Page 85 of The Serpent's Bride
She climbed out of the pool and headed back to her room to change the bandage on her side—the stitches on her gunshot wound were now largely for show. Eating dinner in her room, alone, she waited until it was close to midnight.
Checking the clock, it was almost time. The guards stayed up late, working in shifts. But the other servants—maids, chefs, and so on—tended to go to bed around eleven, save for a skeleton crew that stayed on call in their rooms for any special requests. But they weren’t out and about, and only answered if Raziel rang for them.
The guards would be posted at certain points only. Kept out of sight. That meant she had a path she could walk where no onewould see her—if she didn’t want to be seen. And there was onlyoneguard she wanted to notice her late-night wandering.
Pulling on some lacy underwear, she tied a black silk nightgown over it and made sure that the front was open dangerously low in the front. Into the band of her stockings, she tucked two thin fillet knives she had pocketed from the kitchen. Meant to delicately pull the flesh from fish, they would be perfect for puncturing Hank’s lungs through the ribs.
As long as she didn’t sit down too fast and stuff them into her own arteries, that was.
She checked that the nightgown was long enough to hide the knives but still short enough to show off what she was selling—then she went to work.
Humming a song idly to herself, she left her room and took a stroll around the gardens. Just a sleepless night. Just a poor girl from the outer cities, alone, and scared to die.
Lonely.
She wasso alone,after all.
Sometimes, it helped to think the part to play the part.
She walked past Hank where he was stationed by the door as she headed outside, not saying a word to him as she went out into the yard. If he followed her…that was his decision. She didn’t invite him. She didn’t even glance at him. If he took this as an invitation? That washisdamn fault.
If this didn’t work, she didn’t want him to have an ounce of anything to go to Raziel with.
Turning the corner behind the fake hedge, she went to stand in the darkness beside the drain she had discovered. It was fully obscured from the house. No one would see her there—for better or worse.
Would he bite the lure?
Leaning against the wall, she chewed her lip and waited.
She didn’t have to wait long.
Hank rounded the corner into the darkness.
He was already undoing his pants.
Good boy.She opened her nightgown and beckoned him closer. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to drag this out. He reeked of alcohol and cigarettes as his lips messily crashed against hers.
His hands sloppily groping her breasts only hitched slightly as she drove both knives into his lungs from the back. Once. Twice. Three times.
She tasted his blood on her lips as he coughed.
He was a heavy fuck—she had to struggle to aim him to the grate as he fell, landing with a quietthumpon the fake grass. She had to pull him over to the drain a few more inches until his throat was over the hole.
Yanking his head back by his hair, she slit his throat from ear to ear, holding his head back until she was certain he was fully dead. Only then, did she feed him head-first down into the hole. The deepsplashwasthe loudest noise the two of them made through the whole ordeal.
The two fillet knives followed a moment later. A waste of good weapons. But she couldn’t take the chance of leaving them lying about in a place where vampires could smell blood.
Replacing the grate over the drain, she examined herself for any remaining traces of Hank. Nothing. A clean kill. Save for a lingering taste in her mouth.
Nothing a little red wine couldn’t cure.
Heading back to the bedroom, she poured herself a glass and drew herself a nice, hot bath, as was her tradition.
Lifting her glass in salute, she smiled.
Raziel would meet the same fate soon. And while she didn’t know how long it would take, she would ensure that every one of the bastard Nostroms would die too.
Here’s to you, Hank-Who-Has-Died-First.
