Page 2 of Thirst
Throughout the years, Queen Nemea nurtured her private graveyard. The garden had tripled in size since my childhood, with crimson roses spilling beyond the original stone borders in wild, unnatural abundance. Fresh mounds of black earth dotted the pathways between blooms, some still settling from recent burials. Tonight, my body might join the fertilizer, but not before I added hers to the soil.
The stench struck hard, dragging me into a childhood memory of the moment I met the empty gaze of Donnal’s stripped corpse. Death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the floral perfume of the queen’s beloved roses. I exploited the odor to mask the unique smell of my dhampir blood.
I reminded myself to be grateful the queen took me to meet Donnal when I was still a kid. On that fateful walk, I’d spotted a loose stone in the wall sectioning off the courtyard—a rare weakness in the vampire mansion’s fortress-like perimeter.
That loose rock had become my salvation. Tonight, I displaced two stones to accommodate my adult shoulders asI returned to this floral cemetery with weapons in hand. The ghost of my terror flooded me as I breathed in the smell of roses and rot.
I thought I’d never return here. I should’ve known better.
Queen Nemea had gleefully removed the head from the last queen of the House of Whispers, clearing the path for someone more malicious.The city buzzed with news of a weakening House of the Sanguine as the rival house waged war under the leadership of a powerful new monarch.
And now we all paid for it. Humans vanished nightly, forcibly turned to bolster her failing war effort. Such blatant disregard for the laws that maintained peace between vampires and the human populace of Pythia reached the temple, and the slayers sharpened their stakes.
I spun my gold engagement band with my thumb, a relatively new habit. The texture of the tiny gems embedded in the metal was satisfying. It reminded me of Zane. He knew not to buy me a ring with a prominent setting, else it would get caught and damaged by the hasty way I pulled on my gloves.
I didn’t give a damn about the disappearances. Only one mattered to me. Zane’s. The queen would answer for it tonight.
I’d observed what I could of her habits and concluded that challenging her anywhere other than her personal garden would be a guaranteed death sentence. Yet only a fool or a desperate person would come here to corner her. I was probably both.
I lay belly-down in the dirt, facing the fountain of Eona. I carved out a thorn-free arch, tucking myself beneath it, careful not to cut my fingers and expose the scent of mydirty blood. The flashes of ivory hidden in the roots could have been Donnal’s remains.
I murmured, “May Aetherius uplift your soul.” Sixteen years too late for his salvation.
The fountain’s red water oozed from the stained heart in Eona’s hand. Clumps of darkened fluid fell into the basin with irregular splatters. The sound remained my only company as the minutes dragged into hours. Wind breathed through the crimson roses. The bushes seemed to shiver with awareness of my plans for their mistress.
A crossbow waited at my elbow, loaded with a bolt soaked in Aetherius’s blessed light. The projectile burned my fingers through leather gloves. Queen Nemea would fare far worse. I harbored no delusions about killing her instantly. A vampiress of her age would hear the bolt whistling toward her and possess the split-second reflexes to dodge it.
I had a typical slayer’s kit tied to my belt: daggers, stakes, and a vial of consecrated water that would burn both of us beyond recognition if I dropped it. Every blade dripped with rupture, a hemolytic poison derived from the deadliest serpent venom. Once in a vampire’s veins, it destroyed the red blood cells flowing inside, quickly rendering them slow and sloppy.
Perfect for leveling impossible odds.
She would come here unarmed and unaware of any danger—while also wounded from her prior battle and grieving, if she was even capable of that.
The temple’s latest intelligence contained the only luck I needed. The House of Whispers was steadily taking over the Emerald Cradle borough, pushing Queen Nemea’s forces east. She’d fled the fighting after losing another mate.
His death would further cripple the magic at herdisposal. He’d been the one to lend her shielding magic, allowing her to wreak havoc with impunity. In Eona’s image, every vampiress could claim up to four devotees to complete their Devotion, sharing bonds of magic that empowered them all. The queen’s Devotion was down to two devotees now, possibly three if…
I shook my head to clear it and blinked away the film over my eyes.Don’t think of him right now. Focus and adapt to the task at hand.
I could do this. The good folk at the temple furthered my training in slaying vampires, and I’d done my fair share. My dhampir heritage served the temple well. Enhanced reflexes, superior strength, and accelerated healing, all invaluable against creatures that outmatched normal humans. Not long ago, they recognized the value of my mind, too, and taught me the sciences.
I’d observed Queen Nemea, analyzed the data I collected, and determined when and where I would take my revenge. But I could only remain calm and change my approach depending on what happened next.
Footsteps signaled her approach. She appeared from behind a screen of roses and dipped her head in respect to Eona. The Goddess of Tradition crafted her children in her image. Immortal, unchanging, breathtaking monsters. Queen Nemea had remained the same over the past decade, and with my next slow breath, rage kindled in my chest.
The red-haired beauty took a seat on a stone bench, arranging her black silk skirt. Moonlight painted her skin alabaster. Her eyes, should they turn my way, would be like flashing rubies. Despite her vampiric healing, she winced, rubbing her left side.
She bowed her head, lips moving in silent prayer. I reached for my crossbow and exposed the dim glow of theblessed bolt as the wind settled. Nature itself held its breath as I took aim. Finger on the trigger, I waited through the stillness until the susurration of rustling leaves began again.
Then I fired.
The quarrel hurtled through the night, a speeding blur of light. No retreat now. I would see it to the bitter end.
Queen Nemea’s hand shot out and caught the bolt inches from her heart. She screamed as holy fire consumed her palm. The shaft tumbled from her blackened fingers. I burst from hiding and lunged at her, daggers drawn.
She turned her head before my right dagger could do more than graze her cheek, then hammered her good hand into my chest. The force sent me flying. My body slammed into the ground, but I gritted my teeth and rolled with the momentum, refusing to let the pain slow me down.
Her lips peeled back from the length of her pearly fangs as she stood. She brandished her nails, natural weapons honed to razor-sharp points, caged in silver for both style and durability. I lunged. Feigning left, I slashed right. Only for her to catch my wrist as the dagger plunged toward her heart.
