The Bite of Winter (International Monster Slayers Book 2)
Page 36
“Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to let you go so you can pass on a message to the rest of your filthy friends.” I take two steps forward and the vampires actually lean away from me. “This little uprising of yours is going to end today. Step foot on Minnesota soil again, so much as touch a single strand of fur on a werewolf’s head, and we’ll chop you into pieces like we did the lamia.”
“You’re . . . granting us mercy?” the vampire asks, clearly not trusting my word or perhaps thinking me weak.
I move closer until I’m towering over him. “We’re not going to put a bad dog down when he can still be useful,” I growl. “But if you don’t put your leash back on, we aren’t going to offer your kind a second chance. Do you understand?”
He doesn’t speak but nods. I grab him by the collar of his jacket and lift him up until we’re eye to eye. The bodyguard doesn’t move to stop me but tenses.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
I drop him to the ground.
“Then get out of my sight!” I bellow and point to the far door.
The pair scamper to their feet and the agents step aside to let them trip in fear out the door. I’m breathing hard and clench my fists to stop them from shaking. There’s five beats of silence once the vampires are gone.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Jefferson says gruffly behind me.
We’re quick to leave the area but a number of agents stay to patrol the city in case the vampires change their minds. However, word apparently spreads fast of our encounter. As we navigate to Underground, a number of calls come in saying the vampires spotted along the border and in Minnesota have begun to retreat and retreat fast. Jefferson pats me on the back, Hawk keeps nudging me in the ribs, and the other agents toss me smiles. We did it.
It’s with great relief when we reach Underground and are able to pass along the good news to Director Knox. It could be an effect of the lighting but I swear I see pride in the director’s eyes.
Then there’s only one last step to take, and this time Hawk can’t go with us.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” he says and sits with Celina near the entrance to Underground. “Go get ‘em, Nix.”
I nod and let his confidence fill me up and Jefferson’s rage harden my skin. Together Jefferson and I walk through the familiar corridors of the penitent cells. The white hallways stretch on forever until I stop in front of the door glimmering with a dragon’s barrier where Draco waits in his usual black suit.
His intense, calculating gaze sweeps over me. “You’ve caused quite a stir.”
Scholar’s warning echoes in my head that the IMS is not to be trusted, Draco in particular. But after everything that’s happened, I’ve decided I can’t afford to lose my trust in people. If I hadn’t trusted Charlie or Melody or Jefferson or the selkies, where would I be now?
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“More than I’ve ever been,” I say and mean it.
The barrier drops and I walk inside to find Dasc waiting for me chained to the table in the center of the room. His blue eyes narrow, trying to read me past my outer layer of hardened rage and experience that’s come with chopping the heads off dozens of monsters. I take my seat easy as you please and lean back in my chair. I watch Dasc for a long time, studying him as he studies me.
Dasc survived the impossible. Witty’s gone on about his healing abilities. He’s lived for centuries. He’s a force to be reckoned with, but I wonder what the power in my veins could do to him. Would he wilt in agony like the lamia if I push out that force? Would the magical disease flowing through him evaporate so he could be killed?
“You’ve changed,” he says quietly. “What’s happened?”
“Care to explain why two lamia were looking to kill you?” I ask casually.
His reaction is subtle but it’s there. Dasc, the almighty alpha of the werewolves, shrinks in on himself in fear. His eyes dart around on the table as if he’s drawing up imaginary scenarios and countermeasures with the information I’ve given him.
“Maybe they were old friends you screwed over? They’re about as old as you, right?” I offer and rap my fingers on the tabletop. “All this talk about a ‘she.’ She’s trying to kill you. She’s starting up a war. Was it a lamia all the time? Or . . .” I rest my clasped hands on the tabletop. “Is something even more powerful than the lamia pulling the strings?”
The flick of his eyes to mine and away again tell me I’m right.
“There are bigger monsters than you, right?” I say, quipping the same line he said when he tried to kill me in Moose Lake all those months ago.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” he says darkly. “You don’t—”
“You know what?” I say over him. “I’m done playing games. You can spin your poetry for someone else who cares. I made your bargain. I owe you a life debt. Then I also went and slaughtered a bunch of vampires, saved the werewolves, and scared the rest of the vampires back into whatever hole they crawled out of. My end of the deal is done.”
“Who killed the lamia?” he asks.
I tighten my jaw and think of that powerful force that surged out of me, stopping the lamia in their tracks long enough for Scholar to chop Zeta’s head off and to scare Epsilon into fleeing.
There’s nothing Dasc can gain from knowing part of the truth, anyway. “My brother and me.”
He falls silent and I shake my head, disgusted.
“That’s it?” I snap. “More question games? Well, you can forget it. I hope you rot in hell.”
Fury rages through me. People have been hurt and killed because the lamia came to Minnesota to find Dasc. Scholar wasn’t even their original target but because of me, she got thrown into the mix and is now in the wind. She had been my best hope for turning my blood into a cure. It’s all gone and that’s on Dasc. I sweep my chair back and make for the door.
“Wait,” Dasc says and gives a defeated sigh. “I’m going to need a map and something to write with.”
“Why? So you can write your madman rantings down? I’ll just burn them for fun.”
Those wretched blue eyes pin me at the door. Every century of cold calculations, heartless murder, and years of watching the world die around him shows through in those eyes. The eyes of a monster. The eyes of a being who’s lived far too long.
“We made a bargain, Phoenix Mason,” he says. “So, I’m going to honor our deal. Get me a map of Scotland. I’ll lead you straight to Genevieve Barnes.”
THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES . . .
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Bethany Helwig lives in a small town in Minnesota. When not working as a paralegal, she writes fantasy novels, composes music, tries her hand at art, and enjoys the madness that comes with participating in various fandoms.
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