Page 89 of Filthy Rich Vampires: For Eternity

Her nostrils flared as she lifted her wine glass to her lips. “I want you to stop killing us.”

“You first,” I said with mock sweetness.

She swallowed with a loud gulp. “Easier said than done. Your people have pissed off a lot of vampires.”

“My people? What does that mean?”

Berit’s jaw tensed for a moment, and I knew whatever came next was key to understanding not only her demand but the Mordicum itself. “I think you know, but in case you’re as stupid as you’re acting, I’ll tell you. The purebloods and their elite families, the Council, even the Queens.”

“And what makes them my people?” I pressed.

“You were born into one of the oldest pure bloodlines in vampire history. You’re one of them, even if you don’t want to admit it. And you protect them all. Their enemies are your enemies, and since they see us as a threat, I suppose that means we’re enemies, too. But I would like to change that.”

This wasn’t going exactly how I expected it would. I glanced at Lysander and found his face shadowed but his eyes alert. Our first direct contact with the Mordicum wasn’t what either of us had thought it would be, but we weren’t about to drop our guard.

“That’s fair, I guess,” I said. “But why do you care who I’m fighting for?”

Berit smiled, her white teeth stained with red wine. “Because if we’re ever going to change things, we need more allies and less enemies.”

“Maybe you should kill fewer vampires,” I suggested. I didn’t buy any of it. I had been there that night at the opera. I’d seen exactly what the Mordicum wanted to do to vampire families like mine.

“You first.” She smirked and took a sip of wine.

“I’m not as easy to buy as some.” I kept my tone light, but Maggie stilled behind the bar. She didn’t say anything, but I knew the barb had struck its target.

“What if I told you that we want the same thing?” Berit asked.

“I doubt that.” I snagged the bottle from Lysander’s hand.

“Hey! Get your own.”

I ignored my brother. “You seem to want to kill innocent people.”

“And you don’t, il flagello?”

“I said in-no-cent.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” she told me. “We aren’t interested in killing innocent vampires.”

“The vampires at the opera—”

“Were not innocent,” she cut me off.

“And the familiars you killed?”

“Unfortunate casualties. That happens in war.”

“Are we at war?” I asked slowly.

“We will be,” she said, her eyes pinned to mine.

“Is that a threat?” I muttered.

“It’s a warning—and one I hope you heed before it’s too late.”

“Now that definitely sounds like a threat,” Lysander interjected. “Why should we listen to anything you have to say?”

I leaned against the bar and waited for her answer. My brother did the same, but Berit paused.

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