Page 9 of The Serpent's Bride
Walking into the cabin of the train, she took a seat exactly where she had found Monica.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Raziel watched his black automobile pull into his driveway from his vantage point on his balcony. His driver had returned with his new piece oftemporaryproperty. He was leaning on the railing in curiosity, walking his gold coin back and forth over the knuckles of his right hand.
His bride-to-be was about to arrive.
His bloodsacrifice.
When mortals were wed to vampires, one of two things happened. Either they were remade in the holy tradition…or they were devoured and joined in blood and blood only.
And Raziel had no intention of keeping a wife underfoot for longer than he had to.
Monica Valan’s father had been foolish and crossed the Nostroms. And it had cost him dearly. Not only his daughter, but all of his wealth and his businesses—the legal ones and the less legal ones too. Even the outer cities were not out of the Nostrom family’s reach.
After the wedding, whether or not Monica lived, all that belonged to the Valans would become Raziel’s. And therefore, by extension, his family’s.
And he wasquitecertain Monica wouldn’t live long.
Mortals. They were so fragile. So easily killed. He had lost track of how many human toys he hadaccidentallymurdered over the centuries. But that was just part of being a vampire.
Cracking his back, he let out a breath. The circular headlights of the car flicked off as its petrol engine rumbled to a stop. Manyareas of the metropolis were still easier to access by horse and carriage, but he would have none of it. While the smell of the petrol was mildly revolting and stung his nose, technology was the way of the future. And the only way of defending against the Wild.
“I do hope she’s mildly attractive.”
“I’m sure you’ll cope. And she won’t be here long,” came the gruff, but amused reply from behind him. Ivan, his lead bodyguard, and closest thing Raziel had to a friend. Oh, he had people he trusted—organizations like his lived and died on trust. It was the only currency that really mattered.
But Ivan was the second cousin to Raziel’s third cousin. It made him a full-born vampire as well, but not highly ranked enough to wind up with his own region to control. Not that Ivan seemed to have the knack or the taste for being in command. The huge, tattooed bodyguard seemed perfectly content to be witness to, but not in charge of, all of their deals and goings-on.
Raziel couldn’t help but linger for a moment as his driver exited the car and opened the rear door for someone he could only presume was Monica. A young woman climbed out of the back of the car with the grace of a cat—lithe and smooth.
His interest was suddenly piqued as his previous concern vanished.
It was hard to make the details out from his distance, but she was certainly not what he was expecting. Maybe he should rethink his opinion of what the outer bastions of humanity had to offer up.
He had intended her to be ushered into a lounge to wait and stew while he attended to other matters. But now, perhaps he would rather see her up close and personal.
Which would soon beverypersonal, he assumed. Yes, she wouldn’t survive their honeymoon trip to their ancestral estate—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun beforehand.
Waste not, want not, and all that.
Ivan followed after him as he left the room to head downstairs. “Mark’s dead.”
“Who?” Raziel tried to remember if he knew a Mark.
“Loring’s cousin.”
“Right.” No, he still didn’t remember Mark, but he pretended to just to make it go faster. “That’s a shame.” And no, he didn’t give a shit. “How?”
“Murdered in a hotel room. Nobody knows by whom,” Ivan grunted. “Judging by the wounds, it was a professional hit. I have Hank hunting it down.”
Raziel shrugged. “Hazard of the job.” If he didn’t remember the man’s name, he certainly didn’t care if he was dead. “Probably someone angry at Lana or Deniel. I vote Deniel. That simpleton is always pissing people off.” He sometimes hated having a large family. It always made it difficult to know who was angry at whom and for what. “Don’t waste Hank’s time on it. His efforts are better served securing the grounds.”
“Hrm,” Ivan grunted. That was usually how he preferred to communicate.
“Fine. Just…keep an eye on it.” That’d calm down his bodyguard. Ivan was always jumpy when someone dropped dead. Which, to be fair, was his job.
They reached the first-floor foyer of his home the moment the doors swung open to allow in the person he assumed—and now perhaps hoped—was Monica. Yes, he had seen a photo of the young woman, but it had been faded, and not of any quality to speak of. It had not done her justice.
