Pacing in his office, Santos clutched his cellphone in one hand. Every call he’d made had resulted in the knot in his gut clenching ever tighter. With all that was going on in the supernatural realm, he couldn’t believe his sister would be so flagrantly inconsiderate. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea that Cian and his necromancer-vampire hybrid may have taken her.
Dark hair falling over his brow, he rested his hands on the edge of his desk. Everything felt wrong. The takeover of Austin and the capture of Amaliya should have been easy. Instead, he had lost a valuable witch and was quickly losing face in the eyes of the other vampire leaders. Santos had fought hard to claim San Antonio, Texas as his territory and meticulously created a strong cabal that was feared by the other vampire masters of Texas. He refused to lose their fear and respect.
For years he had left Cian alone in Austin. The most powerful of vampires, The Summoner, had created Cian. For that reason, Santos had not dared to move against him. Cian had lived a solitary life in his small college town for nearly forty years. The last decade had altered the state capital into a growing metropolitan area that was able to now support a greater vampire presence. The arrival of Amaliya had changed things further when she killed The Summoner.
Amaliya was pure power.
Santos loved power.
With The Summoner gone it was time to kill Cian and claim Amaliya, but nothing had gone as planned. To make matters worse, Etzli, the one person who was supposed to be his unwavering supporter, had been elusive and contrary of late. Santos had already lost Irma, his black witch, and Manny, one of his guards, this week when he’d sent them to test Amaliya’s power. He didn’t want to lose anyone else, especially his sister.
Checking his phone again, Santos growled low in his throat. None of the people searching for Etzli were reporting in. This was not a good sign. What if she was dead? The thought terrified him. They’d survived for so long together he couldn’t bear the thought of not having her near him.
There was a sharp knock on his office door, then it opened without his permission. Gregorio poked his narrow, craggy face through the gap.
“Since when do you just barge in, Gregorio?”
“My master, there’s a situation developing. You must come quickly!”
“What is it?” Santos asked, his voice sharp with disapproval. Now his servants were disrespecting him in his own home. He’d deal with whatever was upsetting Gregorio then punish him.
“Etzli has returned, but not alone. It’s...” The man hesitated. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and upper lip. Fear was in his eyes.
“Is she hurt?” Santos moved swiftly toward the human.
“They’re with the blood minions. It’s very bad,” Gregorio muttered, lowering his eyes in submission. “Very bad.”
Santos wrenched the door from the man and brushed past him into the long hallway. The heels of his highly polished black leather boots clicked sharply against the tiled floor as he swiftly strode toward the wing where he kept the humans that provided blood to his cabal. The blood minions were well taken care of and offered their throats and necks, and sometimes other choice spots, willingly and without complaint. They were addicted to the vampire bite. Santos kept them in luxury until either they died or were turned into new members of his vampire family. A few of them were his personal favorites, and only fed him. There were very strict rules in place when it came to the minions. One was not to kill them without Santos’s explicit permission.
The reek of blood, terror, and offal reached him when he entered the wing the minions inhabited. Screams, sobs, and moans assailed his ears, emanating from the large room used as a recreational room. Bursting into a sprint, Santos leapt the length of the hall. The footfalls of his cabal sounded in his wake. Word spread fast among his vampires when something was amiss.
The vampire hurtled through the arched doorway into the room.
Blood splashed the walls, stained the furniture, and puddled on the floor. The bodies of the minions were strewn about like debris after a Texas tornado. One his favorites, seventeen year old Ricky, lay in two pieces near his feet.
“Etzli!” Santos shouted, rage blinding him so that he didn’t immediately see if she was among the broken, torn bodies.
“She was hungry,” Etzli said calmly from the shadows.
Santos whirled about, glaring at his half-sister. Long black hair glimmered in the light and her dark eyes burned like coals. Clad in a black dress that was slashed to the thigh, she held one of her bone knives in one hand. Blood was slathered across her full lips. Raising one arm, she revealed a twisted, stumpy hand.
“And I needed to regrow this.”
Confused and frightened, Santos grabbed her mutilated limb. “Who did this to you?”
“Cian,” Etzli answered.
“Cian?” Santos stared at her, not understanding. “You fought Cian?”
“And Amaliya.”
“Where?”
“A graveyard in the Texas Hill Country.” Etzli smirked, obviously enjoying feeding him only tidbits of information.
“Why did you go there alone?” Santos demanded.
“I wasn’t alone.” His sister turned adoring eyes toward the center of the room.
“Master, she’s still killing,” Gregorio said, his voice urgent.
Disoriented by all that was occurring, Santos whipped about to see a girl he didn’t recognize crawling on her toes and fingertips toward a cowering female human. At first he thought it was a child, but then realized it was a young woman, perhaps in her late teens. Blood soaked her pale blond hair, stained her white lace dress red, and dripped from her lips.
“Stop!” Santos ordered.
The girl hissed at him, baring long fangs, then grabbed the sobbing human by the collar of her dress and dragged her across the slippery floor toward her mouth.
“Stop! Don’t touch her!” Santos hurtled toward the vampire.
Thrashing about, the chosen victim screamed for Santos. He was about to grab her hand and wrench her from the grip of the vampire when her throat was shredded by the fangs of the other vampire. Blood, hot and precious, sprayed over Santos, instantly soaking his blue silk shirt. The blond vampire plunged her face into the fount of blood to drink.
With a howl of rage, Santos lurched forward to seize the intruding vampire.
“Don’t touch her!” Etzli’s voice hissed, then Santos was jerked off his feet and slammed to the ground.
Striking out in anger, Santos knocked his sister away. She immediately kicked out, sending him sliding across the bloody floor. Landing against a pile of broken bodies, Santos snarled, rising swiftly to his feet. Etzli glowered at him, standing between him and the strange vampire who was feasting on the last of his minions.
“What’s happening?” he shouted.
Santos was dimly aware of his cabal gathering in the doorway. At least twenty of his people were watching. None moved to interfere, clearly awaiting his order.
“She needed blood,” Etzli answered coldly. “Lots of it, to fully restore her powers. Rachoń was keeping her only half-alive with her own blood.”
“Who is she?” Santos voice was cold, clipped, and full of his fury. Not only were his blood minions destroyed, but he was being usurped by his own flesh and blood.
Etzli’s response was a slow, cruel smile. “Your new master.”
“Jefe?” one of his guards said in Spanish. “Boss?”
Santos raised a hand, quieting the murmurs among the vampires clustered together watching the bloody feast. Their eyes burned bright, their own hunger rising.
“Etzli, explain yourself right now.”
Etzli’s smile only broadened.
The girl behind Etzli dragged herself upright, drunk on the blood she had consumed. Swaying, she stared at Santos with bright blue eyes. She licked her lips with a bloody tongue.
“Who is she, Etzli?”
“Get on your knees, Santos,” Etzli ordered. Directing her dark eyes at the vampires sta
ring in shock at the scene playing out before them, she said, “On your knees!”
The eyes of the cabal turned to Santos. Fury enveloping him, he clenched his hands at his sides. “Etzli, I’m warning you...”
“No, I’m warning you!” Etzli snapped. “Your defiance will not be tolerated, Santos! Now on your knees! All of you!”
“What the fuck, Etzli?” one of the vampires said, his dark eyes menacing. “You can’t talk to Santos like that!”
“Jorge, this is between me and my sister,” Santos said, holding up one hand in warning. Though anger his anger was close to consuming him and sending him into a violent rampage, he stared at his sister with the last bit of hope he had inside of him. “Etzli, this is my house! My city! My cabal! What the fuck is this...thing,” he gestured at distaste at the blood-soaked vampire, “doing to you?”
“I said on your knees!” Etzli screeched.
In a blur of shadow, she struck out at the cabal. Gasps of pain and shock rang out, mingling with the crunch of bone. Etzli’s whirling figure slashed at the vampires with deadly efficiency. In seconds, they were on the floor, legs shattered, splinters of bone puncturing their flesh and clothing. Standing over the broken men and women, Etzli twirled her bone dagger in her one good hand.
Santos at last felt fear.
“On your knees, Santos,” Etzli said calmly, her threat clear.
One of the male vampires made a grab for Santos’s sister. She slashed off his head with one mighty blow. It rolled away with a meaty thump.
After all his years of hard work, all his plans, Santos was thunderstruck to realize he was losing his cabal to the one person he had loved and trusted above all others. “Etzli...”
The reek of death, blood, fear, and dark magic filled the room. Santos’s eyes slid toward the pale, blonde vampire standing placidly among the corpses. The air grew frigid as the creature stared at him.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
The blue eyes flashed white and the slaughtered minions started to squirm around him. Those who were able to stand rose to their feet, while the ones in chunks flailed like newborn babes.
“Where is that famous Latin temper, Santos?” the girl asked. She stepped over the writhing bits of human flesh, advancing on him.
“There is another one,” Santos said at last. “And you have enslaved her, Etzli?” His dark eyes darted toward his sister.
“I serve her,” Etzli replied, her voice filled with reverence.
Bloodied fingers gripped at Santos’s legs. Glancing downward, he saw Ricky’s upper half attempting to drag him to the floor while his legs flailed nearby. With disgust, Santos kicked the partial corpse away.
“I will not kneel,” he said at last. “This is still my cabal. You will have to kill me to take it.”
“I don’t want to kill you,” the blonde vampire said, laughing. “Not yet. I don’t need to kill you to take your cabal from you.”
Another vampire attempted to attack Etzli. She lashed out, and another head rolled across the floor.
Rippling waves of dark magic flowed out of the new vampire, a visible manifestation of her power. Resembling great wings, the darkness knitted the corpses into monstrous creations.
“No!” Santos gasped, at last understanding. “No! You’re dead!”
“Do you really think a little thing like the death of my body would stop me?” The girl laughed with delight. “You’re such a foolish little child.”
The massive creatures made of human flesh, bone, and sinew roared. Teeth made of broken bones filled their maws.
Santos sought out his sister’s gaze, desperate to understand her betrayal. “Etzli, why?”
“Because The Summoner is our future. We’ve become weak and complacent. The Summoner will restore us to greatness.” Lifting her chin, she visibly dared him to argue with her.
The hulking monsters of flesh moved menacingly toward Santos. They disgusted him and he took a step away from them.
“We’re blood, Etzli. You can’t betray me this way.”
“I’m not betraying you, Santos. I’m saving you. You’re weak. Pathetic. These little games you play are silly and childish. You want to be king of your own realm instead of realizing the greatness of what we are.” Etzli resembled the Aztec blood goddess she claimed to be as she stepped out from amidst the vampires she had crippled. “Our time is coming. Either you stand with us, or die.”
Santos shifted his gaze to the woman he now realized was The Summoner. How the ancient vampire had come to reside in the body of the slender blonde woman was of no importance. The glowing white eyes and cold smirk terrified him.
“The Summoner has returned to us. She will guide us to our true victory,” Etzli proclaimed to all the vampires. “She is the purity of our power.”
Stepping toward Santos, The Summoner raised her hands. “Kneel, Santos.” A ring flashed on one finger, and Santos flinched, a sharp pain filling him. The monsters made of flesh and bone shambled forward, their gigantic arms made of the intertwined limbs of the dead tipped with massive claws made of bone. The blood splattered across the room slithered like red snakes across the floor, wrapping around the girl’s body before sinking into her pale skin. As the bright red liquid vanished into the body of The Summoner, the death magic of the necromancer/vampire increased. Razor sharp slashes of power shredded through Santos. At first he thought it was an illusion, then he felt his cold vampire blood oozing from the many wounds covering his body.
“I said...kneel.” The smirk was gone. A cold, impassive face stared at him. The white glowing eyes compelled him to obey.
Shuddering, Santos locked his legs, refusing to fall to The Summoner’s power. “No.”
A corner of The Summoner’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing.
One of the monsters swung its long arm, its claws glistening wetly. Santos fell as his leg was torn from his body. Gritting his teeth, he refused to cry out or reveal his agony. Willing his wound to heal, he felt his powers waning. Silence filled the room. Lifting his head, he saw the vampires of his cabal were all shifting their healing bodies into kneeling positions. Gregorio was already prostrate before Etzli.
Striding over to Santos, The Summoner planted her small foot on his chest, shoving him onto his back. “You will kneel before me willingly.” Pressing down, she broke his sternum, driving it into his heart. “Do you understand me?” Applying more pressure, she cracked ribs.
Blood bubbling on his lips, Santos glowered up at The Summoner.
“Kill him,” Etzli said, her dark eyes hard as obsidian.
“No,” The Summoner intervened. “Chop his other leg off, drain his blood, and pack him away until he’s needed.” Tilting her head, her blonde hair stained red by the blood she had consumed, The Summoner said to the cabal, “You serve me now.”
“Yes, Master,” they answered in unison.
“Our time comes.” Leaning down, The Summoner gripped a handful of Santos’s hair and drew his face close to hers. “You will see my greatness. You were a babe playing the games of children. Soon you will see true power.”
Amaliya shoved the silver dagger into the sheath in her boot and reached for a second one tucked into the foam of the weapons locker Cian had hidden in the base of one of the guest beds in their penthouse.
“I’m carrying the obsidian blade and the silver-plated sword.” Cian squatted beside her, loading a clip with silver bullets for the pistols. He wore thin black gloves to protect his hands. “I’m going to put the silver stakes in the black bag, the white birch in the red. The silver will work on both vampires and weres. The white birch is for Etzli. It’s even stronger than silver.”
“Gotcha.”
Amaliya was glutted on the blood of the residents of Cian’s apartment building. As soon as she had awakened, she had slipped in and out of the fancy apartments sipping from the throats of the inhabitants until she literally couldn’t drink anymore. Cian had taught her to drink without killing, but her anger an
d grief was so strong it had been a struggle not to drain her victims dry. Red-tinged tears streaked her face. She hated that she was crying, yet how could she not? Not only was she mourning, she was furious. Her grandmother had been incredibly important in her life and now she was gone. Wiping at her face, she struggled to steady her nerves.
“As soon as we reach Santos’s mansion, bring the dead up. Have them attack whatever moves. Santos keeps a lot of blood minions, so keep that in mind if you need more blood.” Cian’s accent was thick, deep, and dangerous. “Don’t hesitate to kill the minions if you need more bodies for zombies.”
Amaliya nodded.
“I’ll concentrate on Etzli.” Cian hesitated, then slapped a clip into one of the pistols. His hazel eyes met hers. “The Summoner is yours.”
“I’ll kill him,” Amaliya said in a tough voice. Her sweet little grandmother lay in a mortuary somewhere in Eastland County waiting to be prepared for burial in a few days. Innocente had only been dead less than twenty-four hours and already the void that she had left in Amaliya’s life was unbearable.
“Staking didn’t work on The Summoner, so try decapitation.” Cian tucked the pistol into a holster on his belt.
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Cian said with a wry smile.
Amaliya grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragged him close, and kissed him. His tongue and lips were flavored with fresh blood. He tasted like power. Releasing him, Amaliya experienced a surge of love so powerful it hurt. She loved him. He loved her. It was one of two truths she knew without a doubt. The other was that The Summoner needed to die.
“I fuckin’ love you,” Amaliya growled at him before rising and stalking out of the room. “Now let’s go kill that asshole.”
Cian grabbed the bags of weapons and followed her out into the main living area of the apartment.
The vampires were dressed alike in black jeans, t-shirts, and boots. They needed clothes that allowed them to move quickly and hopefully without detection until it was too late for The Summoner and his people.
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