Page 90 of A Steeping of Blood
Not today. Not again.
He had far too much to live for. His parents, Arthie, Chester.Flick. He needed to return to her, and he knew he wouldn’t receive a second chance.
Because that was what Arthie had given him, despite his anger at her betrayal, despite his pain at her distrust: a second chance. That decade he’d lived without his parents had been one of worry, always concerned someone would take away what was his yet again. And they had, in the end: The Ram had burned Spindrift to ashes, but it was his own fault he hadn’t lived those ten years enjoying every second of it.
He was undead now, but he had every intention of living.
Jin completed the arc of his umbrella, swinging it forward, nudging the barrel out of his face as the captain fired. The dart whizzed past Jin’s cheek, landing in the arm of an unsuspecting guard. Jin straightened, pulled an ugly ornament from the wall, and slammed it against the back of the guard’s head.
“Now that’s what it’s really for,” Jin said, holding it at his side. The captain fell with a groan, and Jin felt no pity.
He didn’t know what possessed him to look back just then, but he almost wished he hadn’t.
The Ripper vampire was staring straight through the chaos at Jin.
Arthie locked her arm around his and pulled him out of the way of an arcing blade. She squeezed out a shot with Calibore the pistol. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t aiming or shooting to kill, only maim.
Together, they pushed their way through the guards until Jin fell, stumbling again headfirst toward the bare floor until someone caught him.
“I have you.”
Jin looked up at his father’s face. His parents were standing before him, an army of vampires behind them, each of them carrying a coconut. Some even hefted netted sacks of them over their shoulders. Behind them, the exit was still sealed.
“You’re alive,” his mother exclaimed.
“Not now, Sora. Jin, the keys!” his father said quickly.
Jin tossed his father the keys as the fight continued behind him. He searched the vampires’ haggard faces. They were pale, bruised, tired, but they didn’t look violent or crazed. They looked as though they trusted his parents. As though, despite their sedation, they knew the ones who had cared for them in their imprisonment. There was a look in their eyes weighted with familiarity.
“Oliver?” Matteo asked from behind them as he dropped a guard. Jin hadn’t the faintest clue who Oliver was, but judging by the fair-haired man’s poise, he was an Athereum vampire.
“Andoni? They got you too, eh?” the man called Oliver shouted back amid the chaos. “One moment we’re paying top duvin for quality blood, the next you’re bleeding it out on a ship.”
Matteo pressed his lips thin as another guard swung a machete toward him. Jin leaped to his aid, but Arthie was there first, firing Calibore before whirling to the other side.
“We’re here to take you back to Ettenia.” Then he lifted his chin, calling out to the other vampires. “Stay here any longer and that fellow will rip you apart. Join us. Help us, and we’ll take you home.”
Home.
Jin saw Arthie’s jaw tighten at the word. Ceylan had become a prison, a fortress, a drop of land in the ocean Ettenia repurposed to its liking.
Thatwas the look in their eyes. They looked like Arthie—vengeful. Oliver inclined his head, others following suit.
“You have my fangs,” one said.
“And my claws,” said another.
Their anger resonated in the air; Jin felt it resonate within him too, through his weary bones. The vampires had been missing for far too long, stolen as Arthie’s lands had been, control ripped away from their lives as the Ceylani soldiers in the Ettenian army had been.
The vampires closed the distance behind them, eager for a fight, but the guards were struggling to flee from the Ripper marching toward them, flinging away men and weapons as though he were batting away flies.
Jin knew his umbrella wouldn’t do a thing. The vampire looked to be made of steel more than flesh. Arthie lifted Calibore. Far beyond, by the fallen chandelier, Bloodworth watched with bated breath, as did the guards.
Arthie fired. The guards froze, every eye following the bullet until it hit the vampire square in his bare chest. He staggered back, arms stretched wide as he regarded the slug.
He did not fall. He did not die as a vampire should when shot by Calibore. Outside of the surprise at being shot, the vampire didn’t seem to be affected by the bullet. It looked like a burr had gotten caught on his skin and he couldn’t be bothered to pull it out.
Arthie cocked Calibore and fired bullet after bullet. They were slowing him down at least, for he lurched back with each shot and inspected the wound—if it could even be called that—before resuming his stomping.
