Page 118 of Fated In Blood

“He’s Tyrell’s thrall. Like the rest of his servants, Tyrell gives him a few drops of blood to keep him young and loyal, while Vincent feeds him intel and girls and fuck knows what else. Vincent arrived in the Hudson River Valley in 1610. Tyrell convinced him to stay by offering him immortality and riches beyond his wildest dreams. In return, Vincent built a tavern, the town of Thorndale was established, and before long, Vincent was providing a constant food supply for Tyrell.”

“That’s…barbaric. And gross.”

“That’s the tip of the iceberg. Tyrell’s claws are in everything, not only in this town but throughout the entire state of New York. His corruption and influence stretches further than we know, given how long he’s been in America.”

“And you’re going to stop him.”

“We’re stopping him. When I’m finished with Laurent Tyrell, his legacy will be wiped from the records of our clan, andin a hundred years, no one will remember him.” Rohr’s voice was filled with that calm, quiet certitude that had captured my imagination when he was still young and I’d seen my first glimpse of the king he would grow to be.

The opposite of his sire.

The king who could lead this clan into the future and give us all something to hope for.

A shiver of pride went through me.

Whether we succeeded or not…whether we died in the process, we would have fought as hard as we could, because this clan was worth saving.

47

EVANGELINE

Riordan’s speech wound through my chest like a ribbon and wrapped around my heart like a bow. He made me believe he could win this fight.

Hell, that speech made me want to go and fight alongside him, sword raised in the air like a goddamned warrior.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off Blake.

He stared at Riordan like a thirsty man looked at a mountain spring. Awestruck, so much hope shining in his face, he was transformed back into the tender, protective male who’d held me like I was a treasure, who’d promised to protect me forever.

This arrogant, prickly bastard who went out of his way to piss me off…this was his dream, too.

A better world.

A better life for their people.

For someone who’d never looked past their next meal, or putting a roof over their head, or keeping their little sister safe, lofty dreams were nothing short of fantasies.

Thinking small was one thing, thinking this big…I couldn’t comprehend the scope. But some piece of me had alwaysyearned to be a part of something larger than myself, something that would change people’s lives for the better.

“Can we see the dagger?” Riordan asked hopefully, nodding at the filthy bag. “After everything I’ve heard, I’m curious what it actually looks like.”

I pulled the bag closer and worked the strings loose, dirt and leaves flaking off all over the table. The dagger was heavy, heavier than any useful weapon would be—no surprise since it was strictly ceremonial. “I’ve only seen this once before in person,” I murmured, slipping my hand into the bag, hesitating before I closed my fingers around the handle.

After the Vault door debacle, caution would be the smart choice.

Stories about the Harpe Dagger had built up in my head for so long, I half-wondered if the weapon would live up to the hype, but the second I touched the hilt, a faint hum shivered through my palm, some truth to the magic trapped in the metal, I supposed.

“It’s quite beautiful.” I pulled the bag off, revealing the dagger inch by glorious inch. The gleaming blade was engraved in strong, cleanly etched Latin, the leather-wrapped pommel tipped with a single glittering ruby of the deepest red. Unlike normal silver, this knife didn’t tarnish, the metal as brilliant as the day it was forged.

There was some wear on the blade, two small nicks, hardly large enough to notice, but I stared at the exceptional relic soberly.

We all did.

“This has killed a lot of your people,” I said softly. “And for that, I’m sorry.”

Blake crouched over me, eyes glued to the weapon in my hand. “So a steel-iron core, then gold, then Laurium silver?” Myskin prickled from his closeness, the heat of his body, his rich scent washing over me.

“Yes, the Laurium silver mines produced the purest silver at the time. Uncle Dante was a stickler for history, in case you couldn’t tell.” I meant it as a joke, but Blake’s expression hardened.

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