Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
GRAYSON
The gag tastes like a sweaty gym sock.
Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover it was, at some point, someone’s used sock. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wash the putrid taste out of my mouth.
The Elder’s lackey—an unfamiliar vampire with bleached-blond hair and more muscles than a bodybuilder—drags me forward and pushes me to my knees. Pain reverberates through me from where my body connects with the cold, unforgiving ground.
I knew it was stupid to return to my apartment. Fucking knew it.
But I did so anyway.
This goddamn brute was waiting for me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him from taking me. Not that I would fight back, even if I could.
All they need to do is bring up Gracie, and I’m willing to do whatever the fuck they want. They know it. I know it. Pretending anything else is futile.
So here I am, staring up at my so-called “family” as they debate whether or not I deserve to live.
I don’t know where we are—the Elders change locations every few months to evade Hunters and other threats—but it appears to be a ballroom. A hotel, perhaps? It seems too grand to belong inside of a house.
Light from a dozen crystal chandeliers spills downwards in golden pools, casting soft reflections on the polished marble floor that stretches wide in all directions.
Along the walls, tall, arched windows are visible in gauzy drapes that shimmer like silk under the flicker of candlelight from long banquet tables.
The walls, paneled in rich cream and gold, are carved with intricate flourishes—faintly baroque, like something borrowed from another century. Music, faint and lilting, weaves through the air, and the scent of roses lingers from some of the centerpieces.
At first glance, you would think the vamps are preparing for a party, not an execution.
My execution.
They are all dressed in fine dresses and dark suits, sipping from champagne flutes. The smell of blood teases my senses, hinting that alcohol may not be their drink of choice tonight. Intermingled amongst the Elders, I spot a few other high-ranking vampires.
None of them seem perturbed to see me tied up and gagged, blood seeping from a wound on my temple.
Piper DeLong sneers at me from over the rim of her glass. “You disappoint me, Grayson.”
Edward, the unofficial leader of the Elders, takes a step towards me. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
It’s not a request.
I give him a droll look, unsure of what he wants me to say with a gag in my mouth, and Edward impatiently snaps his fingers at the brute behind me. Immediately, the gag is removed, and I suck in a jagged breath that feels like knives dragging along my throat.
Edward watches me dispassionately, but he doesn’t speak again as he waits for me to collect my bearings.
I try to quickly think through my response.
When I was kidnapped the first time, the Elders used me—along with a half dozen other vampires—to attack the shifters. Everyone died, except for me.
Including Vlad, their little pet.
“I did exactly what you wanted,” I manage to grit out, my vocal cords screaming at me. It’s been too long since I last spoke. “I arrived, I attacked the shifters, and then I got the fuck out of there when things went to shit.”
“They’re all dead,” Telly Montgomery murmurs, brushing at a strand of black, curly hair. She levels me with an unreadable look. “Including Vlad.”
“Can’t say I’m too sorry to see the prick go,” I confess, feigning nonchalance. “I told him to get the fuck out of there, but he wanted to remain and gloat.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Vlad made the decision to track down Izzy—which was definitely not a part of the plan. The Elders instructed us to kill as many shifters as we could, not interrogate them for information.
At first, I thought Vlad was simply fucking with me, but now…
Now I wonder if his intentions were far more insidious than I ever imagined. He alluded to working for someone who wanted my mate, but I’m beginning to believe that “someone” is not an Elder.
Or if they are an Elder, they’re working independently of the others.
Which means I’m exactly where I need to be to get answers.
Edward abruptly grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back, and pain radiates up and down my neck as my muscles strain.
“Don’t fuck with me, boy. You won’t like the consequences if you do,” he hisses, and a tendril of fear skitters down my spine.
Looking at Edward, you’d never imagine he’s a centuries-old vampire with an insatiable taste for blood that makes serial killers look like goddamn Girl Scouts.
Everything about him screams “normal,” from his disheveled hair, to his freshly shaven face, to the suit that clings to his muscular physique.
It’s his eyes that give him away—bright red and oozing a malevolent danger.
“I’ve been nothing but loyal,” I respond through gritted teeth. “As soon as everything went to shit with the shifters, I ran. Stayed hidden for a day or two until shit blew over.”
Edward’s cold, red eyes run over me, but all I allow him to see is the unbridled rage on my face. These Elders are bloodthirsty psychopaths. They need to believe I’m one too.
Hell, maybe I am.
God only knows the number of people I’ve killed because they asked me to.
Edward finally releases me with a derisive scoff and moves back towards the others. He grabs a champagne flute off a passing waiter’s tray and takes a long sip, his lips turning blood red.
When it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to do or say anything more, I push myself to my feet—ignoring the grumbled warning from the vampire behind me.
“Are you done treating me like a goddamn criminal?” I hiss, brushing imaginary dirt off my pants.
If I can get these bastards to trust me, then maybe I can figure out their end goal.
Why did they attack the shifters?
Who’s the mastermind of all of this? Edward?
Why did Vlad want Izzy?
“You know we didn’t have a choice,” Piper hisses, her hand clenching around her glass. “After what the shifters did to us first…”
She shakes her head with a scowl.
Wait…what?
“The vamps they killed were only a year or two old. Practically newborns,” Telly agrees with a faraway look in her eyes. “They didn’t deserve to be slaughtered.”
Slaughtered?
Vampires were…killed? By shifters?
My confusion must be plain to see on my face because Edward’s expression turns contemplative.
“You didn’t know,” he murmurs.
It’s not a question.
Still, I shake my head anyway.
“We didn’t start this war, son,” Marcus Brown tells me stiffly, from where he stands beside his husband. “But we will finish it. Even if that means turning our enemies against each other.”
Questions tumble around and around in my head, but I know I won’t be able to voice a single one.
Instead, I give a stiff, reverent nod and pivot on my heel. I need to get the fuck out of here and tell Ethan what I’ve learned. Soraya’s right.
This is only the beginning.
Somebody attacked the vampires and framed the shifters. In retaliation, the vampires posed as Hunters and attacked them. Add in the witches, and we’re looking at a supernatural war with no victors, only dead bodies.
“And Grayson!” Edward calls from behind me.
I stiffen, every muscle in my body locking tight, but don’t turn around.
“Make sure to come when you’re called. This war is only the beginning, and we need all of our soldiers at play.”
I don’t bother with a response. He knows I don’t have a choice.
As if on autopilot, I exit the ballroom and step into a hallway adorned in plush couches and chairs.
I was right.
This is a hotel.
Following signs to the lobby, I quicken my pace.
I need to talk to Ethan and Izzy and tell them—
Two familiar figures catch my eye, and I freeze.
There, entering through a side entrance, is Kain, dressed in khakis and a plaid shirt as if he’s simply on vacation.
Standing beside him is Izzy’s wolf mate Ashton.
The men don’t notice me as Kain uses a keycard to swipe himself inside. I watch through the window as they head in the direction of the ballroom.
Rage crackles beneath my skin like currents of electricity. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to lunge forward and rip their heads straight from their shoulders. Last I heard, Kain was imprisoned by the shifters.
Why is he free?
And why the fuck is he with Ashton?
I never trusted the prick, though I always assumed that feeling stemmed from jealousy.
However, I should’ve trusted my instincts from the very beginning. I never got warning signals from Ethan or any of the other shifters.
Ashton is up to something, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, it has something to do with Gracie.
If he hurts her…
I curl my hands into fists.
If he hurts her, no one will stop me from drinking him dry. Let’s see if a shifter can survive being completely drained of blood.