Page 58 of Entombed By Blood
The doors are open,but no one notices until it’s too late. The ghouls pour through like a horde, moving on all fours like animals as they stalk their prey.
Us. We’re the prey here.
Most of the courtiers are in their finery. No armour to protect them from the venom-tipped claws that rip into them without mercy. They fall in waves, but the ghouls just keep coming, edging closer to Cain’s throne with every passing second.
My sisters have drawn their blades—even Callie has found a wicked-looking sabre from somewhere. Morwen doesn’t wait for orders, diving into the fray with a cackle.
Vane looks over his shoulder and grins before looking directly at Cain.
“Frost sends his regards.”
With a snap of those powerful arms, he flings the distracted guards holding him to one side, where they’re quickly jumped on by more ghouls. Vane doesn’t spare them any further attention as he turns towards the guards holding his brother.
Silas has already gutted them, his own claws coming out to rip open their bellies in an efficient slice. A quick glance at the others shows Draven and Gideon have freed themselves as well.
I’m frozen. Frost’s name has splintered the icy walls I put up, and when I finally manage to move again, I can only stare back at Cain.
He knew. That’s why he didn’t say anything. He knew Frost was alive.
“Kill them,” my sire orders, his eyes hard and pitiless. “Imogen or the thralls, Evelyn. Choose.”
“Evie,” Silas says, dragging my attention back to him. He’s still kneeling below my sword despite the fact the guards holding him there are dead. “Come with us.”
Things start to click into place. At least one of my extra thrall bonds must be Frost. Frost, who somehow didn’t die at the hands of the ghouls on that fateful night almost two hundred years ago.
Frost, who still thinks he can use me to get to my sire.
Fury—the likes of which I’ve not felt since I was locked away—surges through me like lava, burning away the last of my icy indifference.
The last remaining guards are edging around the dais, ready to defend their master from the ghouls. The noise is deafening and the screams of the dying echo across the chamber until it’s hard to hear myself think.
I turn back to my sire, lowering my sword from Silas’s neck as I do.
“Evelyn,” Cain growls as I take a step toward my thralls.
My sire goes to follow me, then meets my eyes and changes his mind. Perhaps he can see the anger seething there and knows it’s not wise to test me. Or perhaps, like always, he’s simply content to let things play out.
When I raise my sword to my lips and kiss it again, his eyes gleam in satisfaction.
A hand grips my arm, dragging me back just as the remaining guards form a wall between Cain and the ghouls. Vane half-drags, half-carries me through the melee. The ghouls don’t touch us, and the vampires are too busy trying to survive to care about the five people fleeing through the open door.
I thought we’d take the lift again, but Gideon forces open a door to a hidden staircase. Vane scoops me fully into his arms and leaps over the bannister, free-falling the entire way to the ground and taking the impact like it’s nothing.
I could have done it myself, but something about the way he cradles me—holding me like I’m delicate—silences me. It’s almost… sweet of him.
“The van’s by the front door,” Gideon mutters, glancing back at me with a concerned stare as he heads for the stairwell exit. “Put her down, Vane. She can walk.”
He pushes through the door, and we emerge back in the reception. The grandiose room from before has been transformed into a slaughterhouse.
A few ghouls linger, but they ignore us in favour of feasting on the remains of the dead and dying. I flinch as I catch sight of one crouched atop the desk, its face buried in the steaming guts of the receptionist. Her long hair spills down the front of the desk from a head that’s barely still attached.
A wild, shocked cry fills the air, making all of us turn towards the door. My thralls tense at the renewed threat, and so do the ghouls, their heads popping up in unison.
But the lone guard standing there is too heartbroken to be much of a threat. A paper bag drops from his hand as he stares at the lobby, sending the drinks inside spilling everywhere, coating what little white floor remains with blood and coffee.
“Katie!” he roars, charging at the ghoul crouched over the receptionist’s corpse with sword in hand.
He’s pounced on from behind before he can take more than a few steps. A ghoul’s fangs sink into his neck, ripping his flesh until blood sprays everywhere.
