Splintered Nights

by Veronica Del Rosa

  “Uh, not really. Wanna explain it to me?” I didn’t need to feign confusion.

  “You have an army at your command. And if you sign a treaty with the other sires, you’ll be unstoppable.” Yearning and exhilaration lit his face, and amber shone in his eyes. His emotions had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the power I wielded.

  “And what would I do with this army? I have no one to conquer.” I didn’t, did I? If I worked with the vampires—a thought that made me shudder—then I’d have no one left who wanted me dead. I had no desire to rule humans, werewolves, or vampires. I wanted to be left in peace.

  Omar ran a finger down my arm and I quashed the urge to flinch. His grin widened.

  “The werewolves,” he whispered. “They would bow down to you once you crushed them underfoot.”

  I tilted my head, not quite following his reasoning. “Wouldn’t you be crushed underfoot?”

  His low chuckle raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “Of course not. I’d be by your side. I understand how these dogs think and would be invaluable against them.”

  “Sounds like your festering hatred goes deeper than for just your sire,” I said, my voice mild.

  Omar snarled, his long canines exposed. “They think I’m inferior to them. Only those born a werewolf are considered superior stock. Even that weak omega’s genes are considered more favourable than mine. I battled my way into an alpha’s position. I rule one of the largest packs. But I can never be head alpha. My choice of mates is from the discarded and unwanted.”

  “Wow, that’s bullshit, isn’t it?” I injected righteous anger into my voice, even though I wanted to tear into him. Jacy wasn’t worthless and it wasn’t her genes that made her a better person than him.

  “Good as a hostage and nothing else,” he muttered. “Too bad the vampire didn’t kill Cole like he promised.”

  “You?” I allowed surprise to enter my voice, though his tirade had already roused my suspicions. I clenched my teeth, hiding my fury. “You were working with Maxwell?”

  “He said he’d kill Cole, leave the spot open for me. But he fucked it all up and now he’s ash.” Omar smacked a glass lamp from the dresser and it shattered when it hit the floor. “You’ll help me take out Cole. He’s weak from healing her.”

  He thought I’d blithely step all over those who gave me shelter? Harm Cole, who’d protected me for years? Fucking moron.

  “The other alphas won’t let you win so easily.” I eyed him for potential weaknesses. Fighting a werewolf wasn’t the sanest strategy, but he wouldn’t expect me to attack. My blade remained tucked in its sheath. I’d bleed him for the pain he’d caused Jacy, for using her trusting nature against her.

  Omar paced the room once more, unaware of my thoughts, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. His voice guttural and cruel, he said, “I will tear them apart and stand on their corpses. They will plead for mercy and I’ll show them none.”

  He wouldn’t have a chance since I planned on—

  The door clicked opened, the other alphas crowding the entrance. Nyle pointed at my chest, and I slapped my hand against my shirt. Had it torn? Instead, my fingers brushed the small, still-live mic. Oh, someone was in trouble and it wasn’t me.

  Too bad. They couldn’t have him.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I curled my fingers into fists. “You won’t leave here alive.”

  Lex stepped into the room, feral rage melting away his glossy good looks. Baris shook his head, sadness etching deep lines around his eyes and mouth, though it didn’t lessen the determination and anger there too. Claws tipped his fingers.

  Michelle’s haughty expression was the same as ever, every inch the elegant lady. But she smoothed her hands along her skirt, an oddly nervous reaction. When I met her gaze, her wolf stared back at me. Not nervous then, furious and trying to contain it.

  The alphas each took up a spot against the wall and not a one said a word in Omar’s defence, which didn’t surprise me. They thought Infected werewolves were inferior to ones born, unworthy of alpha status.

  I’d spent two weeks with the werewolves and hated some of them for their mistreatment of Jacy. Omar’d had a century’s worth of racism heaped on him, enough to drive any sane person to extreme measures. However, he’d colluded with Maxwell. Now Lena was dead and Jacy clung to life by the barest thread.

  My sympathy died a swift death.

  Omar sneered at me. “You’re just like the rest of them. You believe the monsters are superior to us.”

  “Us? You don’t belong to the human race anymore.” I shook my head at his delusions, since I doubted he’d had any humanity left after being turned. The instincts were too great.

  I felt the pull myself, entertained thoughts I’d never acknowledged. Everyone I met fell into two categories. Predators and prey. And the world was full of prey. Monstrous desires constantly warred inside me, at odds with my human morality, demanding I take everything I wanted.

  My encounters with Isaac and Maxwell had changed me irrevocably, and a small bit of my humanity died as I finally admitted it to myself. Not many humans survived their brush with vampires and yet I had, time and again. I, too, was one of the monsters.

  I embraced the rightness of it all. All my life, I’d wondered at my place in the world and now I knew. I might be a monster, but I was humanity’s monster. I kept the rest of the monsters in check. My first act would be Omar’s death.

  “It’s your right to challenge him. No one will question his death or your right to it,” Nyle said. “We are witnesses.”

  Omar gave the middle finger to his fellow alphas. He didn’t appreciate Nyle’s automatic assumption I would win? If he thought he’d be the victor, why wasn’t he attacking?

  Ah, the werewolf wasn’t so confident about the outcome.

  I grinned, shoving all my hatred and anger towards the werewolves into the expression, and he tensed.

  Attack first or let him make the first move? He’d use his teeth and claws to rip me apart and I had no defence against his natural weapons, but I was far from helpless and I wouldn’t fight fair, not with my life on the line.

  Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I rolled my shoulders. Stakes wouldn’t help me in this battle. Unlike vampires, a sharpened stick in the heart didn’t kill werewolves. Of course, stab anyone in the chest with a piece of wood, and there was bound to be pain. Damn, now I missed my trusty standby.

  No matter. My knife was awfully sharp. Even though it wouldn’t harm vampires, I’d practiced all these years with a blade because my father had insisted on it. Had he known this day would come? With the blood of both species in my veins, had he worried about who might come for me in the day, as well as the night?

  I resisted the urge to pat the handle in reassurance. Drawing Omar’s attention to the blade would ruin the surprise.

  He held himself like a fighter, like someone used to using brute strength to win a fight—body facing me, arms loose at his side, legs planted. I couldn’t discount his cunning, though. He’d engineered Jacy’s capture by Maxwell and fooled the alphas into believing he didn’t thirst for their deaths. Perhaps killing Omar wouldn’t be as easy as I’d assumed.

  “We could’ve done great things together.” Omar scratched his scruffy jaw and his claws extended with the movement. Seeking to intimidate me? It worked. I’d rather be anywhere else, but I couldn’t walk away. It just wasn’t in me to run.

  I shifted my stance, putting one leg behind the other, and twisted my upper body so I was a smaller target. A few inches taller than me, he had a reach similar to mine. If he got a hold of me, I could hit back.

  Omar lunged at me, a calm expression on his face, as if my death meant nothing to him. I was an obstacle in his way and he’d remove me without a second’s regret.

  I jumped back like a skittish kitten and bumped into the bed. Shit, I should’ve thought this one through. Who fought to the death in a bedroom? Idiots like me, that’s who. Lucky for me, Cole�
��s bedroom was the size of a bachelor apartment, as long as I didn’t trip over the rug or slam into the dresser.

  Hopping onto the bed, I crouched and kept my hands ready to ward off an attack.

  He chuckled as he stalked closer. So glad I could amuse him.

  Omar thrust his face forward, teeth exposed for a chomp, and I right-hooked him in the jaw. His head whipped around, not from the power behind the hit but because he hadn’t expected me to punch him. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click and a growl rumbled in his throat.

  He pounced, gripping my wrists as his body weight smashed into me, and we both fell onto the bed. My knees pressing into my chest, I struggled beneath him, working my feet into position. Leverage, I needed leverage. A moment more and I’d be—

  His teeth sank into my shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh.

  Blinding agony exploded in my brain, dimming my eyesight, and I cried out, unable to hold in the noise. I wanted to shrink away from the pain, but I couldn’t. His canines held me immobile. Warm liquid trickled down the back of my neck and I shuddered, aware for the first time in years I might not survive.

  But I wouldn’t give up, and if he killed me, it wouldn’t be an easy death.

  Planting my feet against his chest, I straightened my legs in one quick motion, flinging Omar over my head. Fangs ripped from my shoulder, as painful as the bite itself, and he thudded to the floor.

  I jumped upright and swayed. Adrenaline mixed with blood loss, a horrible combination, but a time-out wasn’t gonna happen. Instinct made me whirl, and I blocked Omar’s roundhouse kick to my face with my wrist, the solid hit vibrating along my bones. I locked my jaw to keep an embarrassing whimper from escaping.

  He landed with inhuman grace and mockingly bowed. His eyes gleamed amber and his canines pricked his bottom lip, blood dripping from his chin. His humanity had been wiped away from him long ago, suffocated beneath the monster.

  The arrogant bastard thought his victory was a sure thing. I ignored my earlier thoughts echoing the same sentiment.

  With an infuriated scream, I rushed him, uninjured shoulder leading the way. Omar neatly sidestepped me, a move I’d expected, and I rolled onto the bed, putting space between me and the psycho. My eye on him, I made a dash for the small table between two windows and scooped up a long shard of broken glass from the lamp he’d shattered. The knife was a better weapon, but for now I wanted to keep it hidden.

  Omar licked his lips, savouring my blood. I couldn’t tell if it was desire or hunger lighting his eyes. A bit of both, perhaps. The thought spurred me on.

  Like a novice, I telegraphed my next move, shifting my weight so I could slash at Omar with the shard. He took the bait and dropped low, sweeping my ankles with his leg. I somersaulted over him, landing at his back, and stabbed him in the shoulder, then yanked the glass sideways to tear the wound bigger. It wouldn’t slow him down, but it hurt like hell, judging by his furious shout.

  He crouched and spun, claws out. I didn’t move fast enough. Jeans shredded, I stumbled backwards in pain. I bumped into the bed and almost fell. Omar was on me before I could recover. He gripped me in a bear hug, crushing my arms against my ribcage. I struggled to escape, to move, to breathe. Ragged gasps pushed past my lips.

  Air. I needed air.

  Blackness licked my sight and the ringing in my ears distracted me for a moment.

  “Just as I thought—weak,” Omar whispered, his face too close to mine. My vision filled with his brutal grin.

  I whipped my head back and smashed it forward, my forehead lined up with his nose. A sickening crunch competed with the ringing, and blood spurted from his cracked septum. His howl of pain made me cringe. A nasty headache pounded at my temples and stars burst across my eyes.

  He dropped me onto the bed, hands working to straighten his nasal bones before they healed crooked. I took advantage of his distraction and sucked in a lungful of air, then kicked him hard in the thigh. He stumbled backwards and I scrambled to the other side of the mattress, the shard of glass still gripped tight in my hand. Blood dripped from my palm from where it dug into my flesh.

  “Guess I’m not so weak, Infected,” I taunted, flicking my fingers at him in a bring-it motion. My other hand I kept at my side and I winced a little at the growing red stain by my feet.

  Omar sneered. “You won’t be so cocky after I rip another chunk from your throat.”

  “What, this little love bite?” I gestured to my neck. “I barely felt it.”

  His growl deepened and for a moment I worried he’d change into a wolf. I wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet since it’d give him an advantage. Some rule I was unaware of? Maybe honour kept him human, which sounded wrong, or maybe distaste for his other half, a more likely scenario.

  I rolled my shoulders, fighting against the dizziness of blood loss. His reasoning didn’t matter, so long as he didn’t turn furry. Lifting the glass shard, pointing it towards his chest, I sidled around the bed. My gaze sliced towards the other alphas, all lined up in a row against the wall. None of them appeared concerned by the outcome. If I died, would they attack him en masse? I doubted they’d let him leave here alive. I also doubted they’d intervene to save me.

  Omar mimicked my movements and we no longer had a bed between us. Drops of red trailed beside me, marring the light blue rug. My opponent hadn’t fared any better, judging by the growing stain on his side—the hole I’d ripped into his back wasn’t healing quickly. Likely splinters of glass remained in the wound.

  He prowled closer, his movements unhurried and unhindered by the pain I’d inflicted. He held his hand out, palm up, inch-long claws tipping his fingers, and gestured for me to close the gap. I sniffed in disdain. Like I was stupid enough to—

  He attacked, slamming a foot into my chest, propelling me backwards. I smashed into the wall and my head cracked off the drywall. My headache blossomed into unimaginable agony. If I could’ve ripped my brain from my head, I would’ve.

  Omar backhanded me and I tasted blood.

  I grinned through the pain, unwilling to cower before him.

  Enraged, he punched me in the gut, knocking the air from me, then aimed an uppercut for my jaw. I blocked the move, working on instinct. Letting go of conscious thought, I kicked his kneecap, then stabbed with the glass shard. He jumped out of the way, giving me room to manoeuvre. Another kick, another stab.

  We danced around the room, each of us landing hits and spraying more red across the decor. Punch, kick, slash, claw, rip. I lost track of my movements, too caught up in meting out punishment to the man who thought Jacy was expendable.

  The glass slipped from my grasp, its opaque surface coated in my thickening blood. Omar chuckled, conceit oozing from him. He thought me defenceless now. And he moved in for the kill, teeth bared and heading straight for my neck.

  With my uninjured hand, I tore my knife from its sheath and braced the hilt against my gut. An oomph burst from my lips when Omar smashed into the blade, driving the hilt into my stomach. I twisted the knife and tore downwards, spilling his insides.

  Eyes wide with surprise and disbelief, he staggered backwards, trying vainly to keep himself together. Calmly, as if someone else had taken control, I crouched and slashed his Achilles tendons. His howl of pain didn’t deter me. Instead, I bounced back up and ran the blade across the inside of his wrists. Blood flowed freely from his wounds.

  I sliced Omar’s throat, severing his windpipe. Werewolf healing could only do so much and I’d caused too much destruction to his body. He dropped to his knees and I slammed the blade into his chest, much like I’d done to Jacy.

  The light faded from his eyes. I should’ve felt regret, but I didn’t.

  I wiped my blade off using my ruined jeans. Later I’d clean it properly so it didn’t rust.

  “Bandage me up,” I ordered the quiet and stunned alphas. They hadn’t expected me to win. “I need to see Jacy.”

  I had to see her, even if Cole tore my throat out for the
damage I’d caused.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I ripped the mic off and tossed it aside, though I didn’t even know if it still worked. I didn’t want anyone else eavesdropping on Cole’s anguish or my despair, and Jacy deserved privacy.

  Without knocking, I slipped into Cole’s room and quietly closed the door behind me. His shoulders tensed and his gaze flicked upwards, but he didn’t yell at me to leave, which I took as a good sign. Unless he wanted me in the room so he could attack without any witnesses. After my bout with Omar, weariness tugged at me. I might not put up a fight.

  Jacy lay on his bed, her shirt torn open and a bloody bandage on her chest. Sweat-slicked hair clung to her temples and her eyes remained shut.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I murmured. Who was I apologizing to, the woman lying close to death or the man who’d finally realized he loved her?

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Cole stroked Jacy’s cheek. “You were a casualty, same as Jacy. I should’ve left you alone, but you fascinated me. The woman who drew the vampires. I thought I could use you and I gave no thought to what you wanted.”

  Fascinating? The word burned in my brain, illuminating exactly how Cole saw me. He’d never wanted me as a mate, but as a weapon. I could’ve been anyone and he still would’ve pursued me in the hopes I could tip the war his way.

  “What’s the survival rate of a human turning into a werewolf?” I kept my voice even. Cole’s head whipped up, wariness masking his emotions. Guess my voice wasn’t even enough then.

  “What does that matter?”

  “Stop playing games with me. Stop evading and give me a fucking answer for once.” Our entire relationship was based on lies and manipulations. He would’ve gambled with my life and if I’d died, the only remorse he would’ve felt would’ve been for the loss of a fascinating toy.

  He rocked back on his heels, cold calculation staring back at me. “The survival rate is low. But with werewolf blood already in your veins, I figured you’d turn. My real concern was you losing the sire mark.”