Deathless (The Vein Chronicles Book 2)

by Anne Malcom

  Orpheus monitored my words and the easy confidence I said them with. “Well, you’re in luck. Some race traitor Rominskitoff bitch is rumored to have taken out one of our top corporals, and fathers. I’ve been promoted, which means you’re talking to someone expensive,” he said proudly.

  Oh I loved how arrogance and pride always overrode intelligence and basic survival instincts.

  I trailed my fingers around a forgotten glass of blood. “Father?” I asked with faux confusion. “I thought this was a war, not a breeding ground. Children are mighty breakable in their first twenty years. I may like delayed gratification in my meals, but I don’t like it in my vengeance.”

  I needed to push him enough to make sure he knew about the hybrids. That would mean he likely knew enough to take me to the next player of the game, which would hopefully be a member of my family.

  I was almost certain that they were in on this, and I had more than a little renewed bloodlust for my Satanic mother after she’d organized my execution last week.

  Turnabout was fair play. Though Rick may have saved me from direct execution by an angry mob with his new ruling, their pitchforks would be flaming if I killed any member of my family without proof. Even the king couldn’t save me then.

  Not that I wanted anyone, king or slayer lover, to save me. I was responsible for that particular job. I’d saved them a lot more than they’d saved me.

  Plus, my parents were already expecting an attack from me considering that before my mother ordered my execution, they’d promised to imprison and rape me on the occasion of my second Awakening to ensure there was another Rominskitoff heir that they could rip from my—most likely really—dead arms and raise to be like any of these people in this room.

  My family was what one would call ‘dysfunctional.’

  I planned on killing them all when the time came. I just had to put in the legwork first.

  Orpheus’s laugh brought me into the present. “No, we’re not talking about children. We’re talking about a new weapon we’re building in order to give us everything we need to win this war,” he stated.

  I waited for more, but he merely stared at me.

  “I’m not growing old here, but I am growing bored,” I said with impatience. “You going to fill me in on this new and great weapon? Because if I have to guess, I’d start by telling you that I’m a Star Wars geek, and then my guess would be the Death Star, which would most likely be inappropriate in this context. Plus, not exactly the greatest of all weapons because it had a nifty little flaw that stopped all that delicious death and destruction.”

  Orpheus’s mouth twitched. I was pissing him off. Good. People tended to be more chatty right before they planned on murdering someone. It’s like they learned nothing from the movies.

  “It’s not something I’m going to utter in a crowded bar to a vampire I’ve only just met. You must be vetted by our witch, who is more powerful than you can imagine. She can see your true intentions and potential. Then John will decide whether you’re worthy to be in the cause. If not, he’ll kill you for being too weak and knowing too much or being a spy.”

  I grinned. “Sounds perfect. When do we see the witch?”

  A spark of excitement had me giving some real pep to the smile. The witch could be one of the Hocus Pocus bitches, and then I’d get to kill some birds with the same dagger. Spell and helping to quell a war. Score one for Isla.

  “You see her when I can contact her. After you give your part of the agreement.”

  His eyes left mine and went to the edge of the table where my slayer had been standing silent and sentinel.

  “Of course.” I nodded, yanking Thorne’s wrist so he slammed into the table. “But just to be clear, you have a direct line to the witch herself? As in a way of contacting her?”

  His eyes were on Thorne. “Yes, of course. Like I said, I’m expensive.”

  I shook my head. “Stupid male fucking arrogance,” I muttered.

  Then the killing began.

  We didn’t have an organized signal with Duncan and Scott—who had just appeared, looking still undead as he had been before—but Thorne plunging his dagger into the throat of red shirt guy was signal enough.

  I pouted at him. “I wanted to be the one to kill someone wearing polyester, and not as part of a costume.” I sulked as I quickly broke Orpheus’s neck so we could save him for later.

  I made it so only a couple of vertebrae kept his head attached.

  “Stay,” I ordered the twitching corpse.

  Duncan had let out a yelp and said, “Let’s make this a fuckin’ party!” Then he threw his human bodily at the bartender, who surprisingly caught her and put her out of harm’s way, before he started ripping off the heads of demons.

  Thorne had already killed the other one at the table. He jerked up at the same time as me.

  He threw his blade into the skull of a vampire about to rip into Scott, who was too busy fighting a demon to notice.

  I glared at him. “You’re all about saving damsels,” I muttered.

  Then, out of frustration more than necessity, I ripped the heart out from a passing werewolf.

  The fight was bloody enough, but like most cowards, the clientele that weren’t part of the revolution didn’t stay for a fight.

  They scattered quickly and I let most escape, mostly because I couldn’t be bothered running in this skirt. I did want to be able to wear it again if I could. The ones I did kill were the ones trying to drag half-dead humans with them.

  Duncan was fighting two demons off while Thorne yanked his blade out of a vampire, grinning with a fire in his eyes that reveled the warrior inside him. Or the monster.

  My own monster responded to his.

  He took a hit and the crunch of bone at his collarbone straightened my spine, my monster roaring in protest. I was about to delimb the demon responsible, but Thorne used his good arm to block another blow and slam a blade into its temple.

  The battle was still going but I sensed the two men had it covered.

  As much as I would’ve liked to stay and show them how I could out-kill both of them, we were on a time crunch.

  Weird Skull’s bones were knitting back together. We had to get him down to the dungeon before he woke and I had to repeat the process all over again.

  I snapped the neck of a vampire trying to go for Thorne’s throat, slowing him. Thorne glanced down at the corpse after killing the demon that had distracted him in the first place. Then up to me, his eyes wild. “I’ll let you take care of that one, ensure your masculinity stays in place.” I yanked Weird Skull out of the booth and hoisted him over my shoulder. “I’ll be downstairs torturing him for information. Have fun with the rest of the killing, honey,” I said sweetly, blowing him a kiss.

  He shook his head with a twitching mouth as his fist came into contact with a warlock attempting to utter a spell. A broken jaw was the quickest way to shut him up.

  “Only torture,” he ordered. “Don’t get fancy or reckless.”

  “Sure,” I muttered over my shoulder, snatching Scott by the collar so he missed a deathblow from a morphed werewolf.

  “Fancy and reckless are kind of my best character traits, so it’s technically his fault for not registering that,” I said while dragging Scott along. “You can help with the torture, maybe learn a few things,” I told him while I kicked down the door leading to the dungeon.

  It wasn’t locked, but I thought the whole kicking it in thing seemed more suited to the situation… and my outfit.

  We made it down to the dungeon to see it was already occupied. The vampire who was feasting on the graying man in chains was as surprised to see us as we were to see him.

  “You should have put a sock on the door or something, dude,” I informed him.

  I had thought anyone down in the dank room would’ve heard the battle above but, although their soundproofing may have sucked upstairs, here you could only hear the screams if you really craned your ears, even with vampire hearing
.

  I nodded to the vampire, who’d jumped from its almost drained corpse.

  “Take care of that, will you?” I asked Scott, my package starting to twitch with telltale signs of waking up.

  I turned to the other wall where two sets of manacles lay empty.

  I didn’t watch to see if Scott failed in subduing the vampire, concentrating on my own task and letting the other people around me either die or succeed.

  Scott appeared beside me, stained with blood but undead enough to help me chain Orpheus to the wall. I added my very own accessory, a copper dagger I plunged through his heart, almost fatally.

  It was just enough to act as somewhat of a wake-up call as he snapped his abnormally shaped head up and screamed in pain.

  I stepped back, crossing my arms and smiling at the grimacing vampire.

  “Well, good morning, sunshine,” I greeted.

  He blinked once, twice. Then his glance went down to his chest. He was smart enough to register the copper blade that stopped him from struggling. The white-hot pain he’d likely be feeling would’ve been an indicator too.

  His eyes met mine, swimming with such pure hatred and rage it tickled me more than a little pink that I hadn’t lost my touch at creating such glares. “You race traitor whore,” he spat.

  I grinned. “So many people keep saying that to me. I think I’ll put it on a T-shirt. Or my number plate.”

  I yanked out the blade that I’d snatched off Thorne at the last minute, reasoning he’d be able to handle himself without it.

  He and Duncan were having a much too easy time up there. I wanted to keep him on his toes.

  And I’d wanted the blade for selfish reasons.

  The pain that radiated through my palm while holding it wasn’t a picnic, but I handled it.

  Much better than the little bitch in front of me.

  I scowled. “You’re whimpering over a little copper to the heart? Come on, dude, that’s just embarrassing,” I said, stepping forward.

  His eyes followed my movements before settling on the blade, the low hum it was emanating causing him to register what exactly it was.

  Pure fear decorated his unpleasant face before he masked it with false bravado. “I’m not telling you a fucking thing,” he lied as the blade trailed closer to his cheekbone.

  I grinned. “Oh you will, but I hope you let me have some fun first. It’s been a while since I tortured an asshole, and I’d really like to get my hand back in.”

  Then there wasn’t much talking, only screaming.

  After the screaming came the talking.

  His breath came in long strangled pants, blood dripping from between his lips.

  The fact that he was using the mouth to breathe when he didn’t rightly have to meant I was doing my job correctly.

  “Please,” he choked through his grimace of pain. “That’s all I know, I swear.”

  I tilted my head, regarding his broken body that, thanks to my little dagger, hadn’t healed. Wounds that would kill a human, certainly. Agony would be a pitiful word to describe what kind of pain he was in. You couldn’t lie through that.

  “I believe you,” I said.

  He had given me more than I’d hoped for, which arguably wasn’t much. But now I knew the location of the witch in question and how to contact her. Plus some more info on whoever headed this operation and some of his recruiters who had been responsible for what’s-his-name’s promotion, and unwittingly, his death. They should have been thanking me, really. You don’t want someone working for you who holds up so poorly under torture.

  He blinked, hope glimmering through those pain-drenched irises that usually watched others suffer. “You do?”

  I nodded, checking my nails and frowning at the small chip on my ring finger. All these bloodbaths were wreaking havoc on my manicures. It was upsetting.

  “So y-you’ll let me go?” he asked hopefully.

  I smiled at him, forgetting my manicure for the time being and making a mental note to invest in a beauty company when I got back to the office so I could go about creating that Deathless polish that would never chip. ‘Holds well even under the most trying of tortures’ was the working slogan. “Of course.”

  The glimmer turned into something close enough to grasp. “Really?” he whispered.

  I rolled my eyes, moving forward in a lithe blur of movement, making short work of detaching his head and laying it at my well-heeled feet. “No,” I said to his corpse. “Of course not.”

  I glanced to Scott, who had been watching the entire thing with an impassive gaze. Interesting, really, since I honestly thought he’d go all… Scott-like and respond to the torture even worse than the dude I was torturing and faint or something equally ridiculous. But he was calm, like he was watching Real Housewives or something. It was great.

  Maybe he wasn’t a lost cause.

  “Really? Fuck. I’m losing my touch. Who do these vampires think I am? Mother fucking Teresa?” I shook my head. “I blame movies. Too much mercy and not enough blood.” I paused. “And that stupid emotion that seems to translate between species.”

  Scott looked down with his one working eye. “What? Fear?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Vampires don’t feel fear,” I contradicted him. “At least not the really awesome ones, present company included.” I paused. “I’m meaning me as present company, not you. You’d likely be scared of a human with PMS.” I thought on it. “Though, Sophie on the rag is homicidal. And not figuratively either.” I smiled at the reminder that her time of the month was coming up. More killing. Great.

  I strolled around the dank dungeon. “No, not fear. I’m talking about hope. That’s what killed him. And that’s what’ll kill us all if we’re not careful. If we hope idiotic things about creatures who will never change, that nature will ever change. Because it won’t. What’s set in stone is that I’m eternally beautiful and that nature will always conquer all. Not love. Not hope. Not friendship or rainbows or unicorns. Just the bitch they call Mother Nature. And her form of PMS makes Sophie’s look like a toddler tantrum.”

  “So you’re saying there’s no hope?” Scott asked, that naivety back in his voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “That Lindsay Lohan might get her shit together and win an Oscar? No, likely not. There’s no hope in our world, Scotty. Only death. And blood. And that idiot should have known exactly that.” I eyed him. “Promise me if you’re getting tortured you won’t turn as quickly as he did.” I nodded to the headless corpse.

  He nodded once. “I’ll do you proud.”

  “I do doubt that, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  I noted a thundering heartbeat and turned to see Thorne descend the last stair.

  “Great timing,” I said, clapping my bloodstained hands and ignoring the lance of pain that came with the motion considering I was still holding Thorne’s blade. “I’m all done here. How was the battle? Did you do anything I wouldn’t do? That’s leave survivors, if anyone’s wondering. Because I wouldn’t do that.”

  I watched Thorne approach in much the same way he watched me, searching his body for injury. He was covered in a fair amount of blood, only a miniscule amount of which was his. The crunch of bone I’d heard earlier, signifying a dislocated collarbone, seemed to have healed, as he was holding his muscled arms in a rather normal way.

  The sweet ambrosia coming from the shallow cut on his cheek called to me like a pair of Manolos at Barneys.

  Other than that, he was unharmed, which had my psyche relaxing slightly.

  His own jaw slackened only slightly as he came to stop in front of me, glaring down at my hands before snatching the blade from it.

  “Fuck, Isla,” he growled, sheathing it in his belt and grabbing my hands to turn them palm up.

  I frowned as he did so, eyeing the slightly singed and blackened skin that was a result of holding the knife.

  “What have I done now? Apart from all the work while you two were up there having all the fun. So I stole your lit
tle knife. I knew you’d be fine without it, and honestly you don’t deserve to have it if you can’t hold onto it.”

  Thorne covered my hands with his own, glaring at me. “I don’t give a fuck about the fuckin’ knife, Isla,” he clipped. “I give a fuck that you are literally singeing your fuckin’ palms and hurting yourself in order to use it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s a little pain and it’s totally worth it. I’ve lived through worse.” I paused. “And died through it too.”

  I tried to take back my hands but Thorne’s grip was firm.

  “You’re not to use it again for reasons like this shit. I’m not having you hurt yourself unnecessarily.”

  “I’ll hurt myself whenever I like. That’s my prerogative as a cold-blooded female. And a feminist. Now give me back my hands,” I demanded.

  His gaze was unwavering, as if there weren’t two other vampires—three if you counted the headless corpse—witnessing this exchange. “No, babe, you said I don’t deserve having something if I can’t hold onto it. So I’m holdin’ on. Forever.”

  I blinked at him. Once, twice.

  Only he could say things that made me feel all blossomy on the inside after torturing a vampire and him killing a nightclub full of creatures. Evil ones, to be sure, but still.

  “Jesus, are we in a fuckin’ Rachel McAdams movie?” Duncan groaned.

  I didn’t miss a beat, nor did I lose eye contact with Thorne as I yanked one of my hands from his grip, drew the knife from his belt and threw it in Duncan’s direction.

  The mutter of curses in Gaelic told me it’d found its home.

  “I consider that necessary,” I said.

  “I’ll allow that one, babe.”