Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Huntley
W e’re finished and coming your way, Viking. It’s on.
Zane’s voice in my mind brings me to high alert. Everything is in place—I hope—and now we just need to fight for our lives. No pressure.
Because make no mistake, that’s what is coming.
Agostino wants to take what he could never earn for himself, and he thinks he’s got the goods to overthrow Zane. We need to prove him wrong.
Gravel crunches under my feet as I race up from the dock to where they will be coming out of the building. Visibility is oddly low as I climb the embankment. Mist rolls in from the water, thick and unnatural, obscuring our path. The weather here is weird.
No. It’s not the weather—it’s magic.
“Behind you!” Scottie shouts.
I push through the fog to get to them, my heart hammering to escape my chest. The two of them are under attack, and I arrive in time to see Scottie spin Zane as the blade of a short sword whistles past his ear.
The blade embeds itself in the tree where his head had been moments before.
Through the fog, a rich laughter echoes, bouncing off the stone walls of the sanctuary. “Did you really think I’d let you walk away with my birthright, cousin?”
No, we didn’t, you arrogant fuckwad.
Figures materialize from the mist—at least a dozen turned vampires, their red eyes glowing with bloodlust. They form a circle around us, cutting off our escape to the water.
Zane draws the Diamond Dagger, its blade catching the moonlight. Scottie’s back presses against his, her own blade at the ready. I raise my hands, claws extended. I prefer hand-to-hand and have every intention of disarming them to even the fight.
A flash of steel catches my attention, and my heart lurches as I spot Agostino’s blade slicing toward Zane’s throat.
I launch into motion, my boots pounding across the damp grass. “Down!”
Zane’s already moving, the Diamond Dagger singing as he parries the strike.
Daeva materializes behind Scottie, her burgundy hair whipping in the coastal wind. My stomach drops as more shadows emerge from the tree line—two dozen at least. How many mutts did this asshole turn?
Damn, I had hoped we got them all.
I slam into the first mutt that reaches for Scottie, driving my fist through his chest. His body crumbles to the ground as three more take his place.
Scottie’s power flares, a pulse of energy creating an aura of power around her. As the vampires strike, the buffer absorbs the hit and reflects it back, sending two of them flying backward.
“Viking!” Zane’s voice cuts through the chaos. He gestures to an opponent, rushing me from the side and I get my head back into the moment. Disarming the fanger fledgeling as he advances on me is easy. Then I spin, decapitating him as he stumbles away.
Blood sprays across my face as Agostino’s blade finds Zane’s shoulder. The rage that fills me is primal, visceral. I charge forward, but more mutts block my path to him.
They are no match for us in skill, but with their numbers, there’s always a chance they can land a lucky strike and do some serious harm.
Scottie screams—not in fear but fury—as Daeva’s claws rake across her arm. Squire magic erupts from our girl in waves, but she’s still fighting against an opponent with superior strength.
I have to have faith in her ability. It’s hard, but I’ve sparred with her. I know what she’s capable of. I also know that Zane is who we need to focus on protecting.
The blade I took off the fledgeling is put to good use. I find neck after neck, turning vampires into headless stumps. And yet, they keep coming.
For each one I take down, two more appear. Sweat and blood drip into my eyes as I fight my way to reach Zane and Scottie.
The sweet tang of Zane’s blood fills my nostrils, driving my beast into a frenzy.
There are too many.
We’re good—damn good—but we’re outnumbered.
Agostino and Daeva are toying with us, wearing us down while their turned cannon fodder keeps us separated.
We’re losing ground fast. Time for backup.
I press my fingers under my tongue and let out a piercing whistle that cuts through the chaos of battle. The sound barely fades when a bone-rattling shriek splits the night sky.
A massive black shape blots out the stars as Wylder swoops overhead in dragon form, his scales gleaming like polished obsidian.
“Is that a dragon?” one of the Fondatori spectators asks.
“I thought dragons were wiped out,” another says.
The Fondatori have exited the building and have gathered on the steps to take in the show, obviously entertained.
While all eyes are on the sky, Tucker bursts through the tree line with Link and half a dozen of our Vasari royal guard. Larkin comes in from the opposite side with a dozen of our clan members and takes up the rear.
The shedim demon’s citrine eyes glow with unholy light as he tears into the nearest turned vampire.
Tucker moves like a force of nature, his bear’s ferocity visible in every devastating blow. The man can fight.
Between Wylder’s strafing runs of dragon fire, the need for vengeance flowing through the veins of our clan, and Tucker’s and Larkin’s Otherworld strength, we push back the tide of turned vampires.
My attention snaps to Scottie as she faces off against Daeva. Despite her exhaustion, her squire magic crackles around her like lightning. Daeva’s mocking laugh echoes across the battlefield.
“Poor little girl, all alone without Daddy,” Daeva taunts, burgundy hair whipping in the wind. “Should I tell you how he begged before he died?”
The raw fury that crosses Scottie’s face makes even my blood run cold. She launches herself at Daeva, her movements a blur of lethal precision. Each strike channels years of training with both Bran and Jack.
Daeva’s superior strength means nothing against Scottie’s rage and skill. When the vampire bitch realizes that, she stumbles. Scottie doesn’t hesitate. Her blade flashes once, twice, and Daeva’s head hits the ground with a dull thud.
“He didn’t beg, you lying bitch,” Scottie spits, glaring at Daeva’s body. “I was there. I saw it all.”
Agostino lets out an anguished cry as Scottie takes Daeva’s head and throws it at him. His composure cracks, desperation flashing across his features. In a burst of vampire speed, he lunges for Zane.
Gone is the bravado of being the better man. He grabs the dagger from Zane’s grasp and kicks him to the ground. “I have it. Everyone, I have it!”
Agostino holds the blade aloft, his chest heaving. “I am the true heir to the Vasari legacy. With the Diamond Dagger, I claim my rightful place as king!”
Shock and confusion war in the eyes of the other Fondatori kings because Zane doesn’t counter. He stands, staring at his cousin, his expression unreadable.
My fingers tighten around my weapon, but Zane catches my eye and gives an imperceptible shake of his head. He’s bent over, one hand pressed to his bleeding shoulder, appearing defeated.
Agostino preens, running his finger along the blade’s edge, then he grips the blade and pulls the weapon free from his palm. “I claim that which is mine. I claim the Toronto Seat of Power!”
Zane straightens behind him, pulling another dagger from beneath his jacket—the real Diamond Dagger. “You’re a fool, Agostino. Did you think I wouldn’t protect the dagger, knowing what a cowardly snake you are?”
Agostino looks from the weapon in Zane’s hand to the identical copy in his hand. “I put the power of your forger witches to good use. They do good work, don’t you think? Very convincing.”
There’s a delicious moment of dawning when he realizes he’s still the king of nothing.
“And for your information, cousin, that is what cunning looks like.”
Before Agostino can retaliate, Zane presses up behind him and pulls the ancient blade across his throat.
Blood spills from the wound and darkens his shirt.
“You claim nothing. The Vasari seat of power will never be under your rule. You are nothing but a worthless snake and will be forgotten. My father will live on forever in his legacy and the sacrifice he made for his people.”
The decoy dagger drops from his hands as Zane twists his cousin’s head and tosses it onto the growing pile. “Wylder, if you wouldn’t mind, can you bonfire these assholes?”
The black dragon dips its chin and then a long spray of blue fire ignites the bodies of the fallen.
Zane cleans the blade of the Diamond Dagger on the leg of his pants and sheaths it at his hip. Then he holds his hand out for Scottie.
She accepts the gesture and when the two of them turn toward the rocky path that will lead us back to the dock, Tucker and I fall into step.
The coastal wind whips across our faces, the promise of autumn chill in the air. My muscles ache, but the victory thrums through my veins like electricity.
Ahead of me, Zane helps Scottie navigate the uneven ground, his hand steady at her waist. Tucker brings up the rear, alert despite his exhaustion.
The wooden dock creaks under our feet as we approach the zodiac. Edgar, the young squire assigned to ferry duty, straightens at attention. His eyes widen at our battle-worn appearance, but he smiles and gives Zane a nod. “Where to, sire?”
“Back to the mainland,” Zane says, his voice rough with fatigue. He helps Scottie into the boat first, then extends his hand to steady me as I step down.
The gesture surprises me—usually, I’m the one watching his back.
Tucker drops into the seat across from us, his broad shoulders slumping. The four of us sit in comfortable silence as Edgar starts the engine.
Scottie shifts beside Zane, and rests her head on his shoulder. When she yawns and reaches to take my hand, the last of my tension drains from my body.
“Let’s go home, boys.”