As Skartovius squeezes his heart and explodes the bloody muscle in Carres’ chest cavity. Skar’s arm comes away dripping and slick. He leans forward, holding Carres’ cheek in a loving embrace, and bites into the dying half-blood’s neck.
Carres gurgles, spews bubbles of blood down his chin, and collapses to his knees.
“Come,” Skar growls to the rest of us, holding the dhampir watchman upright as he bleeds out. “Drink. Our journey may be long.”
Color drains from my face and flees off the mountainside as the vampires descend on Carres’ corpse. My jaw drops, practically unhinging at the abrupt, intense violence.
Vallan mutters, “You didn’t need to do it in front of our silverblood, brother,” before he turns away and rips into Carres’ flesh and veins with his fangs. Carres’ body twitches, feet kicking between Vallan’s legs as he sups.
To solidify the moment in my nightmares, the whole event is illuminated by the sparkling moon above us, piercing through a cloudless night and washing us in a soft glow that juxtaposes awfully with the feral feasting taking place here.
My heart takes residence in my throat once more.
“Where else would I have done it?” Skar sullenly asks Vallan, frowning at him before turning to me. I can hardly look at the demon. When he adds, “Besides, she knows what I am,” his eyes lock on mine.
I won’t look away. Won’t let the fear rattling my bones win. “Yes, I do know what you are, Skartovius Ashfen. You’re an absolute monster.”
When I use his full name, he knows my feelings plainly. I don’t need to askwhyhe killed this loyal guardsman. He tells meanyway. “Can’t let anyone who follows us know where we might have gone. Carres’ death ensures that.”
My eyes narrow dangerously on his, to tell him my words mean more than what he’s simply done just now—they’re a condemnation of the lie he’s told Lukain and continues to parade.
“And wherearewe going, Master?” Garroway asks. He hasn’t noticed the intense stare-off Skar and I are having as he absentmindedly drinks from Carres’ forearm.
Skar glares at me, lips pursed, as he answers his bloodthrall. “North, first. We must find somewhere safe to take refuge until this blows over. The good part about having a coven, graybird, it’s built me allies over the years.”
Garroway says, “Can we still trust those allies?”
Skartovius doesn’t answer. He’s too busy trying to make me flinch with his dreadful scowl. There’s no apology in his eyes; he’s incapable of it. There’s only sheer death, danger, and malice. Not malice for me, I think, but for everyone else around—
No, not everyone around. For the dhampir closest to me, inching closer in a protective stance.
Lukain,I think, breathing heavily as my former master’s fingers brush over mine at my side.He’s come to protect me. He knows that deadly gaze better than anyone. They’re brothers, after all.
I know Skartovius would never hurt me.
At least I’m . . .almostpositive he wouldn’t.
Lukain doesn’t share my reservations. He’snevertruly trusted Skar. He didn’t even know they were half-brothers until a few nights ago, after reading Skar’s tome.
Skar flares his nostrils. I wonder if he sees lines are being drawn, very acutely, between us. Lukain and me on one side; him on the other.
Before wheeling around to take us off the cliff, Skar growls, “If I have to be a monster to guarantee your safety, little temptress, I’ll gladly become the worst you’ve ever seen.”
Chapter 2
Sephania
Skartovius and Garroway press bootprints into the dirt of the various trails then swipe away any tracks of us exiting the tunnels. They move to the sheer cliff face that leads up the way we came through, staring heavenward at the imposing trajectory of the mountain slope.
It’s certainly nothing I could climb. I don’t think any human could, especially in the cold darkness.
Vallan notices my hesitance and grunts as he stands beside me. “Grab hold, silverblood.” He pats his huge shoulder.
My brow furrows. In true bratty form, I rest my hands on my hips. “Not until someone tells me what the plan is. This secrecy is unbecoming of my mates. The half-blood you just killed like animals said the horses are ready downhill.”
Skar glowers over his shoulder. A look of annoyance crosses over his handsome features. “When our followers exit this tunnel, they will go the obvious route down the mountain. They’ll follow these footsteps”—he points at the diversionary tracks he and Garro created—“which will buy us time.”
“So it’s another lie,” I snarl. My other mates and Palacia look at us, recognizing the tension and reading between the lines of my words. They see something is off between me and Skar but say nothing. “We’re going back the way we came?” I add. “What’s the point of—”