by Cate Corvin
“We’d like to thank you for this invitation into your court, King Thraustila,” Will said. When the king nodded, he took several steps forward and knelt in front of him. My stomach churned at the sight of a slayer on their knees in front of a vampire, but Will dropped the bag and opened it, revealing the mermaids’ warped pearls. “The ocean tax, as requested.”
The King slumped back in his throne. “Perfect. But what I was really interested in was meeting my new allies.” He had a thick accent, ancient, the kind that no one had heard in the world for thousands of years.
I watched Càel watch me. His blond hair curled around his ears, and the planes of his face seemed carved with a hammer and chisel: a little rough around the edges, but the hard planes and angles were appealing. It was a shame such a man had been made vampire.
Will got up slowly as the Morrígna shifted in place, the freckled redhead sneering. “We’re honored, Your Majesty.”
“You know my name, of course.” Thraustila tapped his fingers against the arm of the throne. “I would like to know more about you and your brethren.”
I was watching Càel so intently that I saw the tiniest shift in his muscles, a giveaway of his anticipation. This was the moment he was waiting for.
“I’m Will Godalming. This is my second, Sura Enver, and my stepsister, Victoria Holmwood.”
“Stepsister?” Thraustila breathed, as Càel’s blue eyes flashed.
“Victoria,” he mouthed, and gave me the kind of grin you mostly saw on rabid dogs.
Great. He knew my face and my name. I might as well scribble down Libra’s street address and my room number and hand it to him now. Maybe I could sharpen his sword for him while I was at it.
“Family is everything, isn’t it, Will Godalming?” the King asked. The way he was slumped made him look like a petulant teenager… which I supposed he was, even after several thousand years. “A stepsister… much like my own.” He gestured to the Morrígna.
The freckled knight didn’t look like she enjoyed being compared to a slayer, and Will’s smile was tight. “Yes. Family is everything, Your Majesty.”
A touch of disquiet prickled down my back that had nothing to do with Càel’s intense scrutiny of me. What the hell did the vampire king care about our familial relations?
“The bonds of blood transcend the waters of the womb,” Thraustila said. His steel rings clinked against the chair. “That concept appeals to me, mortal or not. I would very much like to establish those bonds with your kind, Will. We will form a new kind of family.” He smiled, showing sharp fangs. “A new era of the Shadowed World awaits. Respect the Law of the Clouded Court, and every door will be open to you.”
“Our masters will be happy to hear it, Your Majesty.”
“Then go enjoy the fruits of our labor,” the king said lazily. “If my allies are pleased, I am pleased.”
He beckoned with a single finger, and a male vampire with dark, tattooed skin, a shaved head, and hazel eyes ushered a young woman forward. A human woman.
She was wearing a tiny dress spangled with silver sequins, and she looked torn between terror and exhilaration.
Sura gripped my hand, and I realized every muscle in my body had tensed up. Was Thraustila really going to do this here? In front of us?
Càel’s eyes drifted down to Sura’s hand on mine.
Thraustila gripped her arm, turning it until the soft white underside of her forearm was exposed. “Go on,” he whispered, gazing levelly at Will. “The Faeries’ dust is on the house tonight, my new friend.”
The woman gasped as his lips drew back and he sank his fangs into her, opening her brachial artery and painting his face with her blood. For a moment, I could see what he’d been millennia ago, a wild-eyed boy from ages past, dripping with the blood of his enemies, but then he yanked her into his lap to feed and the illusion was broken.
Will rose and bowed before turning his back on the king, and it took everything I had to bow and turn my back on Càel.
I forced my chin up, expecting a blade to sprout through my chest at any moment, but I passed through the blood-red door with my skin unpierced. By the time we made it back up to the lounge, I was starting to think I might live to see another sunrise.
“Are we going back now?” I asked, and Will shook his head.
“No. We’re going to get Tenebris and have a good time on the house. It’d be a deadly insult to turn down his offer.”
I held back a groan of despair.
Apolline was horrified. “Will! We’re not dressed for this!”
“I don’t give a damn if you’re wearing your uniform or a paper bag,” he snapped. “You’re going to go have one goddamn drink to make him happy, and then we can go. This is part of the negotiations.”
We didn’t end up in the pixie club, at least. The fourth floor was quiet and dark, and the other Shadowed Worlders who were in there left us alone for the most part.
I stirred my cocktail with a little paper umbrella; it was violet-tinted lemon vodka, with lavender buds and a twist of lemon peel sitting on top, rimmed with sugar. Sura told me it was called a Pixie’s Puss, but I wasn’t that gullible.
One of the vampire waiters brought the same drink to Lydia Hurst. “One Pixie’s Puss,” he said with a completely straight face.
“Seriously?” I muttered, and Sura grinned at me, leaning in a touch closer than he really needed to.
“Be glad I didn’t order you a Cambion’s Salty Backdoor.”
I made a face and dropped the paper umbrella in the glass. Càel was nowhere to be seen, but my skin was still prickled with goosebumps. Even the quiet of the lounge was too much, pressing in on me like a hand.
Apolline and Lydia, her replacement Selena, mixed spoonfuls of pixie dust no larger than a grain of sand into their drinks and vanished into the club overhead. Will sent the other half of Tenebris to keep an eye on them, but they would inevitably end up elfstruck as well.
“Good thing it’s Friday, I guess.” I couldn’t tear the image of the human woman’s face out of my mind, only moments before Thraustila plunged his fangs into her. Had she volunteered? What did a human get out of letting a vein-licker feed on them? Maybe they were paid.
“Take off your jacket and loosen your tie, Victoria the Morose.” Sura casually draped his arm on the back on my leather chair. His body heat was palpable from inches away. “Let the spirit of the weekend flow through you.”
“I’m not morose. See? I’m drinking a Pixie’s Puss.” I took a mouthful of the tart-sweet drink and tried not to make a face.
Will dropped into the armchair across from us. “You’re not going up to the club?”
“No. I’m not really in the mood for getting elfstruck out of my mind, thanks.” I shrugged and took another sip of the Puss. It really wasn’t awful after the initial blast of flowery lemon.
And almost choked. Càel walked up the stairway, his blue eyes catching mine from across the room. He jerked his head upwards, once, and moved on to the pixie club before Will or Sura noticed him.
I knew where he wanted me to go. The roof. The expression of his face said it all. I could either go of my own free will, or he’d drag me up there.
My moment of reckoning had come. I was going to die with a stomach full of Pixie’s Puss… but there were probably worse ways to go.
One way or another, I couldn’t avoid Càel or live in fear forever. If this was the day God intended me to die, then I was going down full of free liquor.
“Never mind. Let’s go to the club.” I drained the Puss, ignoring Sura’s bemused glance.
Will cut in before Sura could get his arm around me again, on my heels all the way up the stairs. I had to lose them before I met Càel; my asshole stepbrother didn’t deserve to die, and I didn’t want them finding out what I’d done, anyways.
The thumping bass of the pixie club reverberated through my chest as I spun at the top of the stairs. “Sura? You were right. The Puss was really good- can you get me another, p
lease? I don’t think the bartender liked me much.”
That was true, at least- Chloe had moved up this floor, her eyes all for Sura. I felt a prickle of irritation at the desire in her gaze, but it was ridiculous to get jealous over a guy who I’d decided was firmly off-limits.
“I… sure?” Sura gave me an odd look, but he drifted back downstairs. Now for the one who was more likely to throw a monkey-wrench in my plans.
Apolline made it easy for me. She stumbled into me, her pupils eating up her irises, and giggled. “Oh hey, Trailer Trash.”
“Hey, Polly-Wanna-Cracker. You know who really wants to dance? Will.”
She could barely focus her eyes on my face. “Will? Really?”
“Yeah. Look at him- he’s so sad and alone.” Will was actually trying to bat a particularly motivated pixie away from his face. Thraustila was taking his hospitality edict very seriously. “Why don’t you go take some of that dust off his hands and help him out?”
“Yeah, I’ll take that dust,” she said breathlessly, and I helped her stumble directly into Will.
I heard my stepbrother swearing even over the music as I escaped up the stairs to the next level.
Despite Thraustila’s warning about respecting his Laws, I wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my sword. Odds were pretty good that if Càel was going to kill me, I wouldn’t even be able to draw the thing before he was on me, but it made me feel a little better. If I was going to die anyway, I’d rather do it with a sword in hand.
I pushed the access door open, revealing the spangled sky and skyscrapers overhead, and closed it behind me.
Càel the White Wolf, the scourge of Thraustila’s Court, was waiting, his arms crossed over his chest, back to me.
I took several steps forward, and the light caught the faded lines of whip-marks across his arms.
“Victoria Holmwood.” His voice was deep, tinged with an accent as dead as Thraustila’s. Now that he was no longer roaring in pain and fury, he sounded almost like a normal person.
“That’s me.” I stopped ten feet away. Eluned’s body was gone, but the white concrete was stained with the slightest hint of ash. “And you’re Càel. Now that we know each other’s names, it’s almost like we’re friends.”
I wasn’t going to apologize for murdering his sister. Not when it was what I was made to do, and not when she’d been suffering so terribly. Better to die quickly than live in torment.
He finally turned, taking me in with much closer scrutiny than I’d been afforded in Thraustila’s presence.
Goosebumps had risen all over my body. Every instinct screamed that he was a predator, that it was in my blood to stand against him and fight to my last breath.
“Friends.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t touch his eyes. “You’ve done what thousands of men before you have failed to do: killed one of the Morrígna.”
“I did.” I refused to look away from that icy gaze. That was all the justification he would get. I didn’t have to explain myself to a vein-licker.
“Eluned had to be beaten in combat, tortured, and staked out in the sun for a full day before she was so weak that a tiny little slayer like you could best her.” My grip tightened on my sword. Càel moved, slowly circling me like a shark in the water. “Did she have any last words?”
It was hard to maintain my clear, pure hate for vampires when I would’ve done the same thing in his shoes. If the demon who’d killed James was here… it wouldn’t live to escape to Hell. “She said she saw Badb, and that she was ready.”
Càel let out a sigh, so soft I almost didn’t hear it. I turned my head to keep an eye on him, and he unsheathed the broadsword.
My muscles tightened, but he just dropped it on the roof with a clang and pulled his shirt off, revealing what would’ve been a mouthwatering sight… on a slayer. “I don’t need a sword to defeat you, Victoria. If you win, I’ll let you walk out alive.”
“And if I lose?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. There was no losing. It was win or die.
Càel shrugged, a ripple of muscle across his broad shoulders. He looked like a berserker from the Iron Age transplanted into modern times, half-naked and scarred. “I think you can imagine.”
I could, all too clearly. I slid my sword out and dropped into the guard stance, where I’d wait for him to strike first.
“Do you have any last words, Victoria Holmwood?”
My mouth was dry, muscles tense, every cell in my body clamoring that they didn’t want to die yet. It wasn’t my time. I still had so much left to see and do. But here I was, still a green slayer against vampires, going toe to toe with one of the most merciless of them all.
I’m sorry I couldn’t avenge you, James, or get our name on the wall, but if I die here… I guess I’ll find out if there’s a Heaven with you in it. “See you soon, Jim-Jam.” I gritted my teeth and nodded to Càel. “I’m ready.”
He gave me a considering look. “Who is ‘Jim-Jam’?”
“My brother, James.” My palms were sweaty as hell. Not good. “What does it matter to you? Let’s get this over with.”
A second later he was gone.
A foot smashed into my hip and sent me flying. I curled and rolled, then spun on my heel to strike back against Càel, curving my sword in a broad arc.
The blade missed his chest by an inch and then he was within my reach, smashing his palm flat against my chest and sending me sprawling again.
I landed flat on my back, the air beaten out of my lungs, and realized with a sick lurch that he was playing with me.
The muscles in my stomach screamed when I flipped back up onto my feet. Càel gave me a smile that was full of cool, unshakeable confidence.
There was no way I was going out so easily. The next time he lunged, aided by preternaturally fast speed, I was ready. The edge of the blade just caught his shoulder, slicing down across one pectoral.
Blood welled in a thin line, and the wound healed immediately.
But it was enough. Even if I died here, I’d drawn blood on Càel the White Wolf. Put that in the books, bitches.
Càel looked down at the streak of red on his chest, lazily running his thumb over the still-wet blood. “Want a taste?”
My stomach lurched. “Fuck no.”
“Sure?” He licked the blood off his finger, never looking away, like he was daring me. “Only three people have ever tasted me.”
Was that an innuendo? From the glint in his eye, it was. “But did they live to tell the tale?”
Càel laughed softly. “No.”
I desperately wanted to wipe my palms, but I didn’t dare, not as fast as he was. “I’ll pass, then, thanks.” You couldn’t pay me to drink vampire blood.
He moved in again, and I slashed out at him, but he was too quick. I missed. The spot where Eluned had died was between us. “Why’d you want me to take her fangs?” I circled the spot, careful to keep my ever-so-slightly weaker left side angled away from him.
The vampire’s cocky grin faded. “It’s the tradition of our kind, slayer. She died on a blade, and her time on this earth deserves to be honored. Thousands would kill to wear the fangs of a Morrígna.”
“Excuse me, I’m sorry- wear her fangs?” What kind of barbaric shit was that? Just when I thought vampires couldn’t get any more disgusting, they found new and interesting ways to prove me wrong.
“I believe I just said that. Do you slayers ever bother to learn about anyone other than yourselves? It’s a blessing to have a great foe wear your fangs, a sign that a vampire was worthy of combat and a noble death.”
I couldn’t believe I was about to disparage myself to a vein-licker, but… “You said it yourself. She was already weak and dying. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight.”
Càel went still, which made me nervous. He wasn’t even pretending anymore, and we both knew he could snap my neck like a twig before I blinked. “Why did you kill her, Victoria Holmwood?”
My sword had never felt so heav
y. “Because she was dying.”
“No.” Càel’s fists curled. “Why did you kill her? What did you feel when you drove a blade through my blood-sister’s heart?”
I sensed the end was coming. His strange humoring of me was at its end. The spot where Eluned had breathed her last was just under my feet, and the memory of my dagger piercing right through her crackling ribcage to the roof made me feel ill. “I felt terrible for her. She was in so much pain, dying, and… she said she was ready. I wouldn’t want to suffer like that, either.”
Càel nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his chin. “You killed her because she needed you, when she couldn’t hold the blade herself. Not because of hate for what she was.”
I felt like I was moving through a dream, where nothing was going quite the way I’d imagined. In my head, I’d already been bleeding out from a fatal wound at this point, not discussing the philosophical implications of why I’d murdered a vampire.
“She said please. She asked for the end.”
That’s when he struck. I blinked, and he’d pulled my sword out of my hand as easily as taking candy from a baby. It clattered across the roof.
I punched back, aiming an uppercut at his chin with all my bodyweight behind it, but he grabbed my fist and yanked it forward, his ankle hooked around mine. Oldest trick in the fucking book, and I fell for it like a novice.
I went down hard, with Càel crouched over my chest. His fingers found my throat and dug between my tendons, and he smiled when he felt my heartbeat skyrocket. “You’re at my mercy, slayer.”
“Sure looks like it.” My voice came out hoarse and strangled under the pressure of his palm around my throat. The small, scared part of me that didn’t want to die wanted to close her eyes, but a slayer didn’t go out like that. I’d look Càel the White Wolf right in the eye while he strangled the life out of me. “Is this the part where you rip out my innards and string them over the club like Christmas decorations?”
A misty look came into Càel’s eyes. “Ah, gizzard-stringing. I haven’t done that since… 1431, in a small village in France.”
I coughed, sharp pains shooting through my neck. “I’m trying to use humor to cope with my impending death, thanks for ruining it.”