"What about Morgan? Can't you wave your hands and locate her witchy ass?"
Emily's glare could freeze hellfire. "For the last time, you bloodsucking moron, magic doesn't work like your Netflix shows." She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Though I can try a detection spell."
"In English, please?"
"Think supernatural GPS, you fanged disaster." Magic snaps around her like static electricity. "It'll ping any magical signatures in range."
"Fine. Do your magical sonar thing. The last thing we need is that bitch showing up uninvited to our little party."
The bond flutters in my chest like a wounded bird, pulling me downward.Below us.Of course she'd have her in Azrael hell hole.
Emily's eyes are closed, and her lips move in a silent chant that makes the air taste like ozone. The minutes drag by like years until her eyes snap open, glowing with residual power.
"Basement level," she confirms, her voice tight. "And I'm picking up some serious dark magic down there."
Ah yes, the lovely remnants of Azrael's glory days.Back when this basement was his soul-trafficking hub. That sadistic bastard used to lock people in cages down there, feeding their souls to Moretemis like he was running some demonic drive-through.
Lilith's heels click against the marble stairs like a death knell. I flash a quick hand signal, and Emily and Sable vanish down the hall, slipping into their hiding spot like shadows.
Brax guides the Prada, Piece of Shit right to me, her emerald dress swishing with each calculated step. A predatory smile on her ugly fucking face "Well, isn't this cozy?"
I bare my fangs in what might pass for a smile. "Bitches first." I sweep my arm toward the room with exaggerated flourish, like some demented maître d'. "After all, we're here to make a deal, right?"
Come on, you psychotic cum-stain. Step right into our trap.
"Lucian, darling, you're not trying to pull a fast one, are you? We both know subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit."
My fangs ache with the urge to rip her throat out. "Cut the shit, Lilith. I'm here for one thing—Seraphina. Hand her over, and you'll get your precious prize."
She examines her blood-red nails, boredom etched into every perfect feature. "Speaking of my prize, where's the other half of the stone? This all seems a bit too... convenient. Do you think I'm that gullible?"
I spread my arms wide, flashing my signature smartass grin. "Step into my office, princess. Let's negotiate like the civilized immortal assholes we pretend to be."
Before I lose what's left of my already threadbare patience.
Not-Rhyland's grip tightens on Lilith's arm, his growl low and menacing. "Enough games. Get your ass in there before I throw you in myself."
Lilith's eyes sparkle with perverse delight. "Mmm, there's that alpha male charm I adore. So forceful, so... demanding."
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Brax hurls Lilith through the doorway like yesterday's trash. Her Louboutins screech against hardwood as she stumbles, and I move faster than thought. The syringe finding her neck with pinpoint precision and I slam the plunger home before she can react.
Big mistake.
Her shriek of rage shatters my eardrums as she whirls, moving faster than any drugged vampire has a right to. Her claws rake the air where my face was a millisecond ago. The scent of her fury fills the room—expensive perfume mixed with ancient vampire blood.
Then her body slams into mine.
Holy mother of—
The impact drives me into the floor like a fucking meteor. Every bone in my body screams as my skull bounces off hardwood. Black spots dance in my vision, and I'm pretty sure I just felt at least three ribs crack. Her weight pins me down, those murderous eyes boring into mine.
Brax materializes behind Lilith, moving with a speed that would make The Flash jealous. The syringe glints in his hand like a tiny silver sword, plunging into her neck.
Lilith screeches like a banshee on steroids, her heels scraping against the floor as she whirls to face her attacker. But the toxin is already flooding her system, turning her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
Those killer stilettos that could normally eviscerate a man's heart now scrabble uselessly against hardwood, seeking purchase that isn't there. Her body sways drunkenly, her emerald eyes, usually sharp, cloud over.
