Page 136 of Fated In Blood

“I brought you here to tell you our good news and to explain how things will be going forward. Malachi will break the blood oath, and Riordan and Blake will spend what little time they have left under Valaine’s tender care in the basement of Darkmore. Evangeline, you will tend to your sister in her time of need.”

“I will do no such thing.”

The bastard ignored me, cutting off another piece of meat. “I will put Malachi on the throne, Collum will be his second, and this clan—these fucking vampires—will learn their places, once and for all.”

Malachi preened at the news, but from the dark shadow crossing Collum’s face, Malachi wouldn’t be ruling for long.

“And you three”—he pointed at us with his knife in turn—“You three need to know how badly you’ve failed. Your plot to kill me, using the dagger you stole from the Silverwoods, is not only folly, but you failed to do your research.”

He smiled at my sister and her throat bobbed, her hands clasped tight in her lap. “I think a demonstration for our guests is in order, my love.” Angel reached for her fork, fingers shaking as badly as Blake’s, and a sobbing hiss escaped her mouth the second she touched the gleaming silver handle. Smoke curled around her hand, followed by the stench of charred skin.

“Blake, Riordan, please.”

Both of them gripped their knives, their skin catching fire as Tyrell relished bite after bite, until the entire room reeked of burning flesh. My sister sobbed as I tried to pry her hand off, but I couldn’t break her grip. Blake’s was even tighter, rivulets of sweat soaking the collar of his dress shirt.

“Stop this.” I rounded on Tyrell. “Fucking stop this.”

“There are important lessons in life, and this is one of them.” Tyrell considered me for a moment. “The dagger cannot harm me. I was Made by Caine himself…”

“You already bored me with that story once.” I pried Blake’s fingers free, tearing the knife out of his hand. Blisters rose on his burned palm, but worse was his clammy pallor, his scar standing out like a lightning bolt streaking down the side of his face.

“Nevertheless, you will listen.” A wave of power wrapped around me, shoving me down into my seat, and Tyrell smiled, terrifying in its conviction.

“Caine created thirteen warriors, the fiercest, most brutal fighters ever seen. One of them was a mage named Magnis. Though I was overlooked to become one of the thirteen Elders, Caine recognized my status as Rome’s greatest general and granted me a boon.” His shoulders straightened, his voice full of arrogance.

“The gift of immunity against all weapons deadly to our kind. I am immune to silver, to wolfsbane, to ash wood, to nightshade. Steel and iron cannot harm me. I have been poisoned, staked, beheaded, and I have always risen again.”

I struggled to reach Angel as Tyrell blathered on about his supposed invulnerability, finally breaking free of his smothering control to kneel beside my sister, unbending her stiff, blackened fingers one at a time, sheets of skin sticking to the handle of the knife as she sobbed incoherently.

“You won’t rise after what I’m going to do to you,” I hissed, heart sinking as I grasped how much power he had over us. “Let them fucking go, you bastard.”

“Sit back down,” he snapped, and his compulsion tightened around me, squeezing and squeezing until I could barely breathe.

No. I would not sit. I would not obey.

My knees shook, thighs trembled, but I forced my body to obeymycommand, to stay beside Angel, pouring every ounce of my rage into my glare, and for one fraught second, we stared each other down, Tyrell’s lips drawn back in a grimace.

Then the moment shattered.

Him on his feet, face white from duress, and me…still right the fuck where I wanted to be. I bared my fangs and hissed, like some kind of animal, and my rage feltcathartic.

“You will obey like the others, you little half-breedbitch.” He flung out a hand, and once more his compulsion snared me…then the squeezing sensation slid away like oil.

“Fuck you.” I peeled the knife out of my sister’s hand and sent it flying straight toward Tyrell. A dull, harmless butterknife…but he flinched, right before Malachi snatched it midair with a smirk.

“Now, now, Vicious, where I come from that’s bad table manners.” But his clever eyes narrowed, the smirk fading to contemplation as he tossed the knife in the air again and again, blisters forming on his fingertips before they quickly faded away.

“Fuck you, too, traitor,” I growled, yanking out my real knife from my thigh sheath. I was going to slice these two apart and I’d love to see fucking Tyrellrise againwhen he was lying in pieces on his own goddamned floor.

“Perhaps a different demonstration is in order, Laurent.” Malachi’s grin oozed slime and I decided I’d never despised anyone half as much as him. “Like they say, seeing is believing.”

Draven’s pale eyes shone with malice honed over years, his face tight with expectation. Whatever was about to happen…he’d been waiting for this for a long, long time.

“Very well, though I’d hoped to avoid theatrics tonight.” Tyrell sighed, setting down his cutlery, pinning his expectant gaze on Riordan then Blake. “Come here.”

Riordan rose with the same jerky puppet-like motions as Blake, both of them limping to the front of the room, while Tyrell dabbed his mouth with his napkin and pushed away from the table. Collum hurried over and flipped his chair around.

My chest caved in when Riordan and Blake halted in front of Tyrell, tendons straining in their necks, eyes bulging as they fought him with every ounce of strength they possessed, their pain so pronounced, I felt it inside me like it was my own.

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