“I want a perimeter,” I growl at the first five. “Make sure we know who comes into the town and who leaves.” I turn to Attila as they leave. “We need to get as close to the fortress as we can without attracting attention. I need a route and eyes on it.”
Attila directs five more to leave our group as I sit down heavily on a bench.
“Boss?” he queries.
“I’m not getting any younger, Attila,” I say. “All I want is my mate, and yet fate conspires against me.”
His eyes search mine. He’s seen plenty as a younger vamp, but not everything. I turned him myself when I found him dying of an overdose in a filthy alleyway because his soul shone to me.
The humans think we’re evil because we have particular feeding habits. It’s amazing how easy it is to get an entire species wrong.
“But don’t worry. I don’t intend letting the Van Helsings get away with any of this slight against the Király.” I flash him a fang and my second relaxes somewhat. “In fact, exactly the opposite. It’s about time we exposed them for what they are, to a world far more ready for monsters than their kind expected.”
“What’s the plan, boss?” Attila asks, his face lighting up in a way which will not bode well for those who get in our way later.
Those who think they can take what belongs to me and there will be no repercussions.
They’re about to find out exactly what a vampire king can do.
Lucy
I’mgroggy in the extreme, and my hands are bound uncomfortably behind my back as I lift my head to stare into the eyes of the Scotsman and a young woman with dark hair pulled back from her face and then spiked out in all directions, the tips a bright blue. Her blue eyes blaze at me, ringed with kohl. A wannabe goth. Well you’d have to be if you’re a vampire hunter…right? The giant Scotsman is impassive, his arms folded over his broad chest.
The square box we’re in rocks gently from side to side, and there is the hum of tires against tarmac. We’re in a vehicle of some description, and we’re still moving. It would appear my tolerance of sedation has been of some assistance for a change.
“I need to pee,” I tell them.
“Then pee,” Goth girl says. “We don’t care.”
It would appear she’s been well and truly trained by my uncle.
“Ever smelt a pregnant woman’s pee?” I say evenly. “If not, this one is on you.”
I shift position. The Scotsman’s face has also morphed into something which suggests he does care about sharing the back of a van awash with piss.
I do my best to make a good peeing face, and he unfolds his arms to bang on the side of the van.
“She’s no pissing in here,” he growls at the goth girl.
“Pregnant piss smells like any other piss,” she sneers at him. “She’s playing us.”
I hear the van slow and come to a halt on some gravel.
“So what if she is?” the Scotsman says. “I’m not spending the next ten hours in here with the pair of ye.”
He reaches for me and grasps the front of my clothing, pulling me upright as he stands.
“And if she’s fucking around, she’ll find out why it’s a bad idea to piss me off.” He pulls me against him until my pregnant belly comes between us. “And then she’ll really know the meaning of pissing off.” He growls.
Delightful. I appear to have ended up in a parallel universe with Dr. Scottish Death and the goth tooth fairy as captors.
The back doors swing open and a man peers in. I recognize him as one of my uncle’s long-time minions, a weasely faced male called John with a bald patch and a suit which looks like it’s more patches than original fabric, and from the way he glares at me, I doubt I have a friend here.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice instantly grating on me.
“This one says she has to piss.” The Scotsman jumps out of the back with me still attached to his fist. “And so she’s going to piss.”
“What, here?” I stare at him. “I didn’t have any of you down as being into that sort of thing, but just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.” I swing around to present him with my backside. “Hands if you please, or are you going to pull my pants down for me?”
