Page 132 of A Debt of Darkness

I don’t hesitate and plunge my fangs into the despicable, detestable creature’s fleshing, feeding on its blood as if it’s worthwhile. As if it’s wholesome or nourishing.

Memories flood through me and I shift through the images of those he’s claimed. Of victims young and old, weak and strong. Of lives taken and souls destroyed. Of death and destruction and the joy he’s taken in inflicting such devastation.

And then I find the memory I’ve been searching for. The meeting between Rowan and the rebellious priests. The details of their arrangement are laid bare and the implication of their deals sits as heavily on my heart as any sin I’ve ever committed.

Rowan didn’t enter this freely, and his hand was forced. He didn’t want to risk open conflict or my wrath, but they left him no choice, outmaneuvering him and leaving him with no option but to comply. His life is forfeit unless he kills me or Ivy, and the blood oath he’s sworn cannot be broken.

He might have been a powerful vampire, but the rebellious priests usurped his might. Their zealotry knows no limits, and they’re convinced their cause is righteous. They’ve lost their fucking minds to their obsessive beliefs and obsession with the purity of the bloodlines.

And it’s dangerous. Fucking dangerous.

For the Brotherhood. For the covens. For me and Ivy.

I scream with unadulterated rage and slash through the fucker’s neck, severing his carotid. Blood sprays in spurts of crimson, painting the chamber in the horror of a stolen life, and Ryan’s eyes snap to mine, questioning if he should heal the wound and let me extract more vengeance.

I shake my head and stand back, admiring my handiwork as the life drains from the vampire. I wait, letting every fucking gram of agony drain from him and finally—only when the last drop of blood from the wretched, deviant fucker falls onto the floor—do I sever his head completely, savoring the sound as his body turns to ash.

“I thought you’d want more,” Ryan says, surprised as dust plumes around us.

“Rowan isn’t orchestrating this. The fucking faction is behind the entire fucking thing.”

We leave the dungeons and walk through the castle, and I make damn sure the coven bears witness to the blood that marks my ruthlessness. There might be a traitor in our midst and if being a vicious, brutal, ruthless killer who’s prepared to shed the blood of countless vampiresis is what I must become to protect his human mate, then it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay to keep Ivy safe.

36

REARRANGING THE FABRIC OF MY BEING

HENRY

Iscrub myself clean, refusing to let any of that fucker’s filthy blood linger. For my own sanity. To protect my mate from the vile stench of the offensive waste splattered over my body.

It’s seeped through my clothes and it’s at risk of contaminating every inch of me. It’s blackening my already dark soul and the only light offering me the hope of salvation isn’t here. She’s curled up on another’s lap, seeking comfort from their warmth, and every second I spend in this fucking shower is a moment stolen from us.

From me.

My need is too great to go without and Ivy’s the comfort I need. She’s taken hers from Matt and I need the release she’ll provide. The fucking relief of her mind and body centered onme. Only me.

I dry and throw a pair of low-hung trousers on, ignoring the casual attire that usually irritates me. The sweats won’t be staying on for long and I make my way from the gym to my room, aware Ivy will still be cuddling Matt when I arrive.

My more aggressive instincts demand I lash out at him for being so fucking bold and brash. More so because it’s Ivy and my temper is still running hot after my conversation with the cunt in the dungeon. I’m on edge and dangerously close to careening over it, crashing into a catastrophe from which there’ll be no return.

But I’ve made this mistake before. I’ve assumed the worse and overreacted, and it fucking terrified Ivy. I can’t do it to her, not again, and especially not tonight. Not when she’s had to fight for her fucking life, and the last thing she needs to deal with is a possessive and jealous outburst.

The door opens and she’s sitting next to Matt, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa. It’s not the shitshow I feared and although they're close, it isn’t nearly as intimate a hold as I assumed it would be. Matt’s eyes flick to mine and he has the fucking good sense to lower his head, offering his submission and accepting his fucking place.

Those amber eyes fire a warning at me. A silent scream that Ivy’s not as solid as she appears and a plea for patience. I’m pleased he and Ryan are close to Ivy and she’s finding her way in my life and the coven. But this kind of behavior isn’t going to fly and I’ll be fucked if I let it continue. Even tonight. He doesn’t need to give me a silent lecture on how to care for my wife, and his unsolicited advice is unwanted and unwelcome.

“He’s here,” he says, whispering to Ivy. “He’s safe, Ivy.”

She sits bolt upright, roused from her daze, as her head turns to face me. Her eyes are bright but brimming with tears and her hand trembles almost imperceptibly as her bottom lipquivers.

“I’ve got it from here, Matt.”

He nods and squeezes Ivy’s upper arm before he rises. It’s a fucking affront and I snarl as he edges past me, reminding him of his goddamn place. In my coven. In my fucking life. In Ivy’s too.

The door shuts and Ivy exhales, relieved. Presumably, because we’re alone and I’m safe, and the steady beat of her heart suggests she’s perfectly calm.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

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