Page 143 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

The Blood Mage merely grins and bounces one of his eyebrows mischievously.

The witch’s curiosity boils over. “C’mon, you can trust that I’m loyal to the Blood Mages.” She pairs this with a little more contact, pressing her body against his, guiding his hand down from the small of her back to the mound of her ass. “Power excites me.”

The mage laughs like a moan in the back of his throat. “I can tell. Of course, Ican’ttell you about our power, but I think I have a consolation prize. Come a little closer, love, and I’ll share another secret with you.”

She lifts her face to his and he claims her lips with a slobbery hunger that makes me turn away in disgust. “Ick.”

Okay, so I’m not going to gather some incredible secret tonight, but it has me thinking. I have no idea where our powers come from. I thought it was just like other supernaturals, but maybe I’m wrong.

“What do you make of that?” asks Max.

I shrug. “Could be a lie, wouldn’t put anything past a guy like that when he’s trying to bag some booty.”

“But you’re not convinced it's bullshit.”

No, I’m not. There’s a strange ring of truth to it, like I heard that possibility before.

I shake my head. “No.”

The wheels start turning.A source.

Maybe a weakness.

THIRTEEN

Asha

In every directionin the mansion, the Blood Mages employ an arsenal of tricks to impress their supernatural guests. Fire leaps across rooms in various shapes: wolves, dragons, monsters of their own invention. They’ve eschewed traditional lights in favor of supernatural alternatives. To pair with the ballroom’s fiery ceiling, they’ve created sparkling displays where light rains like glitter over the enamored crowd.

It all makes me feel gross and angry. These mages have used this same magic to kill and hurt and maim. Now, they use it to entertain just as easily?

Monsters like them should be locked away in the darkest of prison cells, left forgotten for eternity. Or their lives should end. They shouldn’t be drinking, laughing, dancing, and playing, like everything they did to my people meant nothing to them.

I see their twisted souls. They can’t escape their fates.

It’s strange. My brother is coming here to kill them. Probably to kill everyone. And the mages deserve it. I almost want to lethim finish with them, so I’ll only have him left to deal with, but I have a feeling things won’t be that easy.

This place is going to turn into a bloodbath before the night is done.

If I could warn the people here, I would, but I can’t. It may be yet another thing that haunts me, but I have to stay focused. This is our plan, and it’s the only one we’ve got.

Max and I move from the ballroom into the dining hall, where an enormous table has been converted into a self-serve bar. Luminescent concoctions spill thick fog from silver bowls. Empty chalices stack on both ends with a little sign suggesting guests take them home as souvenirs. I snatch one off the top of the pyramid and check its weight with a toss. “Heavy,” I comment. “These aren’t cheap!”

“I wonder where all their money comes from,” he says quietly.

Braxton answers back. “It’s blood money, that’s all I know.”

But Max is distracted by a commotion at the far end of the room. I follow his gaze to a cluster of guests tugging at a door that won’t budge.

One of them shouts, “The doors are locked!”

The woman’s words sweep through the crowd and smiles and laughter fade away as others take notice. People begin shuffling towards the nearest exit, probably hoping to prove the one locked door is just a mistake. Some kind of misstep made by the foolish servants.

“What’s going on?” Orson asks through the earpiece.

“Something bad, maybe,” I whisper back.

Or maybe it really is just one locked door.

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