by Kathryn Moon
I eyed Auguste, found his gaze widened on me, familiar and ferocious, and walked slowly forward to the table.
"You escaped me once in the grotto, which was an intriguing surprise," Birsha said, watching me take my seat before settling back into his own.
The meat on his plate was bleeding profusely, soaking the roasted potatoes and vegetables in the thin liquid. He arched an eyebrow at me as he reached for his glass and I took my own, pretending to bring it to my lips. He rolled his eyes but drank deeply, the color sitting strange and purple in the odd shine of the room.
"I won't say you escaped the theater. We both know that wasn't a real effort. But the incident with the golem was curious," Birsha said mildly, as if he hadn't roared with anger when I'd stolen Booker back from him. "Annoying, but curious."
He has black hair with some gray. Dark eyes. Medium skin, I cataloged, simply because it kept me calm. A large nose. Small ears.
"Being bested doesn't suit me," Birsha said, taking a bite of meat from his fork and studying me through narrowed eyes. "It gives others the wrong impression. Mortimer may lick her wounds and try to collect her pieces before I strike again, but you, you must be managed. I prefer to manage things indirectly, but I will make a special case since you appear to be so…slippery."
"Why do you have Auguste like that?" I whispered, Auguste blinking and remaining quiet from his position posted to the tree.
"Leverage. It's strangely effective on most people, humans and anomalies alike. We can sit here together, and I can say, 'Esther Reed, you will not leave this room alive, nor will your vampire,' and still you'll behave and do as I say simply out of the hope that your circumstances might change. They won't, by the way," Birsha said, drinking wine again and watching me.
"And that works?" I asked.
Birsha's eyes widened, his hands raised and splayed with cutlery pinched between his fingers, as if to prove his point by our own scene. He was holding a knife. A steak knife, although what was on his plate looked more like a heart than a—
My eyes whipped to Auguste's chest in a sudden panic, but no, his shirt was relatively clean there, still buttoned.
"Not his, no, but that is clever of you. This belonged to one of his kind. Staking a vampire through the heart is so mundane. Surgical removal during the day and the slow feasting so that they feel themselves devoured is more artful," Birsha said, his tongue licking out at the blood on his fork as he took another bite. His tongue is black, I told myself, adding it to the catalog. "Thibodeaux and I will be interrupted before I'm able to enjoy him, but he's too sweet for my taste and I'd rather have him watch."
"And your plans for me?" I asked, avoiding looking at the knife. It was my only hope, but how—
"Do you really want to know?"
I did not. Birsha believed himself absolute when he said the others wouldn't find me, but he didn't know about Amon and he hadn't considered my connection to Booker, so perhaps that would make the difference. Either way, every horrible word was another second to try and think, to reach into myself and try and find that little tether. It was there, a reassuring throb in my heart.
At last, I nodded slowly, forcing the bob of my head, my thoughts rattling in my skull, Booker and I tugging lightly to one another on our line.
"Mmm, normally, I find physical violence so dull. I like the calm, the quiet, the slow agony. However, I may make a special case for you. A last-ditch effort to destroy the joy you find in your gifts of the flesh."
I blinked, head cocking, and blurted out, "You want to fuck me?"
Birsha stiffened, face hardening, and glared at me. "Rape, Esther."
I gasped, but not at the threat. Oh, how clever. A terrible old man threatening to rape me. I would've rolled my eyes at Birsha if it weren't for the soft brush of calloused fingers at the back of my neck, the warm touch, the whiff of beeswax. Terror and relief lodged in my throat so suddenly, I choked. Was I imagining… No, no, that was his hand.
"Possibly a difficult act to achieve with a nymphomaniac such as yourself," Birsha continued, misunderstanding my gasp for horror and growing more cheerful.
Auguste growled at the tree. Ezra stroked the back of my neck again. Hope.
"However, I suspect being forced in front of your tormented lover might adequately dull your usual ardor," Birsha said, grinning, that black tongue flicking out to collect a drop of wine on his bottom lip.
I stood abruptly from my chair, catching my breath at the solid press of Ezra's palms against my back, and Birsha stared up at me, victorious and predatory, just waiting for me to try and run.
"And if I like it?" I asked.
Birsha's expression hardened again, eyes narrowing, and I moved around the table, Ezra following, a reassuring strength at my back, until my small shadow cast over Birsha.
"They play games with me, you know. They chase and hunt me, they tie me up and tell me what to do, what to take," I said, proud as can be to Birsha, who sat there before me, eating the heart of a vampire, drinking who knew what. "I've loved every minute of it."
"It was your choice," Birsha said stiffly.
He was right, and every step closer to him made my skin crawl, made my stomach turn, made my mind race with what this would turn into if we failed. But Ezra was at my back, Booker was calling for me, and Auguste needed us.
I sank to my knees at Birsha's side, my chin lifted proudly, one hand rising from my side and settling on his thigh. It tensed under my touch, just like a man's would.
"I make lots of choices," I said, coaching my face into a smile. "I think you're afraid of me."
"Afraid—?" Birsha growled.
"I think you're afraid you couldn't break me. You like to make everyone around you suffer, but what if I like to suffer too? What if you can't hurt me more than I'd enjoy?"
"I could have you dissected into little pieces," Birsha bit out, his fingers tightening around the knife, my heart lurching. Pull back, I told myself, letting my fear rise to my face, for him to enjoy the sight of it.
"That's true."
"You can't conquer me, child," Birsha hissed, leaning into my space.
"I want to be conquered," I whispered, trembling, counting the lines on his forehead, studying the arch of his brows, telling myself I would remember this face when I turned away again.
Birsha frowned at that, and I grabbed onto the hint, letting words unravel from my lips.
"You want to destroy the other houses so no one has any choice but use yours? Why not have a girl like me that your customers are dying to take a crack at?" My voice was something between desperate and sultry, but Birsha was smirking down at me and I heard the moment the knife settled on the table. Ezra's feet were touching the soles of my boots, waiting in complete silence, watching it all.
"Bargaining, I see. The weak always try that too," Birsha murmured, leaning back in his chair.
"Killing me is a waste. You like slow agony? Let me go through hell in one of your houses." I pulled gently on the thigh I was touching, my breath uneven as it answered. His body opened slowly, parting his thighs for me, his eyes that of a snake watching the mouse climb into its jaws.
Auguste groaned, and my gaze flicked briefly in his direction, a little whine rising from my throat at the sight of him—tense, almost pulling on the stakes in his hand.
"Mmm, this is tragic for him, isn't it? Watching you unravel yourself, try to play the seductress just for a few years of a worthless life," Birsha whispered, looking between Auguste and me. "I could tell you now that you could make your best effort with me, and I would still kill you, and you'd try anyway. Just because of hope. You think you're powerful. I saw you on that stage, Esther Reed. You think we all fall under your sway because we're so desperate. So alone. But not me."
Birsha's hand snapped out and I shouted, jumping, but he didn't reach for the knife. His fingers clenched around my jaw, lifting me from my kneel until we were nose to nose.
"I don't want pleasure. I don't want to conquer your body. I
want power," Birsha hissed, a little sour spittle landing on my mouth as he dug strong fingers into my cheeks. "I want to own the beasts. Creatures like your Mr. Tanner. I will rip him away from you, drive him mad with it. And when he is weakest, I will put him in my cage like all the others."
I was gasping, forgetting Auguste, forgetting Ezra, trying to rip myself out of Birsha's hold, as fast and frantic as my heart was trying to take flight from my chest.
"I don't need a little gasping begging cunt to hold my throne. You are nothing. You are worthless. You have always been worthless, and you've always known it. Haven't you, Esther Reed?"
Tears blurred the alarming clarity of Birsha's face, and I was too panicked to hold onto the memory of him, too desperate now to run away. He'd been right about hope, and it was popping like a fragile, frivolous bubble now. I'd complied. I'd bargained, all because—
Something cold pressed into the heel of my hand where I was braced against the table. Warm fingers closed my hand around the length of silver.
I gasped, and Birsha's voice clouded around me like a storm cloud. "The only pleasure you will bring me is the moment I crush you like every other irksome little—"
And then the air reached my lungs. My arm shot forward, and the words on his lips ended abruptly as the knife in my hand jarred against bone. Ezra's hand closed around mine, twisting the knife, and it slid the rest of the way in, Birsha and I both moaning, his agony and my relief, our eyes going wide and locked on one another.
Genuine surprise crossed his features and something almost like amusement.
Auguste bellowed from the tree, feet kicking the floor, and Ezra ripped me away from Birsha, a silver dinner knife jutting out from the tidy man's chest.
"Esther!" voices cried from the tunnel.
"In here!" Ezra answered as I gaped at the knife. At Birsha.
He grinned then, black tongue licking his own red spittle from his lip, and opened his mouth to speak.
I lunged forward with a scream, yanking the knife from his chest and then jamming it down again, into Birsha's throat before he could spew any more poison in my ear. His hands snapped around my wrist, holding me in place.
"Smarter than you look," Birsha garbled, and he groaned as Ezra's fingers pried him off my hand.
"Yes, I am," I breathed, stumbling away, colliding into the strong arms of Mr. Tanner.
"Shit, Amon! He's—" Ezra shouted as Birsha began to glow with that same eerie light that illuminated the room before fading quickly and thoroughly into the shadows. “—Getting away."
Chapter Thirty-One
A Step into the Sun
“What the fuck took you so long?!" Auguste snarled as Ezra braced a foot against the root of the tree and yanked out one of the stakes from his hand. "He'd set the knife down ages before—"
"I had one chance with him distracted, did you want me to waste it by letting him see the knife coming?" Ezra snarled back, huffing and wiping the blood off his hands onto his pants, catching me by the waist as I ran for Auguste. "You all right, puisín?"
"I'm—I'm fine, honestly," I said, although my voice sounded funny. I blinked at Ezra, at the furrow on his brow, the darkened color of his beard from the fire, a shiny burn mark on one ear, and then my eyes widened. "Oh god, you're alive!"
I threw myself against Ezra's chest, my mouth parted on a silent scream as all the terror I kept pinned while stuck with Birsha came suddenly rushing up, bile at the back of my throat. Ezra squeezed tight around me, lifting my toes from the floor and cupping the back of my head with his hand.
"Course I am. Too slippery, remember?" Ezra said. His voice was hoarse and he was shaking against me, but he was solid and safe and he'd been with me—with Auguste—when we needed him.
"I will kill you if you ever run into a fire again," I said, the threat undermined by my sobbing.
"Understood," Ezra murmured, setting me back on my toes.
"We need to get out of here before Birsha sends—" Amon tried to catch my wrist, but I dodged his grip and ran for Auguste.
He was twisted in his trap, face snarling as his fingers slipped around the stake in his other hand.
"Here, I've got it, mate," Ezra said, brushing Auguste's hand away.
"Esther, wait, don't—" Auguste gasped out as I fell onto his lap.
I ignored the orders, grabbing his face in my hands and claiming a hungry, tear-filled kiss. His fangs were out, and he tried to pull away as I licked against his lips. His skin under my hands felt papery and fragile, and there was a metallic and dusty scent to him.
"You need to feed," I said, kissing his lips once more.
"We don't have time—" Amon bit out, behind me.
"Mon coeur, I can't," Auguste breathed, but a growl crawled up from his throat as I twisted my neck and bared my throat for him. "Merde! Have you no sense of self-preservation, Esther?!"
I blinked and turned back to him. There was the thinnest ribbon of pale blue around his black irises, but the rest was pure hunger, the angles of his face sharp and hollow.
"Don't be stubborn," I said softly, and Auguste's teeth bared in his growl. "And don't be stupid. You would never hurt me."
"I'd pry your jaws open before I let you," Mr. Tanner called from my back.
Auguste blinked at that.
"If you're all going to be impossible, at least be swift," Amon hissed.
I arched my neck again and this time, Auguste relented, his freed arms wrapping around my back, stroking my spine once to remind me to relax. He kissed the spot with dry lips, and then his fangs took hold with brutal force. I bit off my cry, eyes squeezing shut, and sagged in Auguste's hold, my fingers rising to comb through his dark hair.
He drank from me, and it had never hurt so much or been so completely welcome. Auguste was alive. He would heal. I would do it myself, even if it drained me dry. Not that he or any of the others would ever allow that.
"Couldn't let you lose him, puisín," Ezra said in a whisper to me, kissing my forehead and ignoring Auguste's snarl of warning. He stepped back and turned to the others as Auguste took another deep, slurping draw from me. "I found my way to the vampires after Birsha had already arrived the first night.”
"The first night? He'd been here the whole time?" Amon snarled.
"Close to it. Soon as he realized Esther was still alive. I didn't get much time to let Auguste know I was with him before Birsha caught up to him. The others are—"
"We found what was left of them," Mr. Tanner said. "We assumed…"
They assumed Auguste had been among the remains. I whimpered and Auguste softened his bite.
"Birsha mimicked Esther's voice to lure Auguste in. To be honest, it almost worked on me too," Ezra said. "But I stayed invisible, and apparently, that's not one of his talents."
"That's enough, Auguste," Amon snapped.
Auguste was already licking at the wound and I sighed, rubbing my cheek against his temple. I was a little lightheaded now, but it was taking the anxious edge off the memory of stabbing Birsha. Auguste's hands slid up to the back of my neck, into my hair, and his whole face rubbed against my throat, a slow groan sliding out from his lips, another lick to the wound.
"Can you walk?" Mr. Tanner asked.
Auguste lifted me in his arms and stood in answer. "Let's leave."
"I'm going to rip the ring out of that bull's nose for letting you—"
"You will not," I answered Amon, catching his eye.
"You're getting spanked for running alone," Booker said firmly, and when we all looked at him, he blinked and added. "Not by me."
"By me," Mr. Tanner growled. But he only bent and sniffed my hair as I approached, still tangled in Auguste's arms. "Later."
"Yes. Later. We are running out of time," Amon snapped.
"You sure Birsha will send someone? Esther…she got him pretty good," Ezra said.
"Ferocious girl," Auguste murmured against my ear, kissing my wound again and taking another lick.
"I can walk."
"You won't," Auguste answered, squeezing around my hips before answering the others. "He'll survive, Amon is right. If he was able to escape, he'll be able to get himself to safety. And I don't believe he bleeds his own blood. He smelled all wrong."
Amon had a bright lantern in his hand, and we ran into Asterion, who glared at me but nodded in greeting, as well as a few others on our way through the tunnels.
"We've already sent two carriages back," one man said.
"Good. Mine and Khepri's blessing will keep the others secret," Amon said, his own eyes trailing back to me, a kind of frantic energy in his gaze, reassuring himself I was still with the group.
"Esther, the things you said," Auguste whispered.
"Leave it," Ezra said to him with a shake of his head, flickering in and out of view.
"I just wanted time to think of a plan," I said, tugging on Auguste's hair and stroking a finger over his tangled brow as he carried me. "Just words. I don't want to be conquered by anyone else."
"You know we want there to be a difference between any games and—"
"Yes," I rushed out, helping myself to more kisses over Auguste's skin, pleased with how much smoother it already felt under my lips and fingers. "Yes, I know. I know, Auguste."
"Ugly work, but we did it," Ezra said, and I nodded, Auguste relaxing against me.
Mr. Tanner looked back at us over his shoulder, green eyes bright in the dark. Booker was at the rear, his hand brushing over my arm and then dropping again. Amon's dark hair shone like embers by the lamplight at the head of the group. We were all together again. It hadn't been long, but the risk of it never happening again seemed to hang in eternity in my head.
"You're strangling your vampire," Ezra said.
"I don't need to breathe, what do I care?" Auguste grunted out, but he relaxed a little as I loosened my arms around his neck.
"Uh. We've got a problem," someone called from ahead of us.
"Shit. Birsha's bastards?" Ezra asked, pushing his way to the front.
"No. No, it's almost dawn," Amon said. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face turned up and to the east as if he could feel the sun at the horizon.