Crowned by blood, p.25
Crowned by Blood, page 25
part #3 of Daughter of Cain Series
Most people ignore us as we pass. They’re all busy loading hover vans and finalising last minute drills.
“What’s her plan?” I ask. “Hit New York with everyone you’ve got?”
“A surgical strike, aimed at Eden Park,” Samuel corrects. “Luring Cain out into the open using Ivan and the chance to make a spectacle as bait. Once he’s on the battlefield, her spell will strip him of his vampirism and render him mortal.”
So it’s true. Vampirism is the result of some witch’s stupid spell. Typical. And of course Evie just happens to be one, because her being the ‘chosen one’ isn’t getting old already.
How nice it must be to know that you’re destined to make an indelible mark on the world. Even if she fails, I’m willing to bet Evie will get closer to killing Cain than anyone ever has. She’s the world’s greatest overachiever, and she doesn’t even have to try.
“How come you got saddled with babysitting me?” I prod. “Shouldn’t you be out there ordering the toy soldiers around?”
Samuel isn’t offended. He just laughs. “No, there are quite enough men with fragile egos shouting orders already without adding me to the mix. I volunteered to shadow you because I could, quite frankly, use a break.”
I scoff. Samuel has always been a warrior and a leader, just like Evie. Cain chose our brothers based on their skills in battles and duels.
“I can’t believe you’ve suddenly decided to give up the sword.”
He shakes his head. “No. But during my final days on this earth, I wish for some time to think.”
“If you want to be alone, you can just go,” I wave my hand at the forest. “And final days? Nice to know you have such high hopes for your success.”
A sudden crash from one of the vans nearby renders his long sigh almost inaudible, snarls echo all around us, and my shoulders draw in, my posture instinctively working to make me less of a target.
“I have every confidence in Evie’s plan, and your company is a welcome distraction,” Samuel continues, ignoring the ruckus. “Were I alone, I feel it would be too easy to lose myself to my darker, less pleasant thoughts.”
Ha, at least he has to be alone for that to happen.
I bite back the snarky comment, because despite his role, Samuel is trying his best to be nice. “So what should we do while I wait for Draven to sneak away from Evie and take my head?” I ask.
Samuel stares at me intently. “I was quite enjoying our walk; however, if you wanted to contribute by loading a van…”
I grimace. Manual labour? No, thank you.
“Walking is fine,” I reply, a little too quickly perhaps, because the corners of his lips turn up.
We lapse into silence, watching the controlled chaos that is an army preparing to go on the move. No one bothers us, and I wonder if that’s Samuel’s gift at work.
How perfect that the two people best at being forgotten and ignored are walking together, keeping out of the way. If we both die in this battle, no one will remember us. At least Samuel can blame his gift for that. I have no such excuse.
“Grigoriy,” Samuel calls, pulling me out of my head.
I freeze in place, an automatic reaction to seeing any ghoul. I’ve always hated the stinking, brainless, corpse eaters, and Evie seems to have somehow gathered all of them to her little crusade against Cain. It doesn’t matter that they’re sentient. I’ve seen Frost snap as a newborn. I know he’s just as venomous as the rest of his kind.
Grigoriy can only be more so. I don’t trust his pleasant-old-man facade, not one bit. Today he’s wearing a brown suit that totally looks like it’s been dug out of some old grandpa’s closet and someone has given him a haircut.
“How goes it?” Grigoriy asks. “I was just taking in the air. It’s dryer in this part of the world. Have you noticed?”
Samuel smiles. “You should try Egypt.”
Grigoriy grunts noncommittally. “In another life.”
God, what a depressing bunch. I almost wish we were silent.
“You’re still committed to it, then?” Samuel asks, and I get the sense he’s being vague so as to protect Grigoriy’s privacy.
The ghoul nods. “I should not exist. I am an abomination, and if Cain and Ivan are leaving this world, I have no desire to be the only one to remain.”
Oh. The pieces click together in my mind slower than they should, but I don’t comment. I don’t know this ghoul well enough to say whether his death is a sad thing or a good one. Since he must have history with Cain, it’s likely to be the latter.
“Have you found the person you suggested to Evie yet?” Grigoriy asks. “I know the sacrifice is weighing heavily on her mind.”
I jerk at the mention of a sacrifice, but Samuel just nods. “I have.”
“Is that what she’s keeping me alive for?” I demand, my fear rising. “Just to kill me at the right fucking moment?”
Grigoriy flinches, and Samuel holds up both hands. “Peace, Callista. The sacrifice must be a willing one, and you most certainly are not. I told Evie that I knew someone who would be willing to give their life to see Cain dead, and I do. Rest assured, it is not you.”
I deflate slightly, but I can’t even feel relief. All that returns is that ever-present tiredness, weighing down my limbs. Is this what life will be like for me now? Always waiting for the axe to fall?
“Some idiot has to sacrifice themselves as part of her spell to kill Cain?” I ask.
“She has to poison their flesh and blood, and then Cain, Ivan, and I will consume the sacrifice alive,” Grigoriy confirms. “It will not be an easy death.”
“So who have you come up with?” I ask Samuel. “Which goody-two-shoes hero gets to die and live on in glory as the sacrifice who made it all happen?”
Because Evie won’t take killing them lightly. The sacrifice will probably get statues in their honour. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Evie creates a new annual holiday.
Samuel’s fang worries his dark lower lip for a second. “I plan to offer myself up. Don’t tell your sister. She’ll never go through with it if she knows.”
I freeze. “No way.”
He gives me a wry half smile. “Like Grigoriy, I have lived far longer than any man has a right to. Most of my life was spent either in service to Cain, or hiding in a cave like a coward.”
“If you do this, everyone will just forget you again.” It seems so unfair.
For any other man, this would be Samuel’s chance to break out from the insignificance that has cursed us both, and yet, thanks to his gift…
“Exactly.” Samuel nods. “Evie’s grief will end quickly, and she will be able to get on with making a better world out of the chaos that will follow Cain’s death. It’s the most sensible solution.”
“She’d have an easier time doing that with a powerful older vampire by her side,” I argue, not even contesting his assumption that Evie will step into our sire’s shoes.
“She has Morwenna,” Samuel brushes my concerns aside. “And an entire pack that loves her. More than enough support, even if she weren’t a formidable leader in her own right. The world will be in safe hands.”
He doesn’t mean for the words to cut, but they do. Grigoriy says something else, and Samuel answers, but my ears are full of fuzzy white noise.
When this is all over, providing Evie wins, she’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted. Lovers to fawn over her. Power to command respect from even the oldest of vampires and lycans.
And I… I will be on the run again, waiting for the reaper to catch me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
EVELYN
It’s late morning, and I still haven’t left the war room. On the table, the holographic model of Manhattan glares at me, overlaid with troop movements and blinking black dots that represent Cain’s forces. The network of sewers and maintenance ducts beneath are painstakingly mapped, and I trace the maze with my eyes.
Grigoriy, Frost, and Gideon have already left, along with a small group dedicated to clearing the sewers of Cain’s men. Hopefully, they’ll be able to draw enough ghouls to them to make a difference in the battle.
Someone has set up a hologram to display their locations. Their coloured dots—blue for Frost, red for Gideon—are carefully escorting Grigoriy’s green signal through the tunnels.
Our separation has put me on edge. Logically, I know they’re the only two who can help Grigoriy with this. Still, it seems that, every time I’m split from my thralls, something bad happens. My gut is screaming at me that it's only a matter of time before they’re dead, captured, or worse.
The rest of our troops are ready to drop in from the sky, and we have a couple of armoured tanks—although God only knows where the resistance managed to source those.
“Evie?” Finn’s voice draws me out of my brooding thoughts, and I glance up from the table to find him leaning against the doorjamb. “You’re so wound up I can’t sleep.”
His admission is soft, but I can feel his concern down the thrall bond. I’ve been so focused on Frost and Gid that I haven’t even stopped to think about the others. A brief check tells me Draven is sound asleep, but Silas and Vane are both concentrating on something.
Has Finn been alone all morning?
“Sorry,” I apologise, crossing the room and tugging him into a hug. “I just…”
I can’t explain it, but luckily I don’t have to.
“I’ve got their trackers up on my tablet,” Finn says. “Come to bed. We can watch over them from there.”
He pulls lightly at my arm. “Come on. Sleep will help you think more clearly tomorrow.”
Once again, he’s right, and I let him lead me up to the bedroom the pack has settled in.
When we open the door, both of us freeze.
Silas and Vane are dressed in full tactical gear, rummaging through their cases for… something, while Draven snoozes on, oblivious, on a mattress by the door.
“What are you two doing?” I demand.
The sleeping vampire opens a lazy eye and grins, answering before either of the shamefaced brothers can. “They’re trying to sneak out to rescue Mia, of course.”
Both lycans glare at him, but the vampire shoves away the covers, revealing that he’s already dressed and armed as well.
“How long have you been awake?” Silas asks.
“Long enough to know you were going to draw a moustache on me in permanent marker before you left,” Draven retorts, standing and quirking a single brow at him. “Be thankful you didn’t succeed.”
Vane ignores the two of them and focuses on me. “She’s our little sister.”
His eyes plead with me to understand.
I nod, slowly. “I know. Morwen is my sister too.”
“Can I just point out the hypocrisy here?” Draven says, “You all got mad at me for sneaking away to murder Callista, and yet… here we are.”
Silas’s ears turn red, and he mutters something under his breath.
“There’s a difference between a half-cocked quest for vengeance and rescuing your loved ones,” Vane counters. “We won’t let it mess up the mission. We already agreed that, if we can’t find her by the time the army arrives, we’ll give up and focus on Cain.”
So they have a plan then. That’s good. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to make this feel like a good idea, and failing.
Their jaws are clenched, shoulders stiff as they wait for me to condemn this whole idea.
I should. I really should. Yet the thrall bonds are tugging in my chest, filled with worry so strong that it twists my guts into knots.
Crossing the room, I grab a change of clothes and my own sword, and start changing with quick, efficient motions.
“What are you doing?” Silas asks.
“Going with you.” Wasn’t it obvious? “Your odds of success are slim, but they’ll be better with a bigger team. My blood will be useful in case things backfire, and we’ll have enough people that someone can be a lookout should we need to do any breaking and entering.” I pause. “Besides, you’ll be useless in battle if you’re worrying about your sister the entire time.”
And should something happen to Mia, concern for them will distract me. I can’t let myself lose focus around my sire. It would be deadly for all of us.
“Someone needs to stay here and guard Finn,” Silas objects.
“Not if he comes with us,” I retort. “We’ll need backup.”
“Gid and Frost are going to kill me,” Vane grumbles, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Only if we all live through this,” Draven adds.
“How are we getting to New York?” I ask, opening a drawer and strapping yet more knives to my thighs.
As a precaution, I grab the belt strung with my herb sachets, and the paper where I’ve written down my notes on the spell to kill Cain. I have no idea if we’re coming back, and if we don’t, I need to be prepared.
To be extra safe, I tuck the rarest ingredients—my wolfsbane and the splinters of white oak—into a waterproof pouch as well. If I lose those, getting more into the city on such short notice would be impossible.
Finn finally moves from the doorway, heading straight for his workstation and packing down the things he’s going to take with swift, quiet efficiency. His pleasure at being included hums along our bond, and I realise some of the dread I was feeling earlier was actually his at the thought of being left behind while we all went into battle.
Don’t get me wrong, I want the omega as far from danger as possible, but I also know that would drive him crazy. He did well enough on our mission to free Grigoriy, and his technical expertise is invaluable.
Plus, I’m counting on his presence to keep Vane and Silas calm should anything have happened to Mia.
“We’ve still got the spycraft we used to infiltrate the gala,” Silas admits slowly. “I’m not sure all of us should—”
I pin him in place with a glare. “We go as a pack or not at all. Frost and Gideon are already there. Samuel and Echo are more than capable of leading the main forces, and we can meet up with them when we know our people are safe.”
I doubt, knowing Cain, that either Morwen or Mia will be in a state to help us during the battle. The logical side of me is roaring that this is a bad idea. We should leave them and rescue them after the battle, as we agreed.
But I also know Cain will do whatever he needs to to win, including using loved ones against us. I’ve seen him execute his enemies’ families in front of them at the start of battle to demoralise them. If that were to happen, I have no doubt that Vane and Silas would lose their focus. Rage is the easiest way to make your opponent make mistakes, and that could cost them their lives.
Silas surprises me by crossing the space between us and claiming my lips in a fierce kiss.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
I grin against his lips. “I love you too. Now, are we sneaking out or what?”
We end up simply walking out of the pack house. Everyone still awake is too busy to bother with us, but Draven’s hiss halts me no more than three steps beyond the door.
He’s wearing a huge hoodie, and most of his body is still in the shade, but he’s taken one of his protective gloves off, and is holding his hand out in the sunlight.
“Put your glove on!” I growl.
“It’s not catching fire,” he observes, ignoring me. “Hurts like a bitch… and there’s some smoke, but no flames.”
It clicks, then, what he’s trying to say.
“You’re not old enough to become a daywalker,” Vane observes.
“No, but he’s been sleeping less recently, and his circadian rhythm is fucked,” Finn adds.
The omega is right. Ordinarily, a vampire Draven’s age wouldn’t be able to stay awake at this time, with the sun directly above us. Let alone walk and talk coherently. I originally put his survival in the caves down to luck, but now that I think about it, he should’ve become a living torch after only a few seconds in the sun.
“You’re transitioning early,” I murmur. “Why?”
“You have to ask?” Silas says, smirking. “He’s drinking your ancient witchy blood on a daily basis. It’s bound to have some effect on him.”
Vane nods. “Makes sense. Your blood is the strongest I’ve ever tasted.”
“Too much sunlight will still kill you,” I warn.
“Put your hand away, before you get sunburn,” Vane growls. “We have a mission, remember?”
Draven doesn’t argue, and the five of us hurry into the trees. There are a few lycans out working on the vehicles, but they don’t pay us any attention.
We’re halfway to the clearing where Vane has left the spycraft when a pointed cough fills the air.
Callie is leaning against a tree lazily, but her windswept hair belies the casual impression. She must have come after us at speed. Her eyes are bloodshot, and I can smell the alcohol mixed with the coppery tang of blood on her breath.
“Who the fuck left you unguarded?” Silas growls.
“Samuel and Grigoriy decided to reminisce about eras past and drink themselves into oblivion to celebrate their last day on earth,” Callie retorts. “I was bored, and then I happened upon Evelyn and her band of merry freaks, sneaking away before the battle starts…” She raises both brows suggestively. “Running away?”
Silas snarls at her. “We’re not running anywhere.”
“Shut your mouth, before I forget my promise,” Draven threatens.
I say nothing, frowning at her. Callie has no reason to lie, but I can’t see Samuel getting drunk on the eve of battle.
“You’re so happy to have everyone die, as long as it helps you defeat Cain,” Callie continues. “Pathetic. I thought the hero was supposed to sacrifice themselves, not their friends and family.”
All of my guys snarl at that—even Finn—and I have to hold a hand out to stop them from ripping into her.
“You’re drunk, Callie. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Go back to the house.”
“You wanted my help,” she accuses. “I’ll help rescue Morwen and her dog, as long as it gets me out of this depressing house.”
