“You’re already late, vampire dog. You thought you could fool her? Mistress will always be one step ahead of you.”
“Messina, please,” Sariah interjects from beside me. “You don’t have to do this. Your death can be quick and merciful. Just tell us what you know.”
“What I know?! I know you’re all going to die soon enough,” she snarls, pushing herself more into my hand, more blood spilling from her chest. “Starting with your brother. He’ll make such an obedient servant for Mistress. I hope he’s the one to end your pathetic life.”
“No, no, no,” Sariah utters in disbelief. “Leave Soren out of it.”
“Your umbras have fallen, you miserable, weak Faeling. Mistress will crush you all for standing between her and her vampire. She knows all your secrets!” the onpyr bellows, foaming at the mouth. “There’s no one left at court to spy for you. Your brother’s next!”
Sariah’s sob feels like a physical blow to my gut, and I turn my gaze her way as she takes out her dagger with trembling hands.
“I have to contact him, Blaise. Warn him. I can’t lose Soren!”
It all happens so fast. The onpyr takes advantage of my momentary lapse in focus, swinging her legs to wrap around my waist, dragging me forward and clamping down on my neck like a feral beast. Like hell I’m going to let her draw blood from me. I wrench Sariah’s dagger from her trembling fingers and swing it up in a wide arc, impaling it in the creature’s neck. I twist, sawing my way through spine and sinew, until the head falls at our feet with a wet thud.
We’re both soaked in blood that is not our own, breathing raggedly in the graveyard silence of the cell.
I push the corpse away from me, swaying limply from the ceiling, and turn to Sariah.
“Take my knife, moonlight. Contact him.”
She loses no time in cutting her finger, frantically speaking to the droplets swirling on her forearm.
“Soren, Soren, please be okay,” she pleads, and it pains me inside to see her so terrified.
Nothing happens for several seconds that seem to drag into eternity, and she crumbles in my arms, weeping.
“Not him. Not him, Blaise.”
I hold her upright, at a loss for words. I know the devastation of losing your kin, and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, least of all her.
“Sari, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Words form on her milky skin, flecked with gore, and she shudders in response.
“Oh, thank heavens. Soren, you’re compromised; our Umbras in court are gone. Turned onpyr. You must run!”
Relief courses through my veins at his answer. I might not like the annoying male, but he’s everything to my little pixie, and I’m quickly learning that she has become everything to me.
“I know. We were ambushed earlier. Managed to kill them, but few of us remain. About to cross the border now. No time to forge papers. I’ll contact again when we’re in the clear.”
The words vanish, leaving only a thin trail of blood in their wake. She casts her watery eyes up at me, her lips quivering.
“We have to help them, Blaise. Send word to Bradvva to await them. They might be hurt.”
“Moonlight.” I hate myself for what I’m about to say. “There’s still a chance he might not be himself anymore. It could be a trap.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head violently, her pale locks sticking to the blood on her face. “I know my brother, Blaise. It’s him. He’s not an onpyr. He can’t be.”
“We can’t overlook that possibility. It would be a fatal mistake. I’ll alert my warriors in Bradvva. They’ll be waiting for them, prepared for the worst. If they are not under Morweena’s control, they’ll grant them passage to Sangeries.”
She nods once, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door.
“Let’s go.”
She breaks into a run, dragging me with her, but she’s in no state to sprint the stairs leading out of the dungeons. I grab her waist and haul her up in my arms, adrenaline wreaking havoc in both of us. I understand her urgency to secure safe passage for her brother, to ensure his safety, but her loss of composure is fatal in our line of work. I grip her harder in myembrace, the need to subdue her fear—to bring her back to herself—overpowering my senses. Words and logic should be my weapon of choice, but the thrill of killing and the high of having her so close after pining over her since I met her, cloud my already not so sensible judgement.
She’s still shaking, her body twitching in uncontrollable tremors. I don’t know how to soothe her, other than crashing my lips against her mouth, pushing her into the stone stairwell wall.
