Page 65 of Vampire Savage

“Miles, you go ahead and sit down too,” I instruct the man as Wren is more polite than necessary when accepting the two pistols from the guards. Miles blusters, squaring up his shoulders as if he means to intimidate me.

“What are you going to do if I don’t? Shoot me?” He asks with false bravado. Wren finally moves beside me, careful and awkward with the guns in her hands.

“Listen to him, Miles,” Wren conjoles, yet again proving how considerate she is at heart. “He isn’t the type to make idle threats.”

Miles huffs and jabs his finger at her. “You need to get away from this psycho, Wren. Get over here where it’s safe.” He sends Oberon an incredulous look before looking back at me. “You’re just a fucking relics dealer. What is this? Wren,” he says again, “get over here. Now.”

She doesn’t move and I holster my SIG before taking the confiscated guns from her and removing the magazines and clearing the barrel. I toss them back through the doorway without care. Then, finally, I turn towards my mate, raising my hands to cup her face.

“Little Bird,” I murmur before claiming her mouth in a kiss. It’s hard, brutal, and when she opens under me with a sigh, it’s hard to remember my unfinished business.

“Oh, my,” Sandra whispers, her tone scandalized.

“Him?!” Miles shrieks. “You let this thug get you pregnant? You were a fucking virgin!”

Wren stills in my embrace and I pull back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping away. Miles watches me warily as I move towards him. I grip his shoulder and forcibly seat him in a chair before bending in close.

“The next time you speak to my mate, I will remove your tongue.” Miles looks at me in horror and my expression doesn’t change. “Understood?”

“Y-yes,” Miles says, his voice wobbling.

I straighten and pat him on the shoulder. “Good.” I send Sandra a charming smile. “Now, Ms. Ellens, I’m sure you didn’t expect to find yourself in such a situation this evening. My boss, Ambrose d’Vil, has instructed that I’m to give you the opportunity to leave—”

The woman bolts up but freezes like a deer when I lift my hand.

“He also wants me to remind you that we are aware of the 132 cases you’ve presided over and accepted bribes in exchange for favorable verdicts.”

Sandra Ellen’s face goes white and her heartrate stutters enough that cardiac arrest may be a real concern. “What—What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” I stare her down. “Just as Mr. Benoit here knew about them and used them to get you to officiate a wedding with a bride under duress. Say nothing about what you saw here today, and you won’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, I’ll personally ensure there is no evidence of those transactions ever occurring.” Except for in my private database as insurance, of course.

Sandra’s eyes go back to Oberon, and I finally let a low laugh escape. “You don’t need to concern yourself with Mr. Benoit,” I assure her. A visible shudder racks the woman at the chill in my voice. I smile widely, flashing my fangs. Sandra squeaks and hurries from the room. I touch a finger to my ear as I turn back to the table.

“Ms. Ellens is exiting the penthouse,” I say, locking eyes with a furious Oberon. “Ensure she returns home and is reminded of my appreciation of her cooperation.”

“Copy.” Kasar’s answer is a grunt in my ear.

I return to Wren’s side, giving in to my need to be close to her. She leans in against me, our arms brushing, but I’m entirely focused on the four men sitting at the table.

“Now, gentlemen, I believe it’s time we have a civilized discussion.” The two human guards look over their shoulders at me, tensing. I take a step towards them.

Oberon snaps, his face red with anger, his dark brows furrowed. He slams his hands on the table, his fingers going white from the pressure and roars defiantly. I catch Wren’s flinch from the corner of my eye.

“If you dogs don’t fucking be men and remove this asshole, I’ll destroy your entire fucking lives,” he snarls at his two security lackeys. They’re tense, debating. Oberon’s fury takes me back centuries, to the night before we attacked the building holding the pagan sect. He looked exactly like this when four soldiers attempted desertion. He commanded our regiment by fear, and it seems he’s never learned any better.

Don’t do it, I think at the men apathetically. The moment their bodies tense, I let out a quick sigh.

The moment they stand, both turning towards me, I move. Like the night the troll attacked Wren, I revel in my savagery. I may be coming to terms with my ability to care about another person, but I will never not be a creature who enjoys slaughter.

I deliver a hard chop between the shoulder blades of Jude, sending him flying forward into Mark. Neither of them have time to recover as I yank the dining chair back hard enough to crash into the wall beyond me. Even as I focus on the two before me, Wren is like a homing beacon in my senses and I ensure the chair doesn’t go near her while also keeping my body between her and the guards.

I grab the back of Jude’s neck then deliver brutal, precise blows to his kidneys and kick his calf, snapping both bones. The next hit is to the back of his head and his cry of pain cuts off as he goes out, cold. Mark is still staggering against his associate’s weight, his eyes wide with bewilderment as I dispatched Jude. Grabbing the unconscious man’s shoulders, I fling him toward the open doorway, his body slamming into the hardwood floor with a thud.

Mark recovers, bringing his fists up and sliding away from his seat. He strikes out and I twist, letting his fist sail through empty air. His breath is already coming hard, fear skittering through his veins. No doubt he’d be a formidable opponent to a human, but he’s no match for a vampire and he knows it. It’s too bad it’s too late for him to back out now.

He punches again, and I slap his fist away as I advance on him. This is almost boring. At least the troll gave me a slight challenge. Mark does his best, kicking and punching with skill but never landing a strike as I force him backwards. His back hits the wall and I see in his eyes the moment he realizes how fucked he is. He brings his forearms up to guard his face.

My first punch breaks his ribs, the second hits his diaphragm and the air whooshes from his lungs as he hunches over. An uppercut to his face shatters his nose, bright blood flying from his face and splattering the white wall as his head snaps back against it. One more sharp jab to his jaw and his eyes roll up into the back of his head and he crumples, sliding down the wall.

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