Page 92 of Bitten Vampire
“No, dickhead, Eirikr,” she spits. She rolls her eyes and sneers at Valdarr. “I have loved your father all my life. We could have been together if not for you.”
“So you conspired against your own clan?” Harrison presses.
“You were never my clan. I have always belonged to him. I watched you only to protect him. Every scheme, every plan, I told him everything. You wondered how he was always a step ahead? It was because I gave him the advantage. You’re a fool, Valdarr. He’ll kill her, destroy the Council, and crown himself king.”
“But he’s already Grand Master,” Ralph says softly. “He is already our king.”
“A monarch in name only. A figurehead. You saw it today,” she snaps. “They discarded him, treated him as nothing. He’s destined to rule the world, not just this poxy little country.”
She turns her loathing on me.
“And you—James was right, you couldn’t even remain ameal. You had to turn, instead of dying. You’re a cockroach. I’m surprised you’re not dead already with the way that you fight.”
“Simone,” Valdarr warns.
“I did it for love,” she hisses. “Centuries of planning, andyou, a mere human abomination, ruined everything. I hope he kills you slowly and mounts that mutt of yours on the wall.”
Ralph pales; the others stand silent, shattered.
“We love you,” Tony whispers.
She shrugs. “I never even liked you. Any of you. Pathetic. Weak.”
Then it happens.
The phone rings.
“They will accept a text,” I tell Harrison.
“They won’t,” she snaps. “They’ll speak only to me?—”
“Text them she can’t talk,” I say calmly. “The code word isWinter Green.”
Her eyes widen. “How do you know that?” she shrieks.
Harrison starts fiddling with the phone. “Use the rope and tape in the drawer, bottom left; don’t waste a spell on her,” he says.
Simone kicks, screams and thrashes. The chair rocks from side to side, threatening to tip. Ralph steps behind her, steadying the frame, while Tony appears with a roll of tape. Hands shaking, he tears off a strip and presses it firmly across her mouth. Simone’s protest becomes a muffled, furious howl.
“It was better when she was unconscious,” James mutters.
I nod in agreement.
Harrison sends the message.
Within minutes we have her lashed more securely to the chair. A full search yields several concealed weapons, which Harrison pockets before we leave. The war machine is abandoned for a fresh convoy of blacked-out vehicles. Daylight is coming, and we must move.
The new safe house occupies a discreet, modern block of luxury apartments in the Human Sector. Geometric lines and clean angles define the structure, its facadesheathed in sleek grey cladding broken only by narrow, glass-edged balconies.
Once inside, we switch to the live feed from the cameras left behind. The assassins arrive moments later, clad once more in black-and-grey tactical gear. They breach with chilling efficiency.
Harrison narrates the assault in a low, clinical voice. I feel anything but calm. Valdarr stands behind me; I lean against his abs while Baylor presses against my legs. My fingers curl into his soft fur.
The attackers enter the building.
Had we still been there, we would be dead.
I count the seconds. Wait. The building explodes.
