Page 91 of The Cruelty of Thorns

Blood.

I crossed the foyer and walked through the sitting room to the fireplace. I’d been planning for this moment since I left Genoa. It had taken years of searching, but I’d finally found a witch with the power to do what I needed.

“I was told you were the man to see. I know you have it. I can pay your price.”

“It’s not about the money.”

“Then what?”

“Call it curiosity. Why would you need it?”

“Because as much of a scourge as I am on this earth, there are those who are far worse.”

The old man nodded as though satisfied with my answer and moved behind the counter, pulling down a dusty green bottle. “I’ve had this for over sixty years. It was passed down from my mother, and her mother before her.”

He pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured some of the contents into a slender vial, taking care to close both containers tightly.

“You’ve never used it?”

“Never had cause to. You’re the first of your kind I’ve ever encountered.”

“Why would you have something that could kill us if you don’t believe we exist?”

“Didn’t say I don’t believe. I said I’d never encountered one.” He handed me the vial, his eyes meeting mine without fear. “A vampire killed my aunt. That’s when my grandmother created this.”

“So you’ve never used it?”

“My grandmother did. She tracked and killed the vampire that ate my aunt.”

I quirked a brow. “By herself?”

He grinned. “She was a resourceful witch.”

I nodded. “How does it work?”

“Like any poison. One touch in a wound is fatal. And I have just the thing to deliver it.”

I tapped the wooden panel next to the fireplace and opened the secret compartment, pulling out the bundle I’d been carrying around for close to 300 years. Waiting for just this opportunity. Inside were the final pieces of my revenge. I unwrapped the cloth and set both items on the table.

The dagger was slim and razor sharp, created as a single-strike weapon. I uncorked the vial and dipped the tip inside, coating the blade in the thick, noxious liquid before pushing the stopper back into the vial. Tucking the dagger behind my back, I started up the stairs, following the trail of rose petals that led to my bedroom.

He was standing over Myra on my bed, looking like some divine Hell’s Angel with his blond curls and black biker leathers. Only the cold void of his ice-blue eyes gave away his true nature.

“Christopher.”

“Julianus.”

I took in the scene, clamping down on my rage. This was not the time to let emotions cloud my judgment.

Despite all my precautions, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that he had found her. And once he did, he would have noticed the same thing I did about her. Being the sadistic shit that he was, he would have wasted no opportunity to exploit it.

Her wrists and ankles were bound with my own neckties, another one stretched across her mouth. Her clothes had been ripped off, exposing her milky flesh, which was covered in fresh bite marks. I felt my cock respond to the sight. Try as I might, there was no escaping my nature, the desire to plunder her body surging through my veins. Focus, I reminded myself.

I sniffed; thankfully there was no scent of cum, meaning Christopher hadn’t yet violated her sexually. The blood on her forehead indicated a head wound. Her heartbeat was thready, probably from blood loss. She would require medical attention, but at least she was still conscious.

She stared at me wide-eyed, her sobs muted by the gag, and for a moment it was another face I saw. Another set of eyes that entreated me to help. I pushed that failure from my mind.

“Why are you here?” I demanded of Christopher, my voice surprisingly calm.

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