Page 4 of Thirst
I leaped through the hole in the foliage and thrust my weapon into her shoulder, pinning the rest of her body with my weight. The thorns pierced me too, splitting my skininto a constellation of sharp, searing wounds, indifferent to who they carved open.
I grappled both of her wrists in a one-armed grip and reached for a stake. “Granddaughter, wait,” she whispered.
My fingers hesitated over the sharpened length of wood. She seized the pause to wrench one of her hands loose and punched me. My cheekbone shattered, my head snapping sideways, but I caught her wrist before she could grasp my dagger’s hilt and free herself.
I spat blood, painting her fallen roses. Numbness spread through me, leaving only a chill behind as cold as death’s hand. The reaper had to be close, scythe at the ready, waiting for its due. Whether it would claim one soul or two relied on the queen’s swift death.
Maybe Zane would arrive afterward and put me out of my misery.
“Did turning him give you a thrill? Chase away that ennui?” I rasped.
She bared her teeth, fangs stained with her own blood. “You should’ve heard him scream. The purest music. Seems your little curative didn’t work. He turned like any man. It just took a few extra days of agony. But his magic.” She sighed with genuine pleasure. “Magnificent. If only you had witnessed it yourself.”
She bucked her hips, struggling further onto her bed of thorns. I continued to hold her down as her struggles slowed to sluggish jerks.
“I hate you. With every fiber of my being,” I said between panting breaths.
For some reason, her smile softened. “I know, sweetness.”
“As much as you have hated me.”
Her head fell back with a weak sigh. “No. To hateimplies I cared at all.” That edge of boredom returned, taunting me.
And it worked. I freed one of my hands again and reached for a different weapon. The vial of consecrated water. I wiggled it between my fingers near her face, letting her see the bubbles of white light suspended within. “You will not leave behind a pretty corpse. That, at least, I know you care about.”
“Vanity is nothing to the dead,” she answered tonelessly. “I have wondered who would be the one to finally end me. Fitting it would be at the hands of my own blood. Your magic is like mine, you know. Just missing the more powerful half. Imagine what you could do as a full vampire.”
I ignored the implication that we were alike in any way. “And that’s just the beginning.” I tucked the bottle away and drew my stake, one of three blessed weapons given to me during my slayer vows. Silver inlays marked it as mine, winding through the light wood like veins. Its tip gleamed, eager for vampire blood. “I will rejoin Sanguine, but not to fight in your war. The House of Whispers will observe the old ways and lay down their arms until a new queen is crowned. That’s tradition.” Their goddess instigated feuds between pairs of houses, just as she remained eternally locked in a conflict with my god.
“Let me guess. You’ll be the next soul to wear my crown?”
“That’s right. I planned every detail. By the time I place it on my brow, there will be no more House of the Sanguine. I’ll paint its halls with the blood of everyone who once served you. Everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve built, will all be ash.”
Queen Nemea’s mocking laughter shook her body. Theacrid scent of vampire blood grew stronger. I braced myself for one more cutting remark as I placed the stake’s tip above where her black heart still beat. She met my gaze. “A story as old as the gods themselves. Your little revenge quest will lead you down a singular path. Careful, sweetness. One day, you will look in the mirror and see me in your reflection.”
I plunged the stake into her chest, the force of the strike meeting the brutal resistance of bone. Her ribs fought against the intrusion, but my training had prepared me for this. I pressed harder, driving the sharpened wood past the final barrier in one unrelenting motion.
The light fled her crimson eyes as her body went slack beneath me. A great breath gusted from me as I nudged her, testing for any sign of lingering life, but my grandmother joined the ranks of the truly dead.
Victory tasted like copper and roses.
I took in the motionless face of Queen Nemea and forced down the rush of triumph threatening to swamp me. One of my greatest tormentors, finally gone. But I couldn’t remain here and gloat. Her devotees would feel the pain of her death.
The reaper had not taken my soul today, so it must’ve gotten excited at the promise of slaughter ahead. All according to plan.
I stood and backed away to a safe distance. Uncorking the vial of consecrated water, I dumped its contents over the side of her face and down her body. Her alabaster skin bubbled with blisters wherever the liquid splashed. I only left enough of her face undamaged for her to be recognizable.
I needed to slip away fast. After abandoning QueenNemea’s corpse on her bed of bloody roses, I retrieved my lost dagger and made my escape. My stake remained buried in her heart—not a warning, but a promise.
Soon, the House of the Sanguine would burn.
Chapter 2
Sidney
The Temple of Aetherius loomed like a celestial fortress, its imposing spires piercing the pre-dawn gloom. White stone walls veined with silver shimmered beneath the fading moonlight. Ancient runes that pulsed faintly with my god’s eternal light etched their surfaces.
It stood at the heart of Harmony, a human-controlled zone, an island of sanctity surrounded by vampire boroughs. The temple’s light defied the encroaching dark.
