Page 42 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

Brynleigh turned her head towards the voice. Hallie’s fingers nudged hers, and she let the Fortune Elf lace their fingers together. Usually, Brynleigh refused to let anyone touch her like this, but between her friend’s soft demeanor and earlier tears, she couldn’t find it in her cold heart to refuse the elf.

The voice continued, “The situation has been contained, and it is safe to re-enter the Hall of Choice. The women will go first. Once you reach the residential sectors, head directly for your Lounges. The Matrons will be by shortly to deliver further instructions.”

Hallie sagged against Brynleigh, her relief palpable. “Thank Kydona.”

Brynleigh wasn’t sure the mother goddess cared about the rebels or the Choosing, but she didn’t say that. If Kydona brought Hallie peace, then that was all that mattered.

The soldiers gave a few more instructions before helping the women to their feet. They were herded out of the bunker.

A door clicked behind them, and the same guard said, “You may remove your blindfolds.”

Brynleigh ripped hers off, her vision adjusting quickly to the faint fluorescent glow from the lights ribbing the ceiling. There were no windows, but several doors lined the concrete, gray hallway.

The soldiers split in two, half traveling at the front of the group and the other half at the back as they led the women upstairs. No one spoke as they climbed five stories. Pinched lips, furrowed brows, and tired eyes were all around Brynleigh.

“Remember, straight to the Crimson Lounge,” the guard at the front reminded them, his hand on the door to the main level of the Hall of Choice.

Once everyone had agreed, the guard turned the knob.

Then it happened.

One moment, Brynleigh was fine.

The next, her world shifted.

A coppery scent slammed into her.

She stumbled and crashed into the cement wall.

The delicious aroma of blood called to her. It took over her, pushing aside rational thought as if it had never existed.

Blood permeated the air. This wasn’t a paper cut or some minor injury.

No.

Multiple people had bled out and died nearby. Not miles away, in some unknown location, but right outside the building. Death would forever mark this place.

Brynleigh’s fangs burned. They were fire.

An animalistic, predatory growl rumbled through her, echoing in the stairwell.

It felt like sharp knives were stabbing into her stomach as she clawed at the cement wall.

Brynleigh wasn’t hungry. She was starving. Had she ever known, truly known, the sensation of requiring sustenance before this point? She thought not.

This new need, this deep-set desire to feed, was so potent that Brynleigh was certain she would die if she did not drink blood. Right. Fucking. Now.

Somehow, her feet started moving. Shadows flooded out of her. Her heart sped. She snarled. Red tinged her vision.

She shoved her way past the guards in a blur and made it halfway down the main corridor before realizing where she was going.

An iron grip grabbed her arm and twisted.

“Someone get this vamp some blood!” the guard holding her yelled.

Brynleigh snarled, trying to shake him off. The sound of her anger was foreign and vicious, like a dog unwilling to give up its prized possession.

Somewhere deep inside her, the remnants of Brynleigh’s humanity were being dragged away by the bloodthirsty monster living inside her. The need for blood was so intrinsically tied to her, such an essential part of her being, that she didn’t know where the bloodlust stopped, and she began.

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