Gerrin flicked his eyes to me, surprise and barely hidden disgust in them. Then he stepped back and bowed his head. “Please accept my apologies. I didn’t realize you were working with witches.”
Working …
I waited for Karson to correct him. He didn’t.
“What about the seven dead vampires.” Blonde tendrils wrapped around the woman’s pale face, the contrast stark against the furious black gleaming of her eyes. “Witches did that, and we can’t just let that go. We deserve retribution.”
Seven … he killed five.
“Well, love,” Karson drawled, holding out his arms. “If you’d like retribution, I’m standing right here. Please make my night, try it.”
The vampires looked between each other, shocked.
“You killed them?” Gerrin asked, his voice hoarse. “Why?”
“They made the mistake of attacking me and they didn’t live to tell of it.”
Gerrin frowned. “Why would they do that?”
“New, stupid, I don’t know. I didn’t take the time to ask them.” His voice was filled with cocky arrogance. “Nor do I particularly care. But you will tell the other vampires if anyone threatens me or these witches again, they will meet the same fate. Do we have an understanding?”
Gerrin was still frowning, but he nodded.
“I need to hear it.” Karson ordered, his voice quiet, and yet laced with a deadly threat. The tension rippled through the air.
Gerrin swallowed. “I understand, sir. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Good.” Karson pivoted and snagged hold of my arm, dragging me up the street. Dahlia jogged to catch up to his fast-moving pace, sheathing her sword, and I watched as it disappeared like steam on a cold night. Rohan was still slumped on the ground as we passed, his face ashen, sweat bubbling on his forehead. His arm was starting to heal, fingers of flesh knitting over the wound. I heard thecrack, crack, crackingof bones along with Rohan’s pitiful gasps as the hole in his chest was slowly bridging.
“Hey, Rohan,” Dahlia called out. He moaned a terrible, pained sound as he dragged up his trembling head. She smirked as she gave him the finger.
Chapter 17
Worth Getting Yourself Killed
Karson didn’t speak the whole way as we walked Dahlia to her car.
All he snarled to her was, “I will deal with you later.” Even Dahlia had the good sense not to retort.
We walked down the street to his car in utter silence, and somehow that was worse than if he’d shouted. I thought he was trying not to explode. I definitely didn’t want to be around if he did.
The door of the car snapped shut behind me. He stomped around the front and slid into the driver’s seat, slamming that door shut too.
The silence stretched out all around me, pressed against something that felt like guilt, expanding inside like dough in a dirty oven. Perhaps coming out here hadn’t been the wisest of choices.
He drove fast, the muscle in his jaw popped out so far it looked like a lollypop. His skin was still paler than usual, making lips designed by cupid appear crimson.
“You look better,” I ventured after a while.
Karson shot me a look that could freeze the sand in the middle of a summer heat wave. “What the hell are you doing out?” Karson didn’t roar; he didn’t have to for me to shrink into my seat.
“I wanted to go to the library.”
“You wanted to go to the library,” he repeated. “Well, that’s just fantastic! Tell me, Amelia, was reading a book worth getting yourself killed?”
“I didn’t die,” I retorted.
“You are unharmed because I turned up. Had I not got there in time …” He shuddered—the king of vampires shuddered.
