“Tezra?”
Daemon cal ed out, alarm in his communication.
Her stomach clenched, and she felt she was a cat trying to sneak up on a blackbird, and her master caught her in the act.
“I am
fine. Enjoy your party,”
she replied, trying to sound as though she hadn’t a care in the world. This battle was hers, and if she were ever to fit into Daemon’s world, she had to face the vamp herself.
She leaned down and pul ed her sword from the shrubs, then belted it, twisting the leather until the sword rested at her back, a little less obtrusive.
“I want you by my side. Now,”
Daemon communicated to her, his tone a command.
“Demanding, aren’t we?”
He had to know ordering her about would not work. Tezra drifted farther into the crowd of vampires, sensing the women nearby. Why didn’t anyone arrest the vamp? Surely if they backed their prince, they would take Lichorus into custody like he had ordered. Though she tried to maintain her calm composure, her heart hammered against her ribs. She stretched her fingers, preparing to unsheathe her sword.
“She is coming,”
Lichorus hissed.
Sure it was a trap, Tezra fought extending her fangs, the teeth itching to appear. But the vamp’s goading wasn’t the only reason for Tezra’s rising temper. Daemon’s people’s complicity added to the anger she attempted to keep under control. Her teachers’
words came back to haunt her.
“Keep your emotions in check,”
they had invariably warned her.
“When facing a vampire threat,
if you give in to your feelings, you set yourself up to die.”
Anatola sighed.
“You play with fire, Lichorus. Kill her if you must, but I stand by Daemon, no matter the outcome.”
A woman moved out of the shadows, platinum-blonde, curvaceous. She brushed into Tezra, her icy blue eyes trailing over her, then she headed for the house.
“He wil not like that you set me up so that Lichorus could murder me,” Tezra calmly threatened.
The blonde glanced back at Tezra, her eyes wide.
Pleased at the vamp’s reaction, Tezra smiled.
“You wil not live long enough to tel him.” Anatola offered a haughty smile of her own.
“He already knows.” Tezra got the distinct impression no one else knew Daemon had turned her. If she was to be the bait, she wanted to be the best damned bait she could be. She was certain Lichorus’s actions were not part of Krustalus’s plan, however.
Tezra moved again, her high heels clicking against the stone patio, the cool breeze tickling a strand that had loosened from the mass of curls piled atop her head. The women and a few men glanced her way. Then she saw Lichorus—bewitchingly beautiful, extremely anorexic, runway model material—but her dark eyes were absolutely entrancing while she stood in the shadows several feet from the house near the end of the patio. She did look like Ionia. And like Tezra, the vamp was armed with a sword.
The vampiress hissed. “Tezra.” Which confirmed she was indeed Lichorus.
“Thought I’d kil ed you at the seafood restaurant,” Tezra said, her tone intentional y cocky.
Several vampires moved out of their path as if clearing the way for a western gunfight. Again, the distasteful notion that no one would help her, or warn Daemon the vamp intended to fight her forced her temperature to elevate and her skin to prickle with anger.
“Didn’t Daemon tel you Ionia was my cousin?”
“Your nicer half, I take it. Though she left your ruby necklace with her ashes, intending to kil me and blame you for my death.”
Tezra smiled with satisfaction as Lichorus cursed under her breath.
Reaching behind her back, Tezra pul ed out her sword.
“Tezra, where the hell are you?”
Daemon asked.
She assumed he was being bombarded by telepathic communications, and he couldn’t sense her. Were the vampires doing it purposeful y to stop him from helping her?
“Find her, Atreides, Bernard, Maison. Locate her at once and bring her to me,”
he ordered.
Too late.
Instead of unsheathing her sword, Lichorus exposed her teeth and dove at Tezra.
Tezra jumped aside, avoiding Lichorus’s razor sharp teeth. She could move faster now, though not as fast as ancients like Lichorus, but her action thoroughly confounded the vamp.
Lichorus eyed Tezra in surprise.
“He turned you?”
Pretending not to hear her telepathic communication, Tezra didn’t respond.
Lichorus lunged again, her teeth bared.
Part of Tezra warned her not to kil Lichorus, to leave her to Daemon, but part of her said to hel with that. The bitch threatened to kil her, and that was al she needed to excuse her actions.
Wielding the sword, Tezra sliced at the woman as the crowd grew in size to watch. Barely escaping the blade’s sharp point, Lichorus vanished.
Tezra couldn’t tel from the vampires’ somber expressions whether they wanted Lichorus to win or not. Al remained silent, or channeled their communications solely to each other. And she assumed they didn’t want Daemon to know the huntress was fighting for her life against one of their own.
Gazes shifted to a location behind her, and Tezra pivoted to face the threat. With teeth bared, Lichorus yanked out her sword and swung at Tezra. Lichorus didn’t have the luxury of a long game. She hurried to finish the job before Daemon caught her.
“Tezra’s fighting Lichorus!”
Atreides communicated to Daemon, sounding panicked.
Then the clatter of sword fighting broke out inside the house, and Tezra figured she had to do this on her own, just as she’d planned from the beginning.
“Atreides, grab Lichorus! Where are they?”
“Damn, Daemon, Mustaphus is here!”
Atreides warned.
“And several of his followers.”
Daemon should have known Tezra would go after Lichorus to reduce the number of rebels in their midst. Hadn’t he told her he wanted her to stay in a defensive mode, safe from harm? “SCU investigator, my ass,” he mumbled under his breath while trying to locate Tezra. She was a bona fide huntress whether the SCU wanted to recognize it or not.
As soon as he moved toward the patio doors, four rogue vampires appeared in front of him, al with swords drawn, al trying to keep him from protecting his ward. Nearby, he glimpsed Atreides parrying against the thrust of Mustaphus’s sword, and Bernard and Patrico fought their own battles against rebel vampires. Voltan towered over everyone, backing two vampires into a corner near the fireplace. Maison let out a war whoop from the dining area and the swords began to clank with a vengeance.
As if the fight had become a free-for-al , Daemon’s people joined in the battle, the lines clearly drawn.
“You stil have a choice.” Daemon waved his sword from the redheaded vampire on one end to the brunette at the other. “Join me, or die.”
“Krustalus and Mustaphus wil win this day,” the redhead said. “There needs to be a radical change in the way of doing business. You have lived long past your prime, old man.”
Old man? “Let me show you what this old man can do.” Daemon moved so quickly, the blond standing in the middle of the four didn’t have time to react to the swing of Daemon’s blade. The blond’s severed head fel to the floor, and then his body col apsed. “A fledgling?” Daemon asked, knowing he had to be or his body would have dissolved into dust.
The redhead and brunette tried to take him on, but Daemon vanished, then reappeared behind the last three. After beheading the brunette, he vanished again before the redhead and the other man could turn to fight him.
“You don’t fight fair!” The redhead screamed like a man who was used to getting his way.
“I’m an old man, as you so aptly put it, Red. Through the ages, I have learned to win my battles any way that I can. If you find my methods unfair, I wonder what you think of Krustalus’s and Mustaphus’s deeds.”
The other man backed away and quickly bowed. “I wil serve you, Prince Daemon.”
“Your name?”
The man’s electric blue eyes shown like ice, but he turned his sword on Red. “Krouse, the Avenger.”
“Damn you, you traitor,” Red said, and jabbed his blade at Krouse. But Krouse lived up to his word and with a wicked slice, cut Red’s sword arm. He promptly dropped his weapon, but extended his fangs.
Without hesitation, Krouse ran him through, then looked to Daemon when Red col apsed dead on the floor—another damned fledgling, arrogant to the hilt.
“Help Maison in the dining room,” he commanded, and Krouse bowed, then vanished. Daemon tried to locate Tezra again, swearing he’d lock her up for her own safety until this was over.
If he could find her in time.
***
As soon as Tezra heard Atreides say Mustaphus was here, she knew he would jump in to protect his lover, Lichorus. No way could Tezra fight two ancients at the same time.
But for now, she had to concentrate on the black-haired menace in front of her.
Tezra stabbed at Lichorus when she came in for another pass. This time her long nails raked Tezra’s cheek. The stinging wasn’t half as painful as it was for Lichorus, no doubt, when Tezra lopped off her nails to the quick. Lichorus screamed, but a couple of vampires laughed out loud. Tezra didn’t figure they thought it funny, but instead tried to cover up Lichorus’s cry of distress. To prolong the fight? To ensure Daemon didn’t stop the entertainment?
Thrusting with her sword, Lichorus attempted to stab Tezra in the heart. She jumped back out of her reach. But a spectator shoved Tezra toward Lichorus, giving the vamp the advantage.
Tezra’s heart sank. It was bad enough that nobody but his brother warned Daemon what was going on, but now to have one of his people aid in her demise was too much.
Lichorus swung her sword at Tezra, but she blocked it with such force, Lichorus’s blade shattered. Slamming the remainder of her sword to the stone patio, Lichorus lunged, her sharp canines aimed at Tezra’s throat. Without hesitation, Tezra jammed her blade into the woman’s heart.
Lichorus screamed, soul ess eyes stared back at her with disbelief, then her body disintegrated into a pile of clothed ashes.
The crowd parted for a second.
“Tezra, sweet.”
Krustalus
—his thin face exaggerating his large nose, his eyes as dark as a bottomless wel and his black hair unbound as if he’d awakened from a long nap—stood tal , imposing, angry.
He stared at Tezra, then looked at Lichorus’s remains. “Dear Tezra, the vamp would not have lived a second longer under my rule had you not kil ed her first.”
The memory of her murdered parents flitted across her mind, and the fury boiled inside her. She thrust her sword at his chest.
He dodged the blade, seized her wrist and yanked the sword from her hand. Tossing it aside with a clatter to the pavement, he grinned, his chin tilted up, taunting her to try something else.
Before she could struggle free, another vampire, dark-haired and eyed, rushed toward Tezra with murder in his eyes. He looked a lot like the photo of Daemon’s Uncle Solomon, and she realized at once how the police could have mistaken his uncle for this man.
Mustaphus.
Krustalus released her, caught Mustaphus’s arm, and shook his head. “She’s mine, Mustaphus,” he hissed. “None of you wil touch her.”
The thought flitted across her mind that he was making an enemy of the same people who had already shown her so much animosity, not the thing to do if he was trying to win them over so that he could rule. Or maybe he didn’t need to win them over, just rule by brute force.
Not if she had her way. She leapt for her sword, but Krustalus blocked her path.
“Wrong,” Daemon said, appearing between Krustalus and Tezra, his sword already unsheathed. “She is
mine
.”
She raised a brow, caught off guard by how possessive he sounded, like he owned her and no one would disagree when hel , he didn’t even wish her to be his mate.
Before Daemon and Krustalus could fight, Patrico stole the show. Whipping out a sword, he targeted Mustaphus. The two were matched in size, except the ancient vampire had the advantage with his vampiric abilities. Bernard raced in to help, but Patrico waved him away.
What did Patrico have to prove? His head stil sported a bloodied bandage—the damned macho hunter was going to get himself kil ed.
Tezra went for her sword again, but Voltan grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “Let…me…go, Voltan, or you’re next!”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “If you do not behave, I wil place you in the dungeon for your own safety.”
She scowled at him. “I can sift.”
“Try it, if you like.”
She attempted to sift out of his confining grasp. Nothing.
Dammit!
Not even Daemon would interfere this time, and she wanted to bite him for being so damned…vampiric, leaving the fight to Mustaphus and his chal enger—to right the wrongs Mustaphus had committed against Patrico—like a gladiator fight in the days of old. The rest of the vampires watched, fascinated to see the outcome.
Patrico thrust his sword at Mustaphus, the vampire’s dark brown eyes now coal black. He easily glided out of the blade’s path.
If Tezra couldn’t fight the vampire, she would attempt to distract him.
“Murderer!”
she screamed into Mustaphus’s head.
Mustaphus glanced in her direction and growled. Enough to give Patrico a decisive jab in the chest, but the vampire suddenly moved and the blade missed his heart.
Mustaphus screamed out in pain. Blood dripped from the wound, the cut hurting his vanity. He retaliated, slicing his sword with a whoosh at Patrico’s torso. The hunter dodged out of the wicked blade’s path.
Tezra’s heart nearly gave out. Krustalus gave Daemon a look confirming they would be next in the fight to the finish.
Again Patrico thrust, but Mustaphus deflected the weapon, the metals clanking in anger.
“You thought Lichorus loved you but she wanted Daemon back.”
Mustaphus’s face hardened, but he didn’t look in her direction this time. She had to think of something else to distract him!
Everyone seemed to hold their breath, yet the looks on their faces were of morbid curiosity. It didn’t seem as though they hoped one would triumph over the other. Instead, they enjoyed the battle, as any might take pleasure in a bloody, violent spectator sport. Except Daemon.