by Eva Brandt
They didn’t have a lot of room in my tiny apartment for a grand confrontation, so naturally, they crashed against my second-hand, but well-loved furniture. Pierce managed to scorch several walls, upend the couch and stumble into the TV. My chandelier could not hold Malachai’s weight and came crashing down. While I didn’t think any of the damage they did to the room was that serious, I still grew infuriated.
“Stop it now!” I shouted, threads of green bursting from my fingertips and clashing against Pierce’s magic. “If you break my mug, supernatural creatures or not, I’ll make you regret it.”
It was a stupid thing to say, so stupid I was almost embarrassed at the absurdity. Yes, I liked the tea mug that was still on my coffee table. It had a cute design with a disgruntled kitten on it. Diane had laughed when she’d given it to me. She’d said I looked just like it when I didn’t want to do something, which was often. I’d also lost two other mugs I liked during the incident with Declan, the day before. At this rate, I would run out, and that was unacceptable.
Nevertheless, I wouldn’t have harmed anyone over a mug, especially not when it was a gift from a person who had used me. In the end, that did not matter. My angry request worked, perhaps precisely because it was so ridiculous. Malachai and Pierce stopped fighting and turned to look at me with almost comical expressions of confusion. “Your mug?” Pierce asked.
“My Grumpy Cat mug!” I hissed at Pierce, pointing at the location of the cup in question. “The one Diane gave me last Christmas.”
“Right,” Pierce said. “I... I forgot. Sorry.”
Malachai glared balefully at him, and I realized he wanted to point out that it wasn’t the mug Pierce should have apologized for. “This isn’t the best place to settle our fight,” he said instead. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “No matter how careful we are, we might still endanger Lucienne.”
Pierce nodded. Both the glowing weaponry and the irritating shield in front of me started to fade. “I can agree with that, as long as...”
He trailed off and tilted his head as if he had just heard something Malachai and I couldn’t. Then, he suddenly went rigid and shouted, “Get down!”
Almost at the same time, my windows exploded, the blast so powerful it sent me reeling back. Pierce’s magic flared around him even more brightly than before, keeping the glass shards at bay. Meanwhile, Malachai threw himself on top of me, shielding me with his own body, obviously not too confident that Pierce would be able to contain the explosion.
He might have been right about that because while the glass shards didn’t hit us, the pressure in the room increased to such extents that my hair stood on end and I began having trouble breathing. Static electricity crackled over the walls and Pierce let out a vicious curse. “Malachai! Take her and run! I’ll hold them off.”
“What?” I asked, more befuddled than ever. “Hold who off?”
Malachai didn’t answer. Instead, he unceremoniously grabbed me and draped me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring my helpless protests, he burst out of the apartment, into the hallway of my building.
“Malachai!” I tried again. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Scavengers,” he replied, already rushing down the stairs. “The worst possible kind we could run into.”
He fidgeted with a small device attached to his ear, something I hadn’t originally noticed. A communicator of some kind? It lit up as he tapped on it and he said, “Guardian Malachai Braun in urgent need of assistance. Plagues detected on site of mission. Repeat: plagues detected on site of mission.”
“Request accepted,” the person on the other side of the connection responded. “Dispatching reinforcements. ETA, six minutes.”
“We don’t have six minutes!” Malachai snapped.
“You don’t have six minutes,” the voice in my head said at the same time.
Great. If Malachai and the voice agreed on that, I really didn’t want to face the reason why they were so apprehensive. Hell, the word “plagues” was enough to make me just as wary.
Above us, another explosion sounded, coming from the direction of my apartment. A scream pierced the air, excruciatingly loud, and my insides froze as I both understood and acknowledged what was happening.
It wasn’t a horrible dream or something I could hide from. We were under attack again, by a group of scavengers, and a man I cared deeply about—maybe even loved—was in danger because of me. He had stayed behind to stall, to give me time to escape, and he was suffering.
My wariness instantly vanished and I started to struggle in Malachai’s hold. “We can’t leave him! We can’t leave Pierce. We have to go back.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” Malachai said, his voice stern, like a sentence. “He’s most likely already dead.”
Dead? No, he couldn’t be dead. I still needed to talk to him. I still had to ask why, to tell him that I didn’t mind being used as a battery. I still needed to forgive him for lying to me.
He couldn’t be dead.
“You don’t know that,” I croaked out, tears now dripping down my cheeks. “Please... We can still save him.”
“No, love, we can’t. For what it’s worth, I am sorry, but we have no other choice.”
He sounded like he meant it, but that did little to comfort me. Could I use my strange magic again? I doubted it would make much of a difference. I’d only managed to help Declan through it because I’d needed to prove a point, but I didn’t think my astral projection skills would save Pierce from our attackers. The voice was silent as I debated the option, which probably meant it didn’t approve of this idea.
As I struggled to come up with a solution, Malachai burst into an apartment on the first floor. It was empty, its usual occupants at work, and when we escaped out the window, the coast was clear. Still holding onto me, he jumped off the fire escape, onto the neighboring building, easily making the leap that would’ve been impossible for a human being. I might have been impressed by the feat, but I was too busy staring behind me, at my home, desperately hoping I’d catch a glimpse of Pierce. It was in vain. I couldn’t see any movement beyond the shattered windows, and that said far too much about Pierce’s fate.
My grief over his possible death distracted me from the other thing the ominous silence meant, and I only realized it when a lightning bolt flashed our way, missing us by inches. Malachai jumped back and turned on his heel, having apparently decided to adjust our route.
It was useless. Several figures, both male and female, manifested on the roof, just as impossibly fast as Malachai. They said nothing and made no attempt to approach, instead just blocking our escape route and watching us with unnerving, glowing eyes.
The reason for this became obvious when a smug, male voice spoke out from behind us. “You’re not going anywhere, vampire. You have something I want. Give me the woman, and you might survive this.”
Malachai placed me down, positioning himself between me and the speaker. By the time I recovered my composure, he had already retrieved his gun from his jacket. It wouldn’t help us much if the scavengers decided to attack, since there were at least ten of them and Malachai was alone. However, Malachai seemed to think the new arrival was the most dangerous one. I agreed.
Unlike most of the Accursed I’d met so far, who had been wearing either their Matrix-inspired uniforms or the elaborate robes that would have looked great on the set of any fantasy film, the speaker was dressed in a top-of-the-line three-piece suit. It framed his body to perfection, and between that, and the immaculate cut of his hair, he reminded me of those GQ models Diane liked to enthuse about.
I’d have actually called him handsome if not for the vicious smirk he directed our way. “I have a fondness for vampires,” he drawled. “This doesn’t have to be painful for you.”
“You have to know that I’ll never let you touch her,” Malachai answered.
“You say that like you have a choice.”
And just like that, the man poi
nted his hand and a strange vapor slid out of Malachai’s mouth. He crumpled to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.
It happened so quickly every muscle in my body seized and refused to move. My mind was still working a million miles an hour, though, and I gasped as the veil on my consciousness fully lifted and I took in the identity of the person standing in front of me. I’d seen that smirking face before. It had happened at the club, the day my life had changed.
I remembered a man with a gun, taunting me and Declan with a speech worthy of a James Bond villain. I remembered him shooting Declan, standing next to his writhing body as my werewolf endured the effects of the silver poisoning. I remembered refusing to allow my champion to die, finding a gun of my own, and shooting my enemy in the heart.
He hadn’t been wearing a suit then, but it did not matter. It was definitely him, Mr. Generic Obnoxious Villain. Here he was again, hurting another person who had been trying to protect me.
“Impossible,” I couldn’t help but say. “You’re dead. I saw you die. I shot you.”
His grin widened and his eyes glinted with malice and satisfaction as he replied, “Yes, you did, sweetheart. But I’m not so easily killed. After all, you cannot kill death itself.”
It should have sounded as ridiculous as my comment about the mug. It should have sounded like the self-aggrandizing speech he had delivered at the club. Somehow, it was different. He was different, so much so that I couldn’t make myself say anything else, let alone mouth off at him like I had during our first meeting.
He arched a brow at me as if disappointed in my reaction. “What is it, little human? Have you finally understood your position and realized your dire mistake?”
I still didn’t reply. Instead, I dropped to my knees next to Malachai, hoping against all hope that maybe he might still be alive.
When I touched his hand, it was icy cold. He wasn’t breathing. When I brushed my fingers over his neck to take his pulse, I could feel no heartbeat.
My head started spinning. Pierce’s face superimposed over Malachai’s, and I felt like I was about to throw up. Why? Why was this happening? This had to be some kind of terrible nightmare.
“Lucienne,” the voice in my head said quickly, “Malachai Braun is a vampire, and a powerful one at that. Plagues have a hard time killing vampires like him. The two of you might still get out of this one. He’s still alive, but it will be tough for him to recover on his own, especially during the day. You need to focus.”
The words chased away the crippling fog of dread, grief, and guilt settling over my mind. Right, a vampire. Were Accursed vampires actually undead? I didn’t have a clue, and I was pretty sure Malachai had been breathing earlier. Also, to what extent was he susceptible to sunlight? He hadn’t shown any signs of having such a vulnerability, but that didn’t tell me anything, since we’d hadn’t been out of my apartment that long.
In any case, the voice had never led me astray in the past. I needed to focus. I didn’t know how to fight scavengers or protect a vampire from sunlight, but Malachai had called for reinforcements. The Alarian he’d spoken with had said they’d need six minutes to get here. At least two or three must’ve past since we’d left the building. If I could get the upgraded version of Mr. Generic Obnoxious Villain to do the stupid monologue thing again, I might have a chance to survive this, save Malachai and perhaps even find a way to track down Pierce.
I looked up at the strange man, or plague, as both Malachai and the voice had called him. I couldn’t remember what he had asked, but I did my best to provide an answer anyway. “If this whole thing is about what happened at the club, I didn’t actually know what I was getting myself into at the time. I was only trying to defend myself.”
His smile widened as if I was a dog that had just performed a nice trick for him. “Yes, humans do that. Well, most living beings do. I hear it’s called the self-preservation instinct. It’s so charming. As much as I love the taste of death, the fear and the struggle make it so much better. Like adding a condiment to your favorite meal.”
Condiments? What was this maniac talking about? Did it matter? Maybe I should just indulge him. He did seem to like hearing himself talk. It would help my self-appointed task to stall him.
“I wasn’t aware death tasted like anything,” I replied. “It shouldn’t even be edible, should it?”
“Maybe not for a regular person, no, but the Accursed are not regular people.” A shadow swept over his face and his expression darkened, turning as icy as the Arctic. “Besides, many things exist and happen that shouldn’t. Don’t you agree?”
Actually, I did. My life—and particularly the most recent events that had landed in my lap—were clear evidence of it. “Of course I agree. Nothing is fair, in life or death.”
“And what is your answer to that? If life and death were to take everything you’ve ever loved from you, what would you do?”
What would I do? I clenched my fists, the memory of Pierce’s earlier scream still so very fresh in my mind. “I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”
Mr. Not-So-Generic-but-Still-Obnoxious-Villain shook his head in disappointment. “Well, you probably should. It’ll help you be more prepared in the future.”
He walked to my side and knelt next to Malachai’s prone body, so close to me that I could see the flickers of strange light in his blue eyes. “Do you know why I like vampires, Lucienne Hastings? They’re unpredictable. Both dead and alive, yet neither. So very stubborn. The flavor of the air in their lungs, of their lives... It’s always so unique. It can be as tasteless and bland as porridge, or it can be as sharp and delicious as a chocolate ice-cream. A vampire fighting in the sunlight... He’s like crème brûlée.
“The life of a twice-blessed, though...” He licked his lips and leaned in closer to me, whispering. “It’s like a shot of LSD. Pure fire, straight to the bloodstream. Sometimes, it leaves this burning after-taste, like the best vodka in the world. And the life of a werewolf is even tastier. The self-preservation of a shape-shifter is always so strong. They fight me so very hard. They never win, of course, and it only gives me better results. They’re always like a five star, full course meal.”
My eyes widened at the implications of his response. He wasn’t just referring to Pierce, but to Declan too. “Y-You didn’t... You couldn’t have...”
“Is that a fact?” He laughed, the cruel, mocking sound raking over the jagged wound he had opened in my soul. “I think you’ll find that’s not at all true.”
Bright-hot fury rose within me, and I launched myself at him, desperate to hurt him in some way, just like he had hurt me. He was close enough that I managed to take him by surprise, land on top of him and claw at his face. I was no shape-shifter, though, and my efforts didn’t do any damage. He grabbed my wrists and pinned me against the ground with ease, covering me with his larger body.
Declan had done something very similar the day before, but it hadn’t felt like this. The mere comparison was offensive. Declan’s touch had freed me to be and do whatever I wished, but with this man, I felt paralyzed by my own helplessness, grief, and anger. I still struggled underneath him, trying to gather my scattered wits and summon the magic that had come to my aid in the past.
Where was the disembodied voice when I actually needed it?
My resistance, while feeble, did cause a reaction in the man, but not one I liked. “You have so much fire. I think I’m going to take my time with you.” He buried his face in my hair and inhaled. “I think your death will taste good, but before I enjoy that, I might enjoy you while you’re still alive. What do you say?”
“I’d rather die than sleep with you, you bastard,” I spat at him.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. Both things can be arranged. In fact—”
The sound of a gunshot interrupted whatever disgusting thing he had undoubtedly been planning to say. Blood and brain matter splattered on my face, and the man’s body slumped on top of me, limp and dead.
I tried to shove him off me, but much like every other Accursed, he was too heavy. I then decided that it was perhaps not such a bad thing that I had an Accursed shield, because a fierce battle began on the rooftop. While I couldn’t see very well what was going on, a stray bullet could hit me at any time. Apparently, the longest six minutes in my life had passed, and reinforcements had arrived. It was a shame that they were just as likely to kill me as they were to save me.
I should have given them a little more credit because Prince Darius himself made his way to my side and freed me from my trap. He shoved the body off me and pulled me to my feet. “Stay behind me. Do not do anything I do not explicitly tell you to do.”
This time, I had no intention of disobeying. One look around me told me I was completely out of my depth here. Alarian fighters had engaged the scavengers in all-out combat once again, and it was just as messy and chaotic as it had been at the club. Strange flares of magic erupted around us, and if they didn’t reach me, it must’ve only been because Prince Darius was in the way, blocking the energy using his own skills.
To make matters worse, the asshole who’d caused this whole disaster didn’t stay dead. In fact, Darius’s words almost seemed to flip a switch inside him and he cracked his eyes open. Wiping his face of blood, he got up, his motions so slow they felt like a deliberate insult to the Alarians. “Prince Darius, you shouldn’t order ladies around. That’s very rude and old-fashioned.”
“I’ll just have to apologize to Ms. Hastings later then,” Darius replied. “I tend to prioritize killing plagues over manners.”
If that was true, why hadn’t he shot the plague again? Maybe a high enough dose of silver poisoning would make him stay down. The gunshot had worked when I’d killed him in the club, even if he’d come back.
Darius didn’t seem to think this was an appropriate approach, because he offered me the gun, never tearing his eyes away from the plague as he did so. “Besides,” he added, “it would be just as rude to not give someone so famous the attention he deserves, Mr. Vandale.”