by Anne Malcom
“No, please don’t listen to my overprotective boyfriend, otherwise known as your brother,” I interjected with a bite to my voice. “I always prefer to speak in violence rather than words.”
Thorne turned around, still clutching Rick, to glare at me. Joke was on him, I was already glaring. I flashed fang for good measure.
Rick was stock-still, which I was both glad and disappointed about. They both deserved to have the shit beaten out of them—preferably by me, but I wasn’t in a position to be fussy—but I also didn’t want to have to replace my living room. Again.
“Let me go now,” Rick commanded smoothly.
The little mute human had stepped forward an inch, in some kind of concern. Then something else flickered on her face. Anger. Violence.
Interesting.
“You give me your word you don’t put your hands on Isla again, and I’ll let you go,” Thorne returned, menace in his rough voice. “Otherwise I finally get to do something that’s been coming for millennia and beat you within an inch of your fucking death,” he hissed, promise tight in his words.
It got me hot.
And then pissed, because I couldn’t even make him fuck me on the sofa once everyone left. Or make everyone leave by starting to fuck Thorne on the sofa.
“I think you forget yourself, brother,” Rick said, voice a blade. “And forget the fact that I’m the vampire here—the vampire king, no less. You’re just the human afterthought.”
I stepped forward, pissed on principle at the monarch for insulting my boyfriend and insinuating he was not an awesome badass worthy of wiping the floor with a vampire king, forgetting momentarily that I was still pissed at Thorne for this whole situation.
Thorne put his hand backward to press into my chest, holding me back.
That pissed me off even more, so I decided I would not be protecting my boyfriend.
“I won’t touch her,” Rick continued after a long and loaded silence. “Unless she asks, of course.”
It was hard to sense amongst Thorne’s all-encompassing fury, but I got a twitch of something from the human woman. Jealousy, maybe? Definitely a cooling in her thoughts toward me. Thank God. I didn’t know how to deal with humans liking me, let alone thinking I was going to do something as idiotic as keep them safe.
I couldn’t even keep myself safe, and I was a lot more indestructible than a human.
The air stilled for a moment, as I assumed Thorne was toying with the idea of trying to kill his brother for his throwaway statement. Thorne was an alpha male who considered me his property, and someone—his until recently estranged brother and archnemesis—just insinuated he might sexually defile his property. Naturally, murder was going to be one of two options.
Men.
After a beat, Thorne stepped back, hatred decorating his attractive face. He darted to my side, yanking me into him.
I pushed back. “Nuh-uh, don’t try and come over here and piss all over me,” I said, stepping from his grasp, venom both in my stare and my voice. “This vampire does not get down with that shit. You and your brother may have your issues, but I have much more than the two of you combined, so don’t try to drag me into the middle. I’ll burn this whole fucking house down if you do.”
I glanced between them. “And I don’t mean my fabulous apartment. I mean everything you know, love, and treasure. Apart from me, of course. I know you both already treasure me. Who wouldn’t?” My eyebrows narrowed. “But every fucking thing else. Don’t think that just because I’ve decided not to kill you”—I stared at Rick—“and because I’ve decided not to cut you off from my life completely”—I glared at Thorne—“that I’ve forgiven you. I haven’t.”
Thorne glared at me. He was obviously pissed at not being able to continue his masculine charade. Which was good, since he’d need to get used to it.
Rick’s expression become blank once more, the emotionless king firmly in control. “I’m not getting stuck in this. Not with that to deal with.” He nodded toward the television. “They did this to expose themselves. To expose the supernatural community. This is a game changer in the war. The Sector is likely to get heavily involved now, as will similar governances within the other factions.”
“Isn’t the Sector already involved?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. There was just too much going on to follow. I needed a flow chart to understand it all, or at least a very strong horse tranquilizer so I didn’t have to understand it at all.
“I distinctly remember some idiot woman wearing a hideous sweater set coming over here, leaking misplaced self-importance and bad taste all over the place, who seemed pretty fucking involved to me,” I said to Rick with a scowl. I thought about Sweater Set. “I really must find out where she lives and burn her house down. With her inside it. That will cheer me up.” I would call Duncan and tell him to bring marshmallows.
Rick obviously wouldn’t be coming, since he was such a wet blanket. “The Sector don’t get involved in politics unless the base laws of our society have been broken,” he clipped. “The war against the crown is of little consequence to them, as long as it doesn’t leak into the human world. Now that it has, things will change.”
Change was as good as a vacation—or in my case, killing people who said that—and if it meant the Sector would be taking the responsibility off my shoulders, I was even willing not to kill Sweater Set. “Oh, does this mean I’ll have less time to dedicate to this war and more time to watch the Jersey Shore Reunion? Because that would be just awesome. It’s tee shirt time!” I fist-pumped.
Rick’s jaw ticked, and I gave myself an interior high five for cracking his façade. I should really make it a drinking game. “You seem to be forgetting about the prophecy that puts you exactly in the middle of this war and the fate of it resting on your actions,” he said finally, voice tight as if he were a parent reminding a teenager that they needed to clean their room.
I grinned, mostly to cover the chill that came whenever someone started to talk about that stupid fucking prophecy. “Oh no, I haven’t forgotten it. I’m just ignoring it.”
“You cannot ignore fate, Isla,” Rick gritted out. I knew he really wanted to talk with violence right now, despite what happened with Thorne. I had that effect on people.
I folded my arms. “If I can ignore the fact that my best friend may very well be in love with a stinking werewolf, then I can totally ignore something idiotic written in a dumb book or uttered by a seriously jacked-up witch.”
I paused, my mind wandering, as it often did. Sophie’s drawn and paler-than-normal face pushed at my mind.
“Has anyone dedicated some time to the whole Sophie thing?” I asked. “Because I swear that’s a lot more pressing than some confusing shit that may or may not have been said or seen or done by the gods thousands of years ago. I think she might just go postal. And not in the good way.”
Though my tone was light, my concern behind the words was very real. I had a cold and horrible sense of foreboding when it came to Sophie and whatever this new magic inside her was. I usually ignored foreboding like I ignored reality stars’ autobiographies, but I didn’t want the witch to die, or become someone who didn’t want to drink and kill demons with me anymore, so I couldn’t ignore this.
Unfortunately, it was getting pushed to the side due to this whole ‘war of the races’ thing, and I considered that to be a dangerous mistake.
True destruction never came from the obvious wars. True destruction was always what happened gradually, slowly, creeping up while everyone was looking at the obvious.
And hybrids attacking humans in a public place and then broadcasting it on television, endangering the whole community, was pretty darn obvious. It was somewhat of an issue, but I was beginning to understand Jonathan, the depths of his cold and calculating nature. This was a distraction. An effective one.
“I’ve got someone looking into it,” Thorne said, voice soft, cutting through the harshness of my thoughts. The harshness of the room. Of the fucki
ng world.
I blinked at him in real surprise. “You what?”
He crossed his arms. I failed not to get distracted by the ridges and veins attached to his muscles as he did so. The blood underneath the sculpted skin called to me like chocolate cake when I’d drained a diabetic.
“I knew it was worrying you. Plus I sensed something truly wrong. Any idiot would.” He gave Rick a pointed look, full of hatred and barely restrained violence. “Someone had to do something, make sure the war wasn’t being used to distract us from something infinitely more dangerous. So I’m getting some information.”
Ah, my boyfriend/prophesized soul mate was on the same wavelength as me. Like me, he was not just a pretty face, violent fighter, and excellent conversationalist.
Actually, he wasn’t that much of an excellent conversationalist.
That was just me.
He was still pretty cool, though.
I found my anger at his previous deception dissipating slightly.
“From who?” I demanded, irritatingly warm and fuzzy at the fact that my boyfriend got someone to investigate the crazy magic inside my witchy friend because he knew I was worried about her. I wanted to punch myself for wanting to smile at him, then give him a great blow job.
I usually only gave blow jobs to get one in return. But now I wanted to do it for Thorne’s benefit. No ulterior motive.
Who the fuck was I?
“I have friends,” he hedged, eyes as guarded as his voice.
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m the only one allowed to have mysterious friends. You must disclose them all.” I thrust my phone at him. “Make a list. Right now.”
Thorne looked at my outstretched arm, then my phone, and quirked his brow in response. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
I glanced up at the increasingly impatient king. “He’s used to everyone bowing down and giving him their undivided attention. He can try waiting for once,” I snapped. “It’s character building. Plus, he can try his luck with the human he’s making such an effort to ignore.” I gave Rick a look. “And I know you only try that hard to ignore someone when you really fucking like them.”
Rick’s eyes darkened, his face pure granite.
I rolled my eyes. “Okaaay, your sense of humor died along with Christ, right?” I shook my head. “All about the prophecy. How cliché.”
I glanced longingly at the bar that was seriously depleted, wishing I had the foresight to replace it quicker, I needed booze more now than I did before. I had a terrible feeling that every event was going to get worse and worse until even alcohol didn’t help. Then we were going to be in deep shit.
I glanced to Thorne, my irritation dangerously high. Someone was going to be sans limbs very soon. I began to pace. “Has anyone noticed that these prophecies don’t make any fucking sense?” I yelled, my voice shrill. I had been needing to get this out ever since Sophie let the prophecy out of the bag. “We’re basing all our plans on them, taking them so fucking seriously, but in my opinion, it’s like a drunk Irish poet decided to branch out from limericks and spewed this out.”
I glanced at the two men finally focused on me. All I needed to do was yell and get hysterical. No de-limbing required. That made me a little sad.
“Now, I love a good limerick as much as the next person, but I’m not about to stake my undeath on one either,” I continued. “I can’t believe we’re putting so much time and effort into them instead of just killing everyone.”
Rick shook his head, a gesture so patronizing that I darted forward with the very real intention of ripping his arm off.
Thorne caught me as I stormed past him, yanking me into his front.
“Easy,” he murmured, his stubble prickling at my cheek.
I glared at him but didn’t fight because I quite liked his arms around me, his warmth spreading through me.
Then I glared at Rick, who was watching without emotion or alarm. Of course, he was so confident in his own superiority. I found myself wanting the rebellion to win just so they could bring that monarch down a peg or two.
But my petty satisfaction would likely be as short-lived as me after they took down the king, so I canceled my plans to join them.
“Always with the simplistic approach,” Rick chastised. “You must try to act like someone who has an important role in this war, Isla. You cannot continue with the flippant attitude.”
Nope, I was totally calling them and seeing what their health benefits were.
Obviously I’d stage a coup first to get Jonathan and my mother out of the equation.
“Or what?” I challenged. “You’ll put me to bed without dinner? Or spank me? Well guess what. I go to bed with my dinner. And he spanks me too.” I winked.
Thorne’s desire flooded through me, his arms flexing around me. I could sense his grin.
Rick narrowed his eyes at me. “Your insistence to act like a child will be your demise, Isla.” He paused, glancing at the human for less than a second. “Or ours. You’re no longer playing with your own immortality with your… attitude. I would’ve thought the recent events would’ve brought out a side of you more respective to your Vein Line and age.”
I let out a very long and exaggerated sigh, pulling myself out of Thorne’s grip with effort.
I didn’t particularly want to, but I was gearing up for a rant, and I needed space in order to get the right degree of rant I was aiming for. And I also wanted the choice to act on the continuing urge to rip off limbs without Thorne doing something smart like hold me back.
Then again, by the taste of his anger, he might be gearing up to rip something off his big bro.
Not before I said my piece, though.
“Why is it that people think I’m going to change, grow up, evolve?” I asked, my gaze focused on Rick, then touching on Thorne because he mentioned me ‘taking things like the apocalypse and your impending death more fuckin’ seriously’ more than once.
“I’ve spent five hundred years on this earth, and I’ve realized one important thing,” I continued, holding my bloodred nail up for effect. “Apart from the fact that ripping off arms is the best thing you can do to annoy people.” I smirked at Rick. “I think even my enemies will agree that I have that mastered.”
Rick’s face stayed blank, but his eye twitched with impatience. Thorne was more used to this, of course, so he widened his stand, crossed his arms, and settled in.
I grinned. “The thing is, as long as I like who I am, then no one else’s opinion matters. Think I’m narcissistic? Juvenile? Sarcastic? Yeah, I’m all those things. Hate me? Awesome, I’m not asking you to hang out with me.” I gave Rick a pointed look at that, since none of his social calls or death threats were invited or encouraged by yours truly. “In fact, I hope no one does,” I said honestly. “Because I’m happy with who I am. I’m not going to change because some self-important asshole thinks I need to develop my character.”
Rick got another, slightly more pointed look. Along with a hand gesture one might consider lewd and I considered necessary. I narrowed my eyes. “If that’s your opinion, here are some words for you. Go fuck yourself. I’m a vampire. I don’t age. I’m preserved in perfection. And I’m not changing for a king, for a prophecy or for anyone.”
I glanced to Thorne to bring my point home. I loved him to death, and then some, but he did need to calm down on trying to make me cower behind him whenever trouble came a-knocking. Mainly because trouble didn’t knock, it barreled right through and smashed the fucking door. Also because I was kickass at handling trouble.
More kickass at causing it.
“I’ll fight this war because I kind of have no other choice, and these assholes made it personal.” My mind flickered to where I wasn’t letting it go, to Jonathan. I quickly shook myself out of it, regaining my glare at Rick. “I’m gonna save the day, don’t you worry your serious head about it, Kingly, but I’m doing it my way. In style. With sarcasm. Snark. Immaturity. A great wardrobe. So suck it up, buttercup.�
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Rick was silent for the longest time. I waited for an explosion, more violence. Hoped for it, actually. I knew Thorne was itching for another reason to give his brother a beatdown. I might even let him get a few licks in if I was feeling charitable.
But to my disappointment, there was no violence from the king. Then again, what did I expect? He seemed to have control over such things like his temper.
How boring.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I’m not wasting my time with this. You get yourself killed, it’s on you. But you’ve got to come to the Sector next week.” He drained his drink, placing it on my coffee table—without a fucking coaster—and readying himself to leave.
“I do not have to go anywhere near that house of horrors,” I replied, darting forward to snatch the glass before it could make a ring. I glared up at him. “And if you try and make me, I’ll stake myself on live television.”
It wasn’t an empty promise. I’d always wanted to be the face of the supernatural unveiling.
The fucking hybrids stole my thunder, so I had to do something before vampires got more common than Kardashians.
Rick sighed. He looked to Thorne, as if for some kind of support, like two parents trying to discipline a teenager. “Try to let her know how important that is.”
I may have the mind and the mouth of a teenager, but I had fangs and supernatural strength, plus no such control over my temper as the king did. The glass I was holding smashed in my grip, cutting into my palms.
“He won’t be telling me anything. I’ve got my own mind,” I snapped, dropping the shards and wiping blood on my pants. Another pair ruined. “And two hands I can rip your dick off with if you continue to act with it. I do as I please. Usually it’s to displease men like you who think they can tell me what to do.”
Rick shook his head, not taking heed to the threat like he should. Which, of course, pissed me off more. I made a mental note to order Duncan to shove dead fish inside the walls of Rick’s castle.
“I’ll be in contact,” he said, voice smooth.
Then he breezed toward the door, not glancing at Thorne, who was glaring at him.
