. “Food? Slenti? A sleeping draught? Anything at all?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone.” I climb up the ramp, and they let me go, though they’re still frowning in concern. I feel the weight of their gazes on my back. They saw Gerra’s body, what was left of it. Do they know that I did it? Do they know I signed her death warrant the second I slid the needle into my vein?
Stop it. Gerra Clay deserved her death.
I walk into Ragnar’s bedroom. Marya Revit’s sitting on the mattress, spinning a knife between her fingers. “Hello, Raven.”
31
Raven
“You know,” Marya says conversationally, “I thought I’d have to fight my way through Ragnar’s soldiers. Yet here you are, all alone.” She shakes her head. “Sloppy security. Heads will roll over this.”
She’s right; I’ve made a fatal mistake. I desperately wanted to be alone, and because of that, Nehal and Stefan had neglected to search the Valiant. This is my fault.
Marya gets to her feet, still spinning the black blade between her fingers. “Threats are boring,” she says calmly. “I don’t like making them. You’re not a fool. I can hurt you in a thousand ways. I can make you scream with pain. By the time I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead.”
Marya Revit is stronger than me. She’s faster than me. She’s better trained. But she’s not braver than me. I survived the ice deserts. I survived the re-education camps. And if Levitan puts me in a cage, I will survive long enough for Saber, Zeke, and Nero to rescue me.
I force a bored note into my voice. “For someone who supposedly doesn’t like making threats, you’re certainly making a lot of them.”
She eyes me with grudging respect and then gestures with the knife. “Head to the cockpit, please.”
I lead the way. She follows me. As I walk, my mind feverishly runs through options. What can I do? I’m unarmed. The daggers Saber gave me are back in the bedroom, stowed inside the closet. Nero and Zeke have been teaching me hand-to-hand combat, and I’m getting better at it, but I’m not delusional. Marya’s got a knife, and she’s on high alert. I’ll get hurt for no reason.
Pretend you’re cowed. Wait for her to be distracted.
And then what? I have no idea. I’ll just have to make it up as I go along. I’ve been doing a lot of that ever since I met Zeke, Nero, and Saber.
We reach the cockpit. “Stand there,” Marya orders, pointing to the wall on the other side of the co-pilot’s chair. “Don’t move.”
I obey wordlessly. She punches a red button, and I hear the screeching of metal against metal as the ramp closes. Shouts of alarm sound in the hanger. Too late. Marya’s already on the comm system. “Ground control,” she says. “This is the Albatross requesting a slot for take-off. This is an emergency. Code Alpha-Psi-Epsilon-One-Three-Nine.”
“Code received,” a voice replies at once. “Putting you in priority sequence, Albatross.”
A timer flashes on the display. I read it, and my heart sinks. Five minutes. That’s how long we have before we leave Banrilia. My vampires are still in Club Tranche. I’ll be gone before they even know I’m in trouble.
Marya leans back in the pilot’s chair. She throws her knife in the air and catches it, and then throws it again, the movement restless.
She’s not as calm as she appears.
“Are you jealous of me? Is that what this is about? You’re angry that Saber’s in love with me instead of you?”
She makes a scoffing sound. “That’s such a cliché. What is this, Forbidden Love? Saber and I were involved a very long time ago. I assure you, I haven’t spent the last decade pining for him. Our paths have diverged.”
“No, you haven’t, have you? Did you ever care for him? Saber loved you, and you betrayed him. He wanted to blood bond with you, and instead, you drank from Levitan.”
An unreadable expression flashes over her face, and she freezes. She almost drops the knife, only to pluck it out of the air inches from the floor.
I’ve struck a nerve.
“Love is a fool’s game, Raven,” she says finally, her voice flat. “Power is the only thing that matters.”
“Is that why you work for Harek Levitan? Because power is the only thing he cares about? Or are you in love with him? Do you imagine that he’s in love with you?”
She laughs at that. “I’ve been accused of many things,” she says. “I’m a stone cold killer. I leave death and destruction in my wake. But I’ve never yet been accused of being delusional.” Her teeth flash in a grin. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Wrong line of questioning, but strangely, she hasn’t shut me down. Why not? “Why did you kill Hiram Gratvar?”
Her body goes still. “Isn’t it obvious? Harek Levitan wants you alive.”
“No.” I’ve got her. That split-second hesitation is all I need. “That’s not why. You might not still be in love with Saber, but you couldn’t watch him die. That’s why you fired on Hiram Gratvar’s ship.” I stare into her eyes. “You’re conflicted about this mission, aren’t you? You know why Levitan wants me. If you take me to Starra, Harek Levitan will put me in a cage. He'll get what he needs from my blood, and then he'll kill me. You’ll be delivering me to near-certain death.”
The timer’s down to two minutes and thirty-five seconds. This really needs to work. “Saber saw good in you. He saw the person you could be. The person you still can be. You don’t have to do this. You can just walk away.”
For an instant, regret flashes on Mary’s face, and then her expression hardens. “People die every day,” she says, no emotion in her voice. “Death comes to all of us in the end. If it makes you feel better, Harek won’t torture you. Physical torture isn’t his thing; he specializes in mental anguish.”
The timer’s at a minute and fifty-five seconds. “I’m going to have to tie you up now,” Marya continues. “I can’t have you trying something when my attention is focused on flying this ship.”
Fear saturates me. I’ve run out of options. I make a break for the door, operating on pure instinct. I can’t let her take me to Levitan.
She moves, so fast that she’s a blur. She grabs my neck and slams me against the wall. “I told you not to move,” she snarls.
The countdown clock freezes. The comm beeps. “Albatross, this is Ground Control. We’ve been shut
down. Your departure has been canceled.”
Yes! How did I forget? Ragnar told Egon Dalsgaard to shut down the spaceports. No one can land in Banrilia, and no one can take off either.
“What the fuck?” Marya swears. She transfers her attention to the comm. “That’s impossible. I gave you a priority code.”
“I’m sorry, Albatross.” The man sounds sincere but helpless. “Your priority code is no longer valid. Banrilia is being placed under Imperial Seal, and the order has been countersigned by Empress Astrid herself. There are no exceptions.”
My bones ache. Something sharp and pointed is digging unpleasantly into my butt. None of it matters right now. I start to laugh. “I really hope you have a Plan B.”
Hang on. Is that…?
Marya snarls something at Ground Control. For a second, she’s not looking at me. My right hand is only inches from my back pocket. I reach into it slowly, and my fingers close on a syringe.
A syringe containing my blood.
I have a weapon. No. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this. I am the weapon.
Marya’s human. I’m not going to kill her. I’m about to do something far worse.
She turns off the comm. “Get up,” she snaps. “We need to go.”
“No.” I keep my right hand behind my back. “Your orders are to bring me in alive, but I'm not coming quietly. I will fight you to the death if that's what it takes.”
She rolls her eyes. “That is very brave of you, but also very foolish. I can fight you and win with one hand tied behind my back.” She gestures with the knife. “Walk.”
I back up against the wall. The syringe is warm in my palm. “I don’t think you heard me. I’m not going.”
Her fist drives into my midriff. I swear I hear ribs crack. “Now,” she says, her voice low and dangerous. “I’m not going to ask again.”
I bend over double, coughing in pain. My eyes fill with involuntary tears; my body screams in agony. It hurts to breathe.
I don’t lose my grip on the needle.