Sinead yanks the knife from beneath my unmoving fingers. “Enough of John’s games. I’ll enjoy cutting you to pieces.”
She raises the blade, her face twisting with triumph. And from behind her shoulder, a tiny head pokes up, hood unfurled, tongue flicking between her fangs.
Sinead barely has time to cry out in surprise before Cleo VII sinks her fangs into her neck. She drops to her knees, the knife clattering from her fingers as she grips my beautiful, brave girl, trying to tear her off her neck. But Cleo VII holds firm, and every second she clings on, more of her venom enters Sinead’s veins.
Sinead may have been supping on Lord Astor’s blood for two centuries. She may have a tiny fissure of his magic, but she’s still human. She can’t survive a cobra bite.
There’s a moment – when she glares up at me, her eyes wide with pain – that she realises she’s gone. Then she collapses to the floor. She doesn’t move.
Cleo VII flicks her tongue in distaste, as if saying,That’s what you get for kicking my favourite rock,then slithers back into the kitchen.
Behind me, Gideon sighs with pleasure, which tells me he’s in trouble. I drag my broken body forward on my elbows, screaming as shards of glass and broken marble pierce my skin.
Not this time, Astor. You’re not taking what’s mine.
My fingers close around the knife. I have nothing left, my body is done. The magic in my veins has faded to a whisper. My blood streaks across the carpet. But Astor isright there, three feet away, holding Gideon against the wall and slurping at his throat while Gideon’s head lolls back with pleasure.
Something in mesnaps.
I remember all the nights I lay in Astor’s coffin, terrified of what he might do to me. Alyra’s face flashes before my eyes, and then the faces of all my friends in the Nevermore Coven – the women I’ve sworn to protect.
I call up the spirit of the woman who has spent the last hundred and fifty years hating the wrong man.
I listen to the whisper in my blood, and I call it closer until it’s no longer a whisper, but aroar.
With the last of my magic coursing through my veins, I stagger to my feet and lunge at Astor. My whole body trembles from the pain of it. Bits of glass and marble fly from my wounds as I slam into him. It hurts more than giving birth to dynamitetwins. But my hand around the blade is steady, firm, humming with magic, as I plunge it into Astor’s back, over and over and over, hitting bone and organs and splitting open veins, until my sire drops his fangs from Gideon and turns to face me.
I cling to the hilt of the blade, digging it deeper, twisting it until Astor cries out. His fingers fight for the hilt, but they’re too slippery with blood. My blood and his blood and Gideon’s blood. Iscreamin his face. I let the magic ooze through my skin and sizzle on the surface. I let him see the monster he made.
I am, after all, of his blood. And like him, I will waitcenturiesfor revenge.
Astor leans in, fangs bared. And then he sees Sinead in a heap on the floor. A growl escapes his throat as he understands that even if he kills me and Gideon now, he can’t survive without her. The great Lord Astor had banked his whole plan on a human, because he was too afraid of creating another Arabella Lestrange.
Astor’s hand slips from the knife.
He does what any scavenger does when he knows he might die if he stays in the fight. He turns and flees out the open front door.
I wait for a single breath, long enough to see through my blood-filled vision that he’s not coming back, and then I collapse on the floor.
“Arabella.”
I blink.
It hurts so much.
Gideon’s cobalt eyes stare at me across the floor. He clutches the wound in his neck, but the blood is already congealing, the bite marks closing over. He gathers me into his arms. His body is smeared withblood and gore. I try not to think of how much of it should be inside my body.
“How…” I murmur, my head spinning. “How did you hold him off for so long? He should have destroyed you.”
“The blood of two drained vampires, and a century of lessons from Alaric Valerian, the fiercest warrior that ever lived.” Gideon strokes my hair. “He cut you.”
“I’ve had worse nips from Cleo VII when her toad is too cold.” I cough blood onto his shirt. Gideon makes a face but doesn’t move to wipe it away – a courtesy that, were our roles reversed, I likely wouldn’t extend to him. “You have to go after Astor—”
“Don’t worry. I smelled Alaric approaching. Astor won’t get away with this.” Gideon uses one hand to flip his phone open. A second later, Sinead’s pocket starts vibrating. “Damn it, it’s going to take me some time to get used to her not sorting everything out for me.”
“How…” I close my eyes. “How are you here? I never sent—”
“The Nevermore Coven.”
