Page 142 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

And somehow, his presence made all the rest of it seem tolerable. A steadiness tethering me to shore.

His hair floated around him too, tendrils of silver suspended in weightlessness. He’d somehow managed to keep himself on his feet, though the other vampires and even the Arachessen acolytes were on their knees. His face tilted to the sky, watching the shadows peer down at us.

He looked at the gods like they were a challenge.

But when I approached him, one labored step after another, his gaze fell to me.

I touched his face, my fingertips caressing the solidness of his cheekbone, the softness of his lips, the scar along his jaw.

Even with my senses obliterated like this, he smelled of snow. Fresh and cool and new.

His eyes traced my face, and I could feel that stare like he could feel my fingertips—mimicking my movements on him, forehead and lips and chin.

Here, before him, even more than the gods, I was so terrifyingly exposed.

I had managed to hide my true self from the Sightmother, a woman who could see the depths of my inner presence. And yet, I could not hide myself from Atrius. He saw all of me. Whether I liked it or not.

Good. Because I needed him to see me now. See the truth.

We had one chance.

My free hand fell down his arm—gripped his wrists, as if in comforting reassurance or heartfelt apology. The leather of his restraints was smooth against my palms.

My other hand held the dagger up between us.

“There is no greater offering to a god than the acolyte of another,” I said.

I raised the blade.

And then, so fast I prayed no one else would have time to react while so blinded by magic, I sliced Atrius’s bindings, and shoved the hilt into his hands.

“Don’t stand still,” I whispered.

Knowing he would understand.

Knowing he would know what I was telling him to do, right now, in this moment, with the gods steps away and the Sightmother consumed by her spell.

His eyes widened. The shock in his presence reverberated once, for half a breath, before it settled into resolve.

Already, the acolytes’ heads were beginning to turn to us. But Atrius and I had fought together so many times. I knew he didn’t need much time to kill.

And indeed, this strike took him only seconds:

Seconds to lunge across the altar at the Sightmother.

Seconds to draw the blade across her throat, violent and quick, not even giving her time to scream, her voice fading to a wet gargle.

Seconds for him to hold her back by her hair, letting all that blood pour over the altar, andlift his chin to the sky.

“Goddess Nyaxia,” he screamed. “I give you this gift. An acolyte of Acaeja. The blood of a tyrant queen, and the crown of a White Pantheon kingdom. I spill this blood and claim this kingdom for you, my Mother of the Ravenous Dark, Nyaxia.”

His voice cracked. Bathed in such intense light, no one else could see the single tear slide down his cheek. No one but me.

He choked out, “My pact to you has been fulfilled.”

Yes, it was difficult to get the attention of a god.

But this? This was enough.

---