by Anne Malcom
Everyone’s attention went that direction, obviously.
I didn’t know about the rest of them, but I expected attackers to pour through the door like clowns out of a small car. It was usually the way of things. But it was nothing.
No, not nothing. Something worse than the snarl of hybrids, of the roar of a wolf, of the ruthless accuracy of a vampire.
No, the air itself seemed to sour, to become heavy, ancient, like the whole apartment had been turned into a tomb. It was horribly familiar.
Sophie’s realization clicked about as soon as I did. The rest of the men took longer because, well, they were men.
Malena.
This was her brutal command of the darkness in the air, her bastardization of nature, disrupting the balance of life and death and calling up the underworld itself.
Somehow I instantly knew she was the reason for the strange empty look behind Sophie’s eyes earlier.
Sophie’s hands immediately went to her neck, clutching at the bare skin as if this was the first time she had noted the pendant was absent.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
I braced on my heels, ignoring the way my father had turned in the blast, positioning himself in front of me.
“Fuck is right,” I muttered. I glanced backward for the moment that existed between seconds, the moment that could only be noticed by immortals.
Thorne’s eyes were already on me.
There were no words.
There couldn’t be any to fit in such a short amount of time.
And then the moment was snatched, and I moved my attention forward.
Jonathan walked in gracefully, his Italian loafers crunching on the shattered remains of my door. He buttoned the jacket on his suit, eyes flaring in pleasure as he caught my eye behind my father’s shoulder.
His presence, his eyes on me, was a physical blow. A taunt at me, accusing me of all the lies I’d told myself and Thorne about how little power he had over me.
Even now, a small and disgusting part of me itched to creep forward.
“Mon ange,” he greeted smoothly. “I do thank you for the invitation, though a rather crude form of delivery.” His eyes twinkled like the top of an icy lake, pretty but cold and lifeless, something that would ultimately shatter and bring about doom by yanking you down into the cold depths.
“But I am amused, I will say.” His words were easy. Unhurried. Like he wasn’t the vampire we had been scouring the earth for. As if we all weren’t itching to kill him.
Wait, why weren’t we killing him?
“Sorry, you don’t get to make toasts at this shindig,” I hissed. “But you do get to die.” I was about to dart forward, not intending on freezing like I had last time.
Sophie snatched my wrist before I could move. Power seeped from her skin as she did so.
“No, Isla, it’s a trap,” she hissed.
I glared at her, then down to where her grip was holding me hostage. “Fuck off, Admiral Ackbar.” I tried to wrench away from her.
“Isla, she’s right,” Thorne gritted out, his entire body different, stiffer but not in his usual ironclad fury way.
“He’s got Malena working something dark,” Sophie said, obviously still boasting motor control. “Something that will likely incapacitate an immortal who crosses that line.” She nodded to the shadow that was only just visible a foot in front of Jonathan’s loafer.
I narrowed my eyes at Sophie. “Oh yeah, we’re going to have a talk about how you failed to tell me the witch fucking escaped,” I shot at her. Then I turned my eyes to Jonathan. “Really? You’re that much of a coward that you’d hide behind magic?” I folded my arms since I still had the ability to do so. A quick glance told me everyone else but Sophie and I were frozen in that strange, creepy living statue-type thing.
Sexist.
And a huge mistake on Jonathan’s part.
“It is not cowardice, mon ange,” he said, eyes settled on me.
It took everything I had to gaze blankly back at him. “Ah, but it is, mon asshole,” I replied. “This whole rebellion is cowardice, if you ask me. Getting witches to do the legwork so you don’t have to engage in a fair fight. Because you’d lose.”
“Ah, the one who expects the enemy to engage in a fair fight will always lose, Isla,” he replied. “I am, after all, a vampire from the gutters, I see no use for manners in life, so therefore I will not see fit to use them in war.” He stepped forward, and Thorne’s energy was so hot it seemed to burn the back of my neck. “And I’ll make sure that I throw fairness out the window to get my prize.”
I watched his advance with boredom. Outwardly, at least. “If you’re insinuating your prize is me, you’re in for a rather large shock,” I said. “Blast him with your magic at any point, Sabrina,” I hissed out of the corner of my mouth.
Sweat beaded along Sophie’s forehead. “Little busy here trying to fight against Malena’s spell designed to kill everyone in this room but you and me,” she gritted out.
My stomach dropped. “Okay, continue. I’ll take care of this.”
My father was still in front of me, and I had already intended on stepping around him and trying my level best to rip Jonathan’s head off without tripping on a magical land mine.
My eyes searched my apartment for Malena, or anyone else but Jonathan.
They were there. Others. I could sense their presence. A small army.
But I couldn’t see them.
Jonathan was standing just on the cusp of the strange shadow separating him from us. He narrowed his eyes at my father. “Ah, I see your wife was correct. You came to protect your daughter after all.” He sighed. “In vain, I am sorry to tell you. Isla, step out from your father’s shadow. I want to see my bride. Such a different gown than the one you wore on our wedding day, non?”
My heart clenched and I steeled myself against the pain. Used it to fuel me.
“Not yours, asshole,” I hissed, holding up my ring finger. My other hand wasn’t displaying a ring finger, but the finger I did hold up told quite a nice story, I thought. “His.” I didn’t need to glance at Thorne to point him out.
Before Sophie could snatch my arm again, I darted out from behind my father, stepping forward to stalk toward Jonathan.
“Isla!” Thorne roared.
I ignored him. I ignored everything. Because I had somehow stepped into the past within the present.
“You are beautiful, mon ange,” Jonathan murmured, his hand tight at my waist, his feet leading us with expert precision around the dance floor.
Our first dance as a couple.
We were surrounded by humans. Friends.
It made me feel warm, that thought, but they didn’t exist in that moment. This was Jonathan and me. The world was nothing compared to that.
“And you are handsome, husband,” I replied, a blush creeping up my cheeks as his gaze darkened and his hand moved downward on my waist.
“This doesn’t feel real,” I whispered.
He grinned. “Would you like me to pinch you to make sure I have not fallen into a dream?”
I smiled back. “I think if this was a dream, I’d rather not wake up. In fact, I would be terrified to wake and be back in my nightmare. So if it is a dream, it is the most beautiful of them, and I shall sleep forever to remain in it.”
The eyes running over my body were nothing like the soft and open ones that teased me during the waltz. That wasn’t a nightmare disguised as a dream, like before. This was a nightmare properly dressed as reality.
I stopped a reasonable distance from the curtain of darkness, enough that I could glance to the side and see into my hallway.
As I had guessed, an army of hybrids waited. But they weren’t hybrids like we’d seen before. They looked almost… human. Not misshapen or grotesque like the first one Sophie had captured. They almost looked sentient. They blinked. But that was the only motion of their still bodies. I’d never seen hybrids that still.
They were waiting.
/> Jonathan’s eyes followed me. “We’ve been doing some tweaking, you see, my love,” he said. “The richer the bloodline, the closer to Ambrogio, the more effective the transition.” His eyes locked on mine. “Obviously we would’ve created a perfect vampire if we had Ambrogio’s blood, but you took care to get rid of our creator, didn’t you, mon ange?”
I glared at him. “He didn’t want to win the war, to enslave humans,” I hissed. “He was on that side because he wanted the end of the world. How else does the vampire version of Adam die? He can’t exactly eat a bullet. He had some kind of hand in creating the world, so he didn’t want to leave it unless the whole fucking thing burns.” I paused. “I don’t like the thought of losing a carefully cultivated shoe collection to the end of the world, so yes, I took great care, asshole. So kill me.”
“Kill you?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Non, we have much ahead of us, mon ange.”
“I have much ahead of me,” I corrected. “The only thing you have ahead of you is the view of your headless body at my feet. I hear one stays conscious for ten seconds after decapitation. Do me a favor and blink twice when I’m staring at your severed head, just to let me know I’m getting a thrill.” My toes kissed the line that was no more than a shadow to the naked eye, but it was a wall of knives, brutal, lethal for anyone stupid enough not to look with a lot more than a naked eye.
“I take you for a lot of things, Jonathan,” I said, not taking my eyes away from his, despite the pain it caused me to look into the familiar and coldly foreign eyes of the stranger who had been tearing at my soul for the past five hundred years. “A liar, an asshole of epic proportions, more of a narcissist than yours truly—which is a big accomplishment, I’ll have you know. A sadist. A dictator. Someone with terrible taste in cohorts. But one thing I wouldn’t have you pegged for was a coward. Until right now.”
I raised my brow. “Hiding behind a witch? I don’t even do that, and mine is so much better than yours.” I glanced back at Sophie, who was stock-still, but her eyes were glowing almost violet and her body shook. I was hoping that was a good thing; otherwise, we were fucked.
“Better fashion sense and skill as well,” I said, returning my gaze to Jonathan. “You want me? You can have me.” I smiled wickedly. “But only if you step out from behind the witch’s skirt and at least fight for me like a vampire.” I itched to turn around fully and find strength in Thorne’s gaze. But I was a badass vampire who didn’t need to look to her slayer husband for strength, so instead I looked to myself. “I know you won’t be able to fight like a man—my man, to be particular—because he may not be able to fight for me, but he’s the only one who has me.” I narrowed my eyes as Jonathan’s jaw ticked. “And he’s the only one who ever will.”
The silence that followed my words was full. Full of the possibilities of which way this little standoff would go. Logically, Jonathan had the upper hand right then, even if using a witch was totally cheating and just tacky in my opinion. Aiming at a man’s ego was about as good as a kick between the legs to take away all logic.
Maybe my proverbial kick in the nads needed a little more force. I was happy to oblige. Especially if it meant I got to actually kick Jonathan in the dick—before I ripped it off, that was.
“You have such a warped sense of certainty that just because you’ve raised a rebellion and controlled the masses of idiots stupid enough to believe it’s gonna stick, that all that and your shallow power is gonna give you a grasp on me,” I said, walking back and forward along the invisible line of power, trying to see where the witch was hiding.
She wasn’t exactly subtle, and I would’ve noticed if she was crouching behind the curtains during my wedding preparations. It pissed me off that we couldn’t find her. Pissed me off more that she’d escaped in the first place.
I focused on Jonathan once more, happy to see his icy mask was shattering slightly and his fists were tight at his sides. “Newsflash, asshole. You could take over the whole world, burn it to the ground and present me with the ashes, and I’d still spit in your fucking face. No matter what you do, that ain’t gonna change. And standing there like a coward demanding something you’re never going to have is just plain embarrassing.”
That hit the spot.
His eyes darkened, and he lifted his fisted hand in some kind of silent signal that removed the shadow from in front of me at the same time a warm and comforting burst of power washed over me—I was guessing Sophie was successful in removing the spell trying to kill my new husband and all our friends.
Girl power.
“You will see them all die,” he whispered, murder in his eyes as the hybrids waiting rushed through the door.
I grinned back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
And then the battle began.
I plucked a hybrid from the air and snapped its neck when it got in the way of my path to Jonathan. Sounds of flesh against flesh echoed in my ears, mingling with my thundering heartbeat that reminded me of the stakes in this little battle.
Not just the end of the world, but whatever would happen if we lost, if Jonathan somehow caught me alive.
But I wouldn’t let that happen.
So I strode forward amongst the chaos.
The second I put my hands on Jonathan and he felt my heartbeat, I had to make sure he didn’t walk away from the fight. Not that I intended him to anyway.
But since I was still holding the enchanted blade, I utilized it by lunging forward and embedding it into the flesh of his arm. I’d been aiming for his heart, but he was fast.
He grinned and yanked it out without a flinch, tossing it to the side instead of using it on me. “Ah, why must you be so impersonal when trying to kill me, mon ange?” he asked as I circled him, both of us moving in tandem, engaged in a fatal dance while the battle raged around us.
I might’ve heard Thorne’s roar. But I also might’ve imagined it, because Jonathan was stealing all my senses. Not with magic. No, with the eyes, with his presence, with the utter fucking confrontation with him.
“Why must you be such an asshole and not fucking die?” I gritted out, darting forward so my fist connected with his face. I reveled in the brutal crunch of his bone embedding into what I hoped was his brain. I’d put my full strength behind it—but that wasn’t as much as I was used to thanks to curses of both the womanly and witchy kind.
I tried to dart back before his skin could feel the vibration under my knuckles, but as noted before, Jonathan was fast. His hands circled around my wrist as the flow of blood from his nose stopped and his bones crunched back together.
I tried to wrench myself from his grip, but he was strong. Stronger than most vampires. Even if I was at full strength, I doubted whether I would’ve been able to break his grip.
His eyes flared, and he flashed fang as his face alighted in brutal satisfaction. “Ah, so it is true,” he hissed.
The way his tongue curled around those words, the way his hand clenched around my wrist, snapping the bones in it, and mostly the sadistic, erotic, knowing glint in his eyes sickened me.
It also gave me enough presence of mind to kick out with my heels and embed my stiletto in his crown jewels. His response was immediate and immensely satisfying. Vampire or not, kicking a man in the dick was going to have a really fucking effective outcome—doubling over in pain.
It was only going to be a small window that he stayed like that. Seconds, if anything. And while I was weakened to begin with, now I had a really fucking broken wrist. My right hand was useless—which was fine, because I only needed one hand to rip his head off.
Which was what I was about to do when something snapped me out of the little bubble that I had been in with Jonathan.
A sharp and visceral fear that speared through me with such intensity that I almost doubled over like Jonathan. I immediately knew the source.
Thorne.
My eyes found him amidst the carnage of the battle. He was cornered, which wasn’t hard since even th
ough my apartment was big by New York standards—and all other standards—it wasn’t designed to be a battlefield. Though I had made some necessary adjustments to the design of it when I became aware that it was a battlefield of late. I owned the whole floor, so no pesky humans called noise control.
And Rick still owned the floor below me.
Beyond that, since the wolf went hurtling out the window, the glass was reinforced and everything was soundproof.
But not designed for this influx of hybrids who were more sophisticated and deadly than anything we’d ever encountered.
Every single immortal in the room—the ones on my side, of course—was struggling, everyone injured, bleeding, broken. Scott’s arm was misshapen and hanging from the socket at a strange angle as he fought with a ferocity that was near comical on the usually positively warm and fuzzy vampire. He used his free arm to wrench a hybrid from Silver, who was slashing out at two in front of him, a blade in each hand.
Chace was bleeding from a nasty gash in his forehead, and his arm was ripped from where fangs had latched onto him. He and Dante were side by side, Dante setting many incoming hybrids aflame when he could, ripping their heads off when he couldn’t.
I knew he had the power to incinerate every enemy in a five-mile radius. But that had the nasty side effect of also incinerating all the friendlies in that five-mile radius too.
Duncan had two hybrids hanging from him, but he was grinning. “Is that all you’ve got? You weak fuckers!” He turned his head to rip the throat out of the hybrid hanging on his back.
Sophie was standing in the middle of it all, eyes glazed over with a glowing film that was super fucking creepy. She wasn’t moving, not shooting out blue lights to help with the cause. No, she was as still as I’d ever seen the witch, and I knew, with the taste of magic both bitter and sweet in the air, that she was doing battle. Not as obvious as the one around us, but something infinitely more dangerous.
She had no shadow shield around her, so Rick and Thorne were fighting side by side, taking down as many attackers as they could.
Protecting Sophie.
Or so they thought. I doubted they realized that Sophie was the one doing the most epic of protecting. But they were males, so it didn’t factor into their minds that the thing beyond the obvious—snapping hybrid vampires’ necks—was infinitely more dangerous.
