by Ali Winters
Red rings his irises, but the color is broken up by thin, black lines that slowly extend from the center of his pupils. The veins lengthen, edging out into the whites.
“Do not worry, Lady Clara. I only want to play a little.”
“No, thank you,” I snap, yanking my arm free. “I don’t feel like playing.”
I turn to leave. He wouldn’t dare cross the line. He would threaten and try to scare me, but he wouldn’t dare—Victor cuts me off as I round the piano, effectively blocking my path.
“Stop,” he says. Power vibrates in that single word.
My feet are stuck in place and I can’t move. I can feel the compulsion in his voice, though his eyes don’t glow with it. Instead, the black thickens, swallowing up the brown and spreading like spilled ink over the whites. My head throbs. I press my hands to my temples, trying to lessen the pain.
Victor lets out a delighted sound, something between a purr and a growl. He steps even closer.
“How delightful… you are not marked.” He licks his lips, his eyes dart to the tiny scars on my neck. “At least, not fully… you could yet belong to me.”
The possessiveness in his voice promises things I can’t imagine. I can’t stop the shudder that races along my spine.
Victor gathers me in his arms, holding me too tight.
“Let me go,” I say.
My attempts at escaping his grasp are weak. He doesn’t even seem to notice as he fists a hand in my hair and jerks my head to the side, exposing my neck.
“Don’t,” I warn.
Somewhere in the room, there's a single chirp and the flap of wings in the air. And then it's gone.
Cherno…
Victor brings his face close, inhaling long and deep. His tongue darts across my collarbone, to my neck and jaw, and up the side of my face.
Disgusting.
“Let me go, demon fucker.”
He brings his mouth to my ear. I cringe, expecting to feel his fangs sink into my neck just below my jaw. Hot breath, foul and reeking of rot and blood, brushes over my skin.
“Fear me,” he commands. The two words are nothing more than a whisper, but the same pounding that always follows compulsion thrums through my head.
His power forces its way into me, wrapping around every muscle. It’s cold and slimy. I barely understand the words, but I know them as soon as my body obeys.
My legs tremble, terror works its icy fingers through my veins.
“It always tastes better when they are afraid,” he says. “It’s too bad you will never understand the sweet, tang of fear in mortal blood.”
I open my mouth to tell him that I am not afraid, but I never get the chance.
His fangs tear into my skin. Fiery pain envelops my neck and shoulder, white-hot, burning, burning, burning. I hear a scream, hoarse and cracked, and it takes me a moment to realize it belongs to me.
Then he releases me, taking a step back. He runs his tongue over his red stained teeth, then licks his lips. He uses a thumb to wipe away an invisible drop from the corner of his mouth. His eyes trail up from where he fed to meet my gaze. The black has swallowed up his irises. The inky veins spiderweb out of the corners of his eyes, fanning out across his cheeks. It looks like poison.
“Fall to your knees, human,” Victor orders. He laughs, it’s deep and throaty, and filled with my blood.
My knees hit the wood floor with a hard thud. My body continues to shake—partially from the fear he compelled upon me, and now because real fear is seeping in. I struggle to think as the power of compulsion fogs my mind. I don’t know what to expect from him next.
Nothing about this is natural. His eyes should be red, not black.
Something is very, very wrong.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Clara
“Well, what do we have here?” Cassius strides through the door, straightening the sleeves of his jacket. When he spots me, a devilish grin crosses his mouth.
Victor lifts his chin and shakes his head once. The black veins recede, and his eyes return to normal, save for some lingering black past the pupils. Then he turns toward Cassius as if he wasn’t attacking me only seconds ago.
The hold of his compulsion lessens. My body is mine again. I should stand and leave the room, but all I can see is red.
How dare he take my blood and compel me. How dare he touch me at all.
I reach for the dagger in my pocket and swipe at the vampire as I stand. The tip of the blade cuts across the side of his leg. My movements are slow and uncoordinated. I slice deep, but not deep enough to kill or slow him.
Blood wells up immediately, soaking the material of his trousers.
Victor rounds on me, hissing and baring his teeth. He lifts a hand high, ready to strike. I flinch, expecting the resounding pain, but it doesn’t come.
My breath escapes my lungs in a whoosh. Cassius stays Victor’s hand.
“Let me go. I will kill her. The little bitch drew blood,” Victor snarls.
Cassius raises a single brow. His expression changes, but I don’t understand. My fingers tighten further on the hilt of the dagger. I will not let either of them kill me without a fight.
“Wrap your leg,” the vampire orders. He releases Victor, and I think he might ignore Cassius and attack me anyway.
Cassius approaches with slow movements. He takes my wrist and removes the dagger from my grasp. I don’t want to give it up, but if I resist, he might break my hand taking it. Cassius sets it atop the piano, never taking his eyes off me.
Any positive thoughts I once had about either of them go up in smoke. I know them for the bastards they are.
This will end badly. I’ll be lucky if I get a somewhat quick death.
He shakes his head as if he’s disappointed. “I really wish you’d taken my offer, little bird.”
I want to ask him what he means when two new voices draw closer. The talking ceases as soon as they step inside the room. Della takes in Victor, his leg, and the sliced drapes, her gaze drifts over to where Cassius and I stand next to the piano. Lawrence glares at me.
“It seems,” Cassius starts, turning to face the three other vampires. “Our dear friend Alaric has not yet fully claimed his pet.” He reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me forward so I can’t hide behind him, or reach for the dagger while his back is turned.
No one speaks, no one so much as moves or twitches a muscle.
I straighten my spine and square my shoulders, wincing at the pain of the bite. A warm trickle of blood still seeps from the wound.
I might be surrounded by predators that don’t care if I live or die, I might not have Alaric’s full mark to protect me from their compulsion, but I refuse to cower.
“You know that even attempting to compel another’s marked human is forbidden,” Lawrence says after a long moment.
I’m shocked by his defense.
Cassius smiles. “Ah, but she is not marked.” He faces me, his eyes roaming up and down my body, lingering on the flesh of my shoulder for a long moment before turning back to the others. “Not fully.”
I try to think back on our previous encounters. Cassius had known since he found me in the hall after my first night terror. As fas as I can tell, he hasn’t said a word until now. Is this… payback for rejecting his offer?
“You wouldn’t know without trying to compel her,” Lawrence shoots back.
Cassius presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “It was not I who compelled her. However, that doesn’t matter now. We all know the truth.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “Unfortunately, she has drawn first blood, and according to Elizabeth's law, it is within Victor’s rights to demand a fight to the death.”
The world sways under me.
“Look at her neck,” Della says more to Lawrence, though we can all hear. “She’s bleeding.”
“You know feeding doesn’t count as an attack—otherwise, all humans could try to kill us when we drink,” Cassius says before Lawrence can respond.
I don’t know why he is coming to my defense, but I could almost kiss him for it.
Victor leaps up from the sofa and takes several long strides toward me. “I will kill her right now for what she has done.”
I take a step back, hating myself for showing weakness.
“It is his right,” Cassius says, shrugging as if they’re discussing who gets the last piece of cake, or something as equally as trivial.
“No,” I say, glad my voice is steady despite my heart thundering in my chest. “That isn’t a fair fight.” I’m furious at them for debating my fate. I hold on to that anger and slap Cassius’s hand away. “What chance does a human have against a vampire?”
Cassius actually has the nerve to look taken aback. His green eyes sparkle with mirth. I glower. How heartless does he have to be to find humor in this situation?
Bastard!
I take in all four vampires. I have never been around them all at once without Alaric nearby. It’s all too much to be a coincidence.
But who planned this, and why? I know it wasn’t Victor—I would be dead by now if he had, and the others wouldn’t have arrived in time.
I narrow my gaze at Lawrence. He said it himself, he can’t prove I killed Rosalie, but he suspects I did. He could have planned this to be rid of me while keeping his hands clean.
I tamp down my theories and questions. It doesn’t matter because finding the answers won’t save me now.
“These are ancient laws set forth by our queen. They are not for any of us to decide.” Cassius holds his hands palm up as if he were the one rendered helpless. He motions to Lawrence and Della. Then he turns to pat me on my uninjured shoulder. “The three of us will witness and report the result to Alaric and Elizabeth.”
My mouth drops open and I can only stare. Being slaughtered while three others—who could save me if they chose—stand and watch is no comfort, but the way he talks, he seems to think it should be.
This will not be a good death.
Cassius grips my upper arm. I try to jerk away, but his hold is too strong, and I only serve to bruise myself.
“Alaric will kill you,” I snap.
He drags me to the center of the room, stopping me about two yards from Victor.
My limbs grow cold as I take in everything about my opponent. My view is broken when Cassius steps in front of me, taking me by the shoulders and placing a kiss on my cheeks—as if wishing me luck in a game without deadly consequences.
A flash of red sears my neck and the white-hot pain blinds me. And then it’s gone. I stand panting, sweat beading across my brow. I reach up and feel my neck. He healed me.
Cassius’s mouth quirks up as he backs away.
“This is a fight to the death. Make it clean. No compulsion is to be used, and no torture.”
These rules are clearly for the vampire’s sake. Even without compulsion, he will still have his preternatural strength and speed.
Cassius retreats to stand close to Lawrence and Della. All three of them block the only way out. “On my mark.”
Victor takes two steps forward. The veiny, black lines reappear. They spread out, nearly swallowing the whites of his eyes, then seep into his skin and over his cheeks, trailing down his face.
I will die—but not without a fight. I swallow and widen my stance.
“What the fuck is happening here?” Alaric’s deep, rich voice demands.
I have never been so relieved to see him as I am now. But that feeling doesn’t last.
In a blink, Victor closes the distance between us, his hand swipes out, fingers curled into claws. I throw myself back to avoid the strike. He misses my neck, but his knife-like nails slice across my left shoulder to the center of my chest. I cry out and slam into the back of a sofa.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Clara
Demon shit, that burns.
I press one hand to my bleeding shoulder and lean against the back of the sofa, fingers digging in as I try to stay upright. It shouldn’t hurt this bad.
“Get out of my way,” Alaric demands. “Stop this, this instant.”
“You cannot interfere,” Cassius’s cool voice responds. “I am sorry, my friend, but you know the law.”
The others are silent, choosing to remain complicit as Victor slaughters me.
I can’t think of Alaric right now. The only thing that matters is the vampire standing before me and staying alive.
Victor crouches in an unnatural pose and hisses before lunging. I push off the sofa and toward a nearby chair, putting it between us. It’s small and would shatter with little effort from any vampire, but it’s all I have. Victor doesn’t change course fast enough and runs into the sofa. His claw-like nails shred the material as he turns toward me.
With his natural speed, he should have caught me and snapped my neck before I knew what was happening… But the bastard is toying with me.
I blink, and he rips the chair from between us, flinging it into the wall. It shatters. Thousands of splinters fall to the ground.
The air is ripped from my lungs as I’m slammed against a bookcase. Victor smiles triumphantly. The black has swallowed up his eyes, the lines vein down his cheeks and over his temples. They continue to grow into his hairline and down his face.
The shelves dig into my spine. I can’t run, there is nowhere for me to go. So I do the only thing I can think of. I ram my forehead into his face, aiming for the spot right between his eyes.
The pain is nearly blinding. Black spots form and dissipate. My vision wavers for half a second, but it works. Victor stumbles back, grabbing his face.
I run, not caring what direction I go in as long as it’s away from him. My hip hits a table, sending a lamp and vase crashing to the ground.
His fist tangles in my hair and swings me around. I slam into the piano. The force of the collision knocks something off, sending it clattering to the ground. Victor wrenches my head back, bending my spine painfully against the instrument.
I claw at his hand and wrist, desperately trying to get free. I reach out, feeling around for anything to use as a weapon.
Victor trails one hand up my arm digging his blackened nails into the cuts. I cry out. My voice is cut off by his hand clamping around my throat.
“I will make your death slow and painful,” he says. Darkness moves in on the edges of my vision as his hold tightens. “I will savor each second as I break every bone in your weak, human body, and—”
My fingertips brush against something cool. I stretch until my fingers wrap around the metal object and swing. The candelabra strikes him in the temple. Victor arches back. He releases my head, but his fingers tighten around my throat.
I can’t breathe. I swing at him again, but he wrenches the candelabra from my hand.
I have nothing left. My nails dig into the skin of his wrist.
“You’ll pay for that, you little bitch,” he snarls.
“Clara,” Alaric’s voice grips at my heart. He’s so far away, almost a whisper. My ears ring, drowning out the rest of what he says.
Victor throws me to the ground. Air fills my lungs, burning on the way in. Victor’s foot strikes my ribs. I clutch my side as he gets down on his knees and straddles me. The black veins cover his face and move down his neck, and this time when he bares his teeth, they are all sharpened into points. He can rip out my throat without even trying.
“Cursed,” Della gasps.
Victor leans forward, placing his hands on either side of my head and caging me in, his thighs squeezing my hips and holding me into place. “I can’t wait to feel your true fear, hot on my tongue. I will drain every last drop from you before I’m finished.”
I reach for Alaric even though he’s on the other side of the room, held back by the others. He meets my gaze looking utterly helpless. I just want to hold his hand one last time. Hot tears slide silently down the sides of my face.<
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Victor drops his head and runs his blackened tongue over the three gashes on my shoulder. My back arches as I try to gasp for air through the pain. It feels like liquid fire.
“I will tear you limb from limb and feed your body to swamp rats.”
I curl my fingers, grasping for anything to hold onto.
Something smooth and familiar brushes against the back of my hand. I wrap my fingers around it, the weight and feel of it have become part of me. I jerk my arm, slamming it into Victor’s side.
He howls, jerking up, back arching. The black veins swallow up every inch of exposed skin. I pull the dagger from his side. He swipes at me, his fingers tipped black, the bones unnaturally long and coming to sharp points, like the skeletal claws of a demon.
Victor's mouth opens wide and he dives for my neck. I grip the hilt of the dagger with both hands and shove upward, twisting. There’s little resistance as the blade slides through flesh and bone.
Victor slumps forward, his weight pressing down on top of me, as still as death.
My vision blurs. I cover my mouth with one hand as the first whimper threatens to break free.
Tears blur my vision. The hilt of the dagger presses painfully into my chest, making it hard to breathe as my body forces out silent and aching sobs.
I don’t know how I survived.
The weight is gone, and I gasp for breath. Alaric’s face comes into view, distorted by the flood of tears I can’t seem to stop. I hurt everywhere. Alaric helps me to stand and draws me into his chest.
I feel nothing for having killed this vampire, but Victor’s death reminds me of another.
My hands are covered in blood. I have killed again. And the stark contrast of this time from the first is more apparent than ever before. What I did hits me with a force so strong, it steals my breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my face into Alaric’s chest. “I’m sorry for Ro—”
Alaric smooths a hand over my hair and cuts me off with a shushing sound. “We will speak later.”
He leans back and cups my face with his hands. His thumbs brush under my eyes, wiping away the tears. Feeling more collected in Alaric’s arms, I look down at my would-be killer.