Fuck. Ohfuck.
Philippa shakes her head at me. “You’re thinking about denying it. Don’t bother. I have proof. She was cautious with her feedings, but her caution was no match for the people who work for me. I imagine she’s fretting about her mistakes right now, thinking about everything she could have done differently. Thinking about how this ends.”
“Where is she?” I try to stay calm, but I’m not as coolheaded as Erik or as clever as Christine, so my voice trembles. “If you touch her…”
“What will you do, Raoul?” Philippa steps in front of me, one hand on her hip, bending slightly to look me in the face. “Kill me? I’m your family. Oh wait…I forgot. Family means nothing to you.”
“There’s more than one kind of family.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What will you do if I hurt Christine?”
I stare into her eyes—the eyes of the person I opened Christmas presents with. The one who made the sameewface as I did when we were served asparagus at dinner. The person who watched quietly while our father shoved me into the closet under the stairs.
I remember how she looked in those moments—pity mixed with cool interest and a touch of rebuke. I remember what she would say to me afterward.Just shift next time, and everything will be all right. Just obey him, and he’ll be nicer to you.As if I were purposefully resisting the change somehow.
I remember watching her young wolf form gamboling on the back lawn after dark. I remember the first time she fought a member of the pack over an offense I can’t recall. My father made me stand with him that night and witness the event. I remember how the other shifter’s blood looked black against the yellow grass under the floodlights.
She was merciless even then, and she is ruthless now.
Her stare penetrates mine. “I know what you’ll do,” she says quietly. “You’ll do exactly as I say.” She straightens, smoothing her blouse. “Father was right. The only way to accomplish anything with you is to break you. You have to keep being broken until you’re finally pliant enough to fill the role you were born to assume.”
From what Philippa has said, Christine is already in her hands. I don’t know where Erik is, and I pray he won’t be foolish enough to come after us and get himself killed.
“Please, Philippa.” I force the words out. “Just let me go. Let Christine go. You have Conri to support you. You don’t need me.”
“Conri isn’t family, Raoul. You were taught the same lessons I was, in a bloodier font. I don’t understand why you still can’t grasp it.” She sighs. “I gave you as much freedom as I could, but you abused it and forfeited my trust. You did this to yourself, little brother.”
“No, Philippa—”
“You’re going to come with me now. Christine has broken several laws of the Collective. She owes a two-year debt, she has murdered several humans, and she has taken blood from humans who were not on the index of approved prey. We can’t have a rogue vampire running around. Exiling her would only distract you—you’d want to chase after her. So for your own good as well as the good of our city, her sentence is death. And you will carry it out.”
30Christine
I’ve been waiting for two hours.
I tried talking to the big shifter. I had some vague idea of charming him into helping me, but he gave menothing. Not a word, not a glance.
For a while, I strained against my handcuffs, just to test them, but I only ended up causing myself pain. As I suspected, they’re too strong to break.
When I started moving around too much in the chair, my guard went out into the hall and came back with a fucking cattle prod, so I decided to stay still. It’s tough, though, as worked up as I am about Raoul and my own impending death.
At last, three more shifters enter the room. I guess they’re my escort to my execution. When they drag me to my feet, I struggle—a last-ditch effort. But with the restraints, I can’t get the range of motion I need to attack successfully. The most damage I do is a few cuts with my claws and a good hard bite to a shifter’s shoulder. He groans, shudders, then staggers back, allowing the other shifters to handle me.
The taste of him explodes on my tongue, a revolting wave of acidic corrosion that I wasn’t expecting. I choke and spit out as much as I can, but the metallic horror of that blood clings to the inside of my mouth like a liquid plague. It’s ancient, like the blood of the Angel, and wild, like Raoul’s blood, but it has turned utterly foul, sickeningly wrong.
I spit again and gag at the taste. The other shifters glance from me to the man I bit, surprise on their faces.
“What the hell are you?” I gasp.
He retreats farther, gripping his wounded shoulder. He has brown wavy hair that almost brushes his shoulders, a short beard, neatly groomed, and a pair of tragic eyes…the kind of eyes you see in paintings of the Christ. Not that I’m religious by any means, but when you’re a vampire, you tend to be somewhat fascinated by religions that focus heavily on the importance of blood.
The haunted desperation in the man’s eyes makes me stop struggling for a second.
“You’re not just a shifter,” I say. “You’re something else. And you’re sick. Dying.”
“Lloyd, what is she talking about?” asks one of the shifters.
“Fuck if I know,” the man replies, holding my gaze. “I told you I’m having trouble with my shifting. That’s why I’m here. Philippa said she could help me—ah, fuck—”
