Page 22 of Claimed By Blood

Morwen rips into the throat of the first vampire she comes across, sinking her face into the wound and drinking until they pass out. The poor man doesn’t know what hit him. One second he’s strolling along a corridor, the next he’s flat on his back with a gaping neck wound.

The next person receives similar treatment, except this time she steals the sunglasses he’s stashed in his shirt pocket and slides them onto her face, disguising her regenerating eye.

But when we finally leave the skyscraper and exit onto the road, she hops into the first taxi she sees and slams the door on me.

The message is clear: I’m not welcome.

A cough from behind me draws my attention to Draven, already holding the door of the next waiting car open for me. “Come on, doll, I’d hate to be late for a date with dismemberment.”

The ride isn’t long, and soon we’re standing in front of our destination. I’m not sure what I was expecting from the Lycan Compound, but this… isn’t it. The rest of New York is a tribute to glass and steel, reflecting sunlight onto the strange gardens built onto the sides of the skyscrapers.

I researched the city extensively during the long periods of isolation in my room. The vertical gardens are a relatively recent feature, something implemented by Cain when he discovered the negative effects of air pollution on the human circulatory system. Overnight, the world’s most polluted cities were required to increase the amount of vegetation they had, everywhere.

The media framed it as an act of philanthropy, which made me snort.

Is it really generous to ensure your food supply doesn’t die prematurely?

Regardless, because of that edict, what was once a polluted metropolis nowlookslike a scene from a science fiction utopia.

The Compound is the one, glaring exception.

It’s the only brick building I’ve seen since I arrived. The architecture is brutal, and the security…

I’ve never seen so many lycans in uniform in one place. There are more bars inside the building than there are in most high-security prisons.

Morwen doesn’t hesitate, she just strides on through. Not a single lycan challenges her or meets her eyes.

Odd.

They’re almost… respectful of my sister.

The same courtesy isn’t extended to me. I have to meet every stare until they look away. Proving myself in a hundred silent battles between predators. Walking through the halls, acting as though my side isn’t still injured and I don’t reek of blood in the presence of so many of them is unnerving. Draven sticks close to my back, no doubt feeling my tension along the thrall bond.

Now that we’re away from Immy, I lean shamelessly on his ice for support, using it to keep myself focused.

Morwen doesn’t stop until we’re out of the building and standing in a similarly sparse internal courtyard. The floor is bare concrete, with a couple of markings for some kind of ballgame scratched into it. She turns around in the centre and draws her sword.

“That’s it?” I grind out. “No conversation, just get straight to it? You’ve never been one to follow orders so literally, sister.”

She shrugs, looking around at the few lycans who were playing basketball, but have now stopped in favour of watching us.

“I don’t have anything better to do than butcher you two. Might as well get this over with.” Her voice is back to normal, the vampires she drank from and her age having allowed her to fully regenerate her tongue in record time. She points at Draven with the blade. “Get out of the way, bloodsucker, so she doesn’t get too distracted. This is going to take long enough as it is.”

Great. She’s come to the same conclusion that I have.

I’m pathetically weak. Pretty much defenceless.

But for some reason, Cain wants me to return to full strength. That alone is suspicious. He doesn’t trust me, so why give me the order to train after specifically forbidding it since the gala? And with Morwen, no less. The daughter who so openly defies him at every turn.

“This makes no sense,” I mutter.

“Less thinking.” Morwen grunts, shoulder-slamming into me. “More fighting.”

I land on the floor with a hiss, springing back to my feet in a move that was once natural, but now makes the muscles of my back ache.

My body is mostly recovered from my stint in the coffin, but I’ve lost my edge. Somehow I have to survive Morwen for long enough to ask her about Samuel, and I have no idea how I’m going to manage it.

Parrying her next blow requires all of my concentration, and I’m forced to stop trying to out-think our sire in order to survive my sister.

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