Compulsion? Because, of course, this walking fashion disaster has that particular trick up her sleeve. I can block Lucian's mind games, no problem, but this bitch? She's old. Like, probably-watched-the-pyramids-being-built old. And with age comes power—Vampire 101.
Her smile widens like she's reading the panic right off my face. "Oh yes, sweetheart. That pretty little mental shield of yours? About as effective as tissue paper against me. Call it a special talent." She downs the rest of her vodka like it's water and sashays back for a refill, her hips swaying with eons of practiced seduction.
"He's not here," I snap, gathering my inner 'done with this shit' attitude. "So why don't you take your fancy fangs and fuck right off? And don't bother asking where—I'm as clueless as you are about his whereabouts."
Lilith's stareis so intense it could strip paint, making me feel like a lab specimen under her microscope. "Hmm," she hums, taking another prissy sip of vodka. "No idea where that vortex whisked him away to?" I stare at her, not giving her anything. "Then let's discuss something else—the Soul Stone, perhaps? I caught that little performance with Azrael. Quite the show, darling. Though now it seems to have... disappeared."
Just perfect. Another immortal nut-job with a hard-on for that cursed paperweight. I pull out my best 'bored-out-of-my-mind' face. "Gone. Vanished. Did the whole Houdini thing. And before you waste your expensive breath asking—no, I don't have a clue where it went."
Her emerald eyes drill into me like she's trying to perform supernatural brain surgery. My heart's pounding against my ribs because, yeah, I know precisely where that damn stone is—with Rhyland. And that thought scares me more than this wannabe vampire queen could ever hope to.
God, I hope my poker face is better than my thundering pulse would suggest. Judging by the predatory glint in her eyes, I'm about as convincing as a toddler covered in cookie crumbs swearing they didn't raid the cookie jar.
Time to flip the script. "What's your damage anyway?" I sneer, going on the offensive. "Can't take a hint that he wants nothing to do with your ancient ass? Or is the concept of him finding a real woman too complicated for your centuries-old brain to process?"
Anger flashes in those emerald eyes before her face settles back into its usual 'entitled bitch' default setting. "He and I have a score to settle," she says, all prim and proper like she's announcing tea time. "An old debt that needs... collecting."
Oh, it looks like I found a nerve. Time to dance on it.
"Aww, what happened? Did he finally put your crazy ass in check? Or could he just not stand looking at your face for another century?" I smirk.
She throws back her vodka like it's holy water, and she's trying to cleanse herself. "He locked me in a tomb for close to two hundred years," she spits with enough venom to kill a horse. "But what we had... what we shared... it's beyond your pathetic mortal comprehension. Rhyland loves me, and I will get him back. Mark my words, you insignificant little bitch."
I can't help but laugh. Like, actually laugh. "Oh sweetie, let me explain something in terms your delusional mind might understand—when a man locks you in a tomb for two-hundred years, that's not exactly sending 'I love you' vibes. That's more like 'please die and never come back' energy. Though clearly, subtlety isn't your strong suit."
I lean forward as much as my restraints allow, dropping my voice. "While you were taking your two-hundred-year beauty nap—which, by the way, clearly didn't help—Rhyland was busy forgetting you existed. He never even mentioned you. Not once. Guess you weren't as memorable as you thought."
Her face contorts with rage, and honestly? Worth it. Because if this discount vampire dominatrix thinks she can just waltz in and claim what's mine, she's about to learn exactly why they call me feisty.
She rises from her chair, murder in her eyes, when Morgan swoops in like some arcane referee. "Down, girl. Back away from the prisoner. We need her alive for the ritual, remember?"
Hold up.Record scratch."I'm sorry—thewhatnow?" My head whips toward Morgan so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
Lilith's lips curl into a smirk that belongs in a horror movie. "Oh yes, darling. Since you so kindly disposed of that pompous ass Azrael—thanks for that, by the way, he was becoming quite the thorn in my heels—you get to be our star player." She click-clacks back to her vodka station in those 'trying too hard' red heels. "All we need now is my Rhyland and that pretty little Soul Stone."
I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck. "First of all, he's notyourRhyland. And second, if your grand master plan involves me playing along with whatever twisted ritual you've cooked up in that two-thousand-year-old brain of yours, you might want to pour yourself another drink. Because that's about as likely as those breasts being real."
Morgan laughs, "Damn, girl, you've got fire. Almost makes me sad we have to sacrifice you."
My stomach does a violent flip as the pieces click into place. The same ritual. The same goddamn sacrifice Azrael wanted to use Rhyland for—to drag Moretemis into our world like some twisted demonic DoorDash.
Only now. I'm the main course.
I force out a laugh that sounds brittle, even to my own ears. "Wow, you two really are scraping the bottom of the evil villain barrel, aren't you? Recycling Azrael's greatest hits?" My hands tremble against the restraints, but I keep my chin up, gathering every ounce of sass I can muster to mask the terror clawing at my throat. "What's next—gonna start wearing his hand-me-down robes and chanting his old catchphrases?"
The words come out strong, but my heart's pounding pure panic against my ribs. This isn't just about some vampire's twisted revenge fantasy anymore; this is about bringing literal darkness into the world. I've just been cast as the unwilling star of their apocalyptic production.
But even as I throw sass-like armor, ice crawls through my veins. Because if they succeed where Azrael failed... if they actually manage to bring Moretemis through... God help us all.
"Mmm, there's a certain poetry to it all," Lilith muses, twirling her vodka like she's at a wine tasting rather than plotting murder. Her emerald eyes glitter with malicious delight. "Just imagine—watching your feisty golden eyes dim, knowing I'm destroying the little mortal who dared to touch what belongs to me." Her perfect lips curl back, fangs gleaming in the low light. "Consider it spring cleaning—taking out the trash—cluttering my future." She laughs, " And then I'll be there to wipe Rhyland's tears and erase you from his memory."
Rhyland
6
Well, shit, that explains the lightning crackling through my veins, the electric power that dances at my fingertips, begging to be unleashed.
Lucian's gonna have a goddamn field day with this. I can already hear the asshole cracking Thor jokes left and right.
