“Next.”
A third vamp. Lost his head. Or would have.
“Next.”
Fourth. Dead. Then the fifth. Sixth.
“Next.”
The vamp in front of me was Grégoire. Standing there.Blondie. With real swords.
Blondie was in France with Edmund.
Except he was here.
I attacked. Fast. Faster than I had ever moved in any form. Faster than time. Defensive strike. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Advancing. Retreating. The crown heated on my scalp. Grégoire caught each of my staves on his swords. He didn’t bleed. I needed someone to bleed.
“Swords,”I screamed.
“Here, My Queen,” the calm voice said. Koun. My swords in his hands. I slung the staves against the wall. Noticed they knocked two vamps to the floor. Vamps who didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t care. Koun tossed the swords. I caught them and attacked Grégoire.
Blondie laughed. A happy, joyous sound. “Yes, My Queen. Finally, you fight.”
Steel rang in the air, bright and clanging. Lights overhead glinted and flashed on killing blades. Advanced. Advanced. Backed away. Ducked. Leaped. Struck high. Low. Swords moving in the cage of death—the vampire version of La Destreza Verdadera. Backing my warlord against the wall. Lunge, block. Lunge. Lunge. Block. Whirling my longsword up and around. The cage of death.
I swept his steel away. With my short blade, I stabbed him in the heart. The blade pierced his chest.
A hand caught mine. Stopping the final sweep of my long blade across the throat. Beheading my enemy. “No, My Queen. Jane. George is alive. He is not dead. George is awake and will live.”
I dropped my swords. Took two steps back. Blinked. Saw Grégoire. Bloody. My sword buried in his chest. “Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit.”
Grégoire slid down the wall. Into a heap. Spraddle-legged. Blood smeared the gym wall in the path of his descent. He was covered in blood. Drenched. A hundred small cuts and dozens of deeper ones bled from all over him.
“Grégoire?” I whispered.
“This,” the delicate vamp said, taking a breath in obvious pain. “This is what I have waited for. This is what I have fought for.” He looked past me. “You were correct, my love. She is indeed MyQueen.”
He slumped. Unbreathing. Dead. I had killed him.
I had killed my friend.
Koun took my shoulders and drew me away, holding me, my back against his chest. Gently. Almost tenderly.
I sobbed, though the sound was more growl than tears.
I had killed my—
Four humans knelt near Grégoire. One cut her wrist and waved it under Grégoire’s nose. His tongue came out and he licked the wrist. His eyes blinked. He vamped out, jaw opening like a snake. Fangs clicked down. Blondie looked like a wounded rabid beast, eyes bloody-red and black. But he didn’t attack. Gently he raised an arm and cradled the woman’s head. He bit into her throat. Sucked. They curled together on the floor. She moaned.
I backed away.
I didn’t kill him.
Right. He was a vamp.
I couldn’t kill him with a heart strike.
Koun had stepped in and prevented the killing, beheading strike.
