Page 9 of Princess Broken

“I understand that Octavia granted you authority over other vampires in the Baltimore area.” I keep my voice calm and firm. “However, that authority was never hers to give. For our species’ survival, it is imperative that vampires remain united under one common system of laws and governance, especially now, given the heightened threat from humans.”

“I hate that fucking word.” Mariano leans onto the table again.

“Which word?” I ask calmly.

“Imperative.”

“But you do understand loyalty, correct?” I smile softly. “And the mutual benefits of working together toward a common goal?” I try to use the concepts my research told me would make sense to this former gangster. Although the former part is seeming less and less accurate.

“And what goal do you think we have in common, princess?” He uses my title like an insult, just like the ethnic slur he used with Timur.

I clear my throat. “The common goal of surviving in a world predominantly populated by humans.”

Mariano scoffs. “Humans are no danger. Nothing but food. Sex puppets.”

My back stiffens. This man is so much worse than I imagined. Perhaps he too should be serving a sentence in DEFTA’s prison alongside his Maker.

“You do understand, Mr. Mariano, that taking a human life is a crime.”

“You do understand, princess, that I could give a fuck?” Standing, he grabs his crotch.

The DEFTA guards, reach under their jackets for their hidden stakes.

Mariano slams his palms on the table.

The arches at the sides of the room pull back to reveal openings. In an instant, the room is swarmed with vampires holding old-fashioned machine guns, pistols, bayonets. The same kind of weapons used to murder my family.

“Get back.” Timur pulls me toward the door we came through, but it’s now closed with no visible way to open it from this side.

Shots fill the air, and the room fogs with gun smoke and screams, as the scene seems to play out in slow motion. As they retrieve their concealed weapons, the guards I brought are flung about, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.

Blood spray clouds the air, and my mind flashes back to another battle. One also fought with machine guns and bayonets.

The DEFTA guards are badly outnumbered; their actions hampered by wave after wave of armed vampires, swarming in from both sides of the room, their machine guns providing a constant torrent of bullets. Bullets aren’t lethal. This ambush was designed to create carnage and a distraction from the wooden stakes that can kill.

Blood fills the air and paints the walls and I struggle to banish childhood memories that haunt me.

“Stop this!” Shouting, I shift out from behind Timur’s protective body, now bleeding and riddled with bullet holes.

I try to spot Mariano. A bullet punctures my abdomen.

Clutching my belly, I try to press away the pain, as my body works to expel the bullet and heal.

Aiming a crossbow, Timur scans the group.

He shoots a bolt, and one of the machine-gun wielding intruders lands with a thud on the edge of the table. But then others open fire on Timur, and his body is shredded again by bullets.

Lethal or not, this is brutal.

And it’s too much. Way too much.

And far too familiar.

The scents of blood and gunpowder consume the air.

More than a hundred years of time evaporates.

My bravery vanishes. My combat skills disappear.

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