Page 97 of Fated In Blood

He’s a necessary evil, remember? In case Plan A doesn’t work out.

“Having a nice little chat, boys?” Malachi’s grin was equal parts smarmy playboy and coldhearted killer. “My brother and I,” his face hardened into an ugly mask, “oh yes, I used to have a brother…we could talk like that, you know.”

“And what?” I snorted. “Am I supposed to give a shit?”

“It’s rude to talk about me when I’m sittingright here. Unless…” His grin lit up his entire face. “Unless I’ve hit a nerve with all my talk about sweet, sweet Evangeline?”

Don’t.

Riordan’s command rang inside my head at the same time a brutal jolt of pain cleaved through my chest, like a hole had opened up at my very center. Sharp as a knife, fear tore me to pieces, my head swimming beneath the onslaught.

My gaze snapped up, meeting Riordan’s widening eyes.

What the fuck was that?

Evangeline’s in trouble. She’s hurt.

“Don’t tell me you two can’t take a hint. And we don’t have a deal, Riordan, not until you…” Malachi’s eyes narrowed, body rigid as he looked between us, sensing tension in the air. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” I shoved away from the windows and paused beside Riordan’s desk. “You want the little slayer? She’s all yours, once this is over, providing Tyrell dies by your hand. Are those terms simple enough for you to understand?”

What the fuck are you doing, Blake?

Getting him out of here so we can go save our slayer, that’s what.

“And you’re the one making this deal because…?”

“I’m her Maker.” I shrugged, lying to his face. “It’s my right to do with my progeny as I wish. She is a pain in my ass, so I’m giving her to you, providing you kill Tyrell, as agreed.”

If Malachi knew—if he even suspected—Riordan was the one to turn Evangeline, he’d run straight to Tyrell and use that little nugget against us. It was one thing for me, a virtual nobody, to sire a progeny, but a king’s offspring…yeah, that information would paint a target on Evangeline’s back, bigger than the one already there.

My hand curled into a sweaty fist. Fucking hell, this pain was intolerable…we had to get moving.Now.

“You heard him. Do we have a deal, Malachi?” Riordan gripped the edge of his desk, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “You know what you have to do, and I’d advise guarding your thoughts at all times. If Tyrell suspects you’re playing both sides, you’ll end up on the chopping block beside us, carved apart by Valaine’s knives.”

Malachi just looked bored, as if Tyrell hadn’t devised ways of killing that made the Spanish Inquisition look like a tea party.

“And if you decide to remove the blood oath and fuck us over, I’ll make goddamn sure we take you down with us,” I hissed, another wave of pain overpowering me, my hand slapping onto my aching chest before I could stop myself.

“Threats and promises, always so predictable. Riordan. Blake.” Malachi tipped his head, eyes narrowed as he tried to work out what was going on. “Give me two days to evaluate his weaknesses, then I’ll report back.” He frowned. “There’s one problem. I’ll never get close enough to kill him without a distraction.”

“By your hand,” I muttered breathlessly. “You want the girl? You wield the blade that cuts off the serpent’s head. Simple as that.”

I expected Malachi to make some smartass comment, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes darkened, all traces of humor gone, a shimmer of glamour hovering around him. There was a good reason he was so feared among our kind, a reason he’d been rejected from every clan here and in the Old Country.

Killing his own Maker painted Draven as the worst sort of traitor, a crime that would follow him until his dying day.

“As you wish. I should have known you lacked the stomach to do the dirty work yourself. You try to double cross me, Marten, and I will take your head myself. I don’t fucking care which king you serve.”

Malachi disappeared in a swirl of his murky glamour, and Riordan was already moving, slamming his fist into the release on the wall, the bookcase sliding open to reveal an emergency cache of weapons and clothes.

“Why now?” His hands trembled when he opened the case. “Why the fuck can we feel hernow?”

“Because…because she’s dying. Because she’s scared to death? Fuck if I know.”

The only thing I did know? This helplessness was absolute, fucking torture.

It was one thing to think she was hiding to annoy us, another to know she was hurt, and…I was scared.

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