Tarak’s nose flared with disgust. “Your brain truly is rotted if you believe I can be bribed.”
Anger flared through the Anasso’s eyes before he was attempting to regain control of his temper.
“There is no one above temptation, my son,” he said, tiny quakes running beneath Tarak’s feet. “Unless you pretend to be a saint.”
If Tarak had been thinking clearly, he would have recognized that the Anasso had just offered him an ultimatum. Accept his offer of wealth and power or suffer the consequences. Tarak, however, was too consumed with his tangled emotions.
Anger. Betrayal. And a gut-deep grief.
“I am no saint,” Tarak protested, although he was too focused on his clan to enjoy the same hedonistic pleasures of many demons. His only indulgence was his cellar of fine, aged whiskey. It was for the taste, not to get drunk. A vampire’s metabolism was too fast for the alcohol to affect them. Not unless they drank it straight from the vein of an intoxicated prey. “But my mind is unclouded and capable of seeing what you refuse to admit.”
The older male made a sound of disgust. “And what is that?”
“You are sick.”
“Sick and weak.” Dust filtered from the ceiling as the tremors the Anasso was creating spread through the tunnel. “Such words could be considered treason.”
“They are the truth.”
The Anasso clicked his tongue, holding out his hand. “I am offering you the opportunity to forget what you have seen and walk away, my son. There is no need for any trouble between us.”
Tarak refused to back down. Once upon a time he’d been honored to be called son by this male. It was a sign of honor. Now it just made him sad.
“You know I cannot.”
A fleck of blood dribble down the Anasso’s chin. He was too muddled to realize he’d cut his lip with his own fang.
“A pity.” The hand he’d been holding out was suddenly slashing through the air.
Tarak frowned. The Anasso hadn’t tried to hit him. It was more like he was giving a signal to some unseen onlooker. “What are you doing?”
“The easiest solution would be to kill you,” the Anasso threatened.
Tarak shrugged. “I do not fear death,” he said. “I’ve endured it once before.”
Vampires had no memory of their lives before they were turned from human to demon, but Tarak presumed that he’d realized the end was near as his sire had sucked the last of the blood from his body.
An unmistakable madness glowed in the ancient vampire’s eyes. “We all fear death. Even immortals. Some contain their dread behind a pretense of bloated courage.” He released an ugly laugh. “A few prefer to forget the looming specter of becoming a pile of ash with my little entertainments.”
Tarak curled his lips, revealing his fangs. Not as a threat, but as a display of disgust. “Another excuse?”
Fury radiated from the Anasso. “An explanation.”
There was the echo of heavy footsteps crunching against the rock floor. Tarak couldn’t determine how many demons were approaching, but there were more than one.
“Your guards will never agree to kill me,” Tarak assured his companion, feeling more relieved than alarmed by the sound. “Not when I tell them what I have discovered.”
The large male appeared indifferent to the threat. Was it because he was teetering on the edge of insanity? Or because he was convinced that he had nothing to fear from Tarak?
“I have a wide variety of servants,” he said in mocking tones. “These are a few of my most loyal warriors, and I assure you that they will do exactly what I tell them to.”
Tarak felt his first stab of fear as a foul scent suddenly laced the air.
“Trolls?” he rasped, staring at the Anasso in disbelief.
No self-respecting vampire would have dealings with trolls or orcs or goblins. It was an unspoken rule.
The Anasso shrugged, indifferent to Tarak’s incredulity. “Mongrels,” he clarified. “I’ve discovered that they come in quite handy on occasion.”
Tarak shook his head. Why hadn’t he listened to Chiron? The younger vampire had been able to see far more clearly than the rest of them. He’d known that the Anasso had fallen into a darkness so deep there was no hope of salvation.
“Pet trolls. Yet another secret, my king?” he rasped. “Do you use them to kill off those who might threaten your place on the throne? A throne, I might add, that you created for yourself?”
His words touched a nerve. The Anasso gave a low snarl, his hands clenching before he managed to regain command of his composure.
“That was my first intention, I will admit,” he drawled. “But I suddenly realize that you have more value alive. At least for now.”
Tarak narrowed his gaze. Being torn into pieces by a pack of trolls wasn’t the end he’d envisioned for himself, but he was fairly sure that was preferable to whatever the Anasso had planned.
“What do you intend to do with me?”
The Anasso lifted a hand, smoothing it down his robe as if he was completely unaware that it was a stained, rumpled mess.
“Several years ago I became beholden to a stranger,” he murmured. “I will not bore you with the details.”
“And?”
The Anasso smiled as the first troll appeared around the corner of the tunnel.
“And you, my friend, are about to pay that debt,” the Anasso said, gesturing for the lumbering troll to approach.
The creature wasn’t as large as a full-bred troll, but he was still over seven foot, with a bulky body and skin that was as tough as steel. He also had razor-sharp tusks that jutted from his lower jaw. The Anasso spoke in a low voice to the beast as three more trolls crowded behind Tarak. The stench made him gag, but he forced himself to conjure a pretense of calm indifference. Even when the Anasso sent him a taunting smile.
“First, however, my guards have insisted on having their fun. A pity, Tarak. You should have made a better choice.”
The first blow came from behind Tarak. A fist that shattered his ribs. Then a club smashed in the side of his skull.
From then on it was a ferocious avalanche of pain that lasted an eternity.
About the Authors
Alexandra Ivy is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Guardians of Eternity, as well as the Sentinels, Dragons of Eternity and ARES series. After majoring in theatre she decided she prefers to bring her characters to life on paper rather than stage. She lives in Missouri with her family. Visit her website at alexandraivy.com.
http://www.alexandraivy.com
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Laura Wright is passionate about romantic fiction. Though she has spent most of her life immersed in acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing, when she found the world of writing and books and endless cups of coffee she knew she was home. Laura is the author of the bestselling Mark of the Vampire series and the USA Today bestselling series, Bayou Heat, which she co-authors with Alexandra Ivy.
Laura lives in Los Angeles with her husband, two young children and three loveable dogs.
http://www.laurawright.com
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