Page 7 of Fated In Blood

My hand slapped against the shower’s tile wall like the crack of a gunshot.No. Angelique was a survivor, and I would find my sister, get her out of that godforsaken castle, and we’d go somewhere far away from this place.

Somewhere we could hide, where no one would recognize us. Alone and safe, just the two of us.

Then I would piece Angel back together until Thorndale, New York was a distant nightmare neither of us remembered.

4

RIORDAN GRAVES

Dawn was still a few hours away when I nudged the remnants of Spencer Tyrell and Ambrose with my boot, the heavy odor of petroleum nearly blotting out the sweet feminine scent perfuming the alley, turning the corridor between the buildings tight and hot, sending a river of sweat racing down my back.

Human…and something far more potent.

“They were worthless assholes. Look on the bright side, Rohr, once we get through the paperwork, someone did us a favor.” Blake perused the charred bodies with an expression of eternal boredom that hadn’t changed since we’d gotten the news, and while I agreed with him on principle, the growing body count was concerning.

“You mean onceIget through the paperwork, don’t you?”

Blake flashed his usual crooked smile, dark brown hair hanging in wet, dripping strands around his face. “I’m not the one whose sire croaked and left him the whole goddamned kingdom, thank fuck. Besides, you know I have no patience for desk work.”

“You have no patience for anything, asshole.”

Blake Marten was two hundred years older than me and had been my sire’s enforcer for half that time. Now he was my trusted right hand, although, at the moment, he was doing a shit job. “What do you think happened? Vendetta? Blood feud? Lover’s quarrel?” I gestured to the two ashy corpses, Spencer’s still smoking.

“You’re the king, start thinking strategically.” Blake’s frown etched deep lines in his face. As was his habit, he reached up and toyed with the small gold ring strung on a chain around his neck, rainwater spilling off his leather jacket. “What doyousee, Riordan?”

Truth was, I didn’t want to thinkstrategicallyabout two smoking corpses in an alley. I didn’t want any part of this. Not the crown, not the responsibilities, and certainly not this—crouched over two smoldering bodies as I debated how this development would complicate my already fucked-up life.

“Over twenty killings.” Every one of them brutal. Barbaric. “They were killed off the main road but still close to campus. Most of them were tortured, some worse than others. All of them ashed afterward to hide any traces of the killer.”

I sucked in another deep inhale.

A female. I didn’t see that coming.

“Smart, burning the bodies.” Blake rolled his eyes when I tsked him. “Fucking sue me, but I can’t work up the energy to feel bad. Most of them were filth, the worst kinds of predators, and you know it as well as I.My king.” He always tacked on my title like an afterthought, which made me wonder why he even bothered.

“Fuck you, Blake. We have to find who’s doing the killing. This can’t continue.”

“These two probably deserved it.”

“Knowing these two, yeah, they probably did. And so did all the others, but one of these nights, it’ll be one of our friends lyingdead in an alley, and what the fuck are you going to telltheirfamily? We have to shut this down.”

He stayed quiet while I picked through the blackened remains, looking for something to irrefutably identify Spencer, anything to take back to this asshole’s sire. I crouched down to get a better look. “There’re more clues left behind here than at any of the other scenes. Ambrose was killed cleanly, but Spencer…Come and look at this.”

“You can thank the rain for that. Put out the fires quicker than usual.” Blake’s clever eyes sparked when he squatted beside me,

“They didn’t waste any time with Ambrose. One clean, professional cut—looks like he was collateral damage. Spencer was tortured, like the others, but…there are far more wounds. Looks like someone had questions he didn’t feel like answering.”

“Or didn’t know the answers to,” I countered.

My friend reached over, spreading open the remains of a black and green brocade vest, Tyrell House’s signature colors, revealing Spencer’s pale chest, marred by deep cuts. “See these wounds? Placed strategically to cause the maximum amount of pain. These were inflicted by a pro, Rohr. He was incapacitated then tortured.”

His eyes flickered, those lines along his mouth deepening, and that hollow, haunted look twisted a knife in my heart.

“Blake, you don’t have to be here right now…”

Fuck, I should have realized seeing this carnage would be a reminder of his own, broken past.

Blake wasn’t listening. “Whoever killed Spencer…this wasn’t random. They were lured in here,” he muttered roughly. “My guess is, his killer got their answers before they finished him off. Silver blade, most likely. From the blackened edges of those wounds, I’d say they used nightshade or monkshood to neutralize his magic.”

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