Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
K ing couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. But he could hear. Every voice, every movement, every human heartbeat around him except one, Amara’s.
His eyes had remained closed since they had taken Amara from him. He had memorized the faces of the motherfuckers who dared lay hands on her. Their images were burned into his mind, their scents locked into his senses. He would find them. He would kill them. He would make them suffer.
Now, he lay face down on his kitchen counter, the cold surface slick with his own blood, while Slade worked on pulling the bullet from his back. Voices of Warriors rang around him, sharp and tense, thick with rage.
“You’re sure it was silver?” Slade’s voice was grim as he dug into the wound.
“Joey said that’s what King told Amara,” Sloan answered, voice raw, furious.
Damn, King thought. No kid, especially not Joey, should have to go through this kind of shit.
King wanted to tell Slade to shut the fuck up and work faster to get the bullet out. He needed blood. He knew that much. He also wanted to move, fight, tear through flesh, and break bones. But he was trapped inside his own goddamn body.
The pain had raged through him, sharper than anything he’d ever felt. He’d known the second that bullet tore through him that it was silver by the way it burned and the way it ate at him from the inside out.
King hadn’t shown the torture the pain caused him. Not in front of Amara. He had to be strong, so she wouldn’t break. And she hadn’t. Even through his pain, he'd seen her—his fierce, reckless female—pull his own knife, slice open her soft skin, and press her bleeding arm to his mouth.
She had saved his life. And now, she was gone.
His mind played the memory over and over, the moment she tucked his knife into the waistband of her jeans, the way she stepped between him and danger, ready to fight for him even when she should have run. That was something he would never forget.
And when he could move again, he would tear them apart for taking her...for touching her.
“He should be dead already.” Slade cursed, then finally pulled out the bullet. “What the hell? It’s black and... disintegrating. There is no way this was silver.”
“It is.” Daniel’s voice entered the conversation. Taking the bullet, he crushed it between his fingers. “Dad called me, and I came as quickly as I could. Where is Joey?”
King could feel the shift in the air as Daniel entered. He slowly opened his eyes to slits to see an unfocused human form and knew it was Daniel.
King heard someone moving, heard them come back, and knew Joey was with them.
“Is he still—” His voice broke, the question unfinished.
“Yes, he’s still alive.” Slade quickly assured him.
“Joey,” Daniel looked up from King. “How much blood did Amara give King?” Daniel asked as he put his hand on King’s bare shoulder.
“I don’t know,” Joey replied. “It was quick, I know that. She had to quit when we heard those bastards coming.
King felt Daniel’s touch as if it pulsed with something deep, ancient, and powerful.
Then Daniel lifted his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, light beamed toward the ceiling. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Then, finally, he exhaled.
“He needs blood.” Daniel’s voice was steady, filled with certainty.
Slade frowned, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll go to the hospital?—”
“Not Amara’s blood,” Daniel interrupted. “Yours. All of yours. I need every Warrior and Dark Guardian here. A few pulls from each vein.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Amara’s blood destroyed the silver,” Daniel explained. “But King is still weak. Right now, he’s trapped. He can’t move or speak, but he knows everything that’s happening.”
If King could get off this fucking table right now, he would fucking hug the shit out of him. King knew when Daniel leaned close to him.
“You can hug me later, brother.” King could almost hear the smirk in his tone. But then Daniel’s voice turned deadly. “First, take their blood so we can get your female. She’s safe for now, but I need every Warrior and Dark Guardian at full strength. And that includes you.”
“Everyone’s already on their way,” Sloan cut in. He rolled up his sleeve, ready to start.
But Daniel stopped him.
“Not yet. Wait until they all get here.” His gaze flicked back to Slade. “We start with the newest turned vampire and work our way up to the oldest and strongest, which is you, Sloan.”
Slade inhaled sharply. His eyes darted to King, then back to Daniel. “You’re trying to permeate every tissue in his body.”
Daniel nodded. “As fast as we can. The constant flood of different blood sources will force his strength back, confuse the host, and make his body fight harder to adapt.”
Slade hesitated. “And how the hell do you know this?”
“I’m going to get a shirt made that says, ‘ I don’t fucking know...I just know .’ And I’m going to wear it every day.” Daniel sighed, shaking his head.
“I think he’s saying he doesn’t know.” Joey frowned, looking at Slade.
“Yeah, I got that.” Slade gave Daniel a dark look just as the sound of motorcycles and car doors slammed outside.
King lay still, listening as the room moved around him. He hated the weakness, stillness, and helplessness he felt. It pissed him off. Every noise scraped against his nerves like a blade against bone. He could hear the shuffling of feet, the murmurs of Warriors discussing Amara and how her blood had saved him from a silver bullet, which was a definite death sentence to all vampires.
They had to get her back. Daniel’s presence neared, steady and unshakable.
“We’re starting. Three full tugs at their wrist, then let go,” his tone was calm, but beneath it, there was something else, a warning as Daniel instructed him. “This is going to be fast and furious, King. Don’t stop. Even if it feels like the power inside you is going to explode, fight through it. Hold it in. Not until Sloan is the last vein you drink from. That’s when you let go.”
The room was buzzing—excitement, awe, speculation—Warriors were still whispering about Amara and how her blood had saved him from a silver bullet. It was definitely a game-changer for them. A revelation, but all King could think about was her being taken...from him.
“Once he feeds from Sloan, all hell is going to break loose.” Daniel glanced around at all of them. “Be prepared because he will come off this table like a madman.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Sid frowned, looking from King to Daniel.
“Don’t ask,” Joey answered for Daniel.
“At least you get it.” Daniel chuckled. “Joey, it might be best if you wait in the other room.”
“What about you?” Slade’s voice cut through the tension as Joey left the room without complaint, questioning Daniel. “Aren’t you going to give blood?”
Daniel hesitated. The silence was thick and unnatural.
“Let’s just say,” Daniel finally said, his voice unreadable, “my blood may be a conflict of interest.”
A conflict of interest? Before King could focus on that cryptic-as-fuck statement, the first scent of blood hit his senses.
The reaction was immediate. His fangs ached. His muscles coiled. His instincts roared to life. The hunger crashed over him, violent and unrelenting. His throat burned. One of the reasons for his weakness was he hadn’t fed for a while. As blood hit his system and for the first time since the silver bullet tore through his flesh...King moved, and revenge became a reality.
Amara hit the ground hard, her breath ragged, her body aching from being yanked out of the car.
The air was thick with the stench of oil and damp earth. The ground beneath her feet was uneven. She barely had time to steady herself before she was shoved forward, stumbling toward a strange-looking man who stood waiting. He wore a cape and wide-brimmed hat.
He looked like something out of a vintage film, but nothing was nostalgic about the darkness curling around him like a living thing.
“Here you go.” The man who had shot King shoved her forward like a fucking package as if she wasn’t a person but some sick, wrapped-up prize. “Signed, sealed, and delivered.” He held out his hand, impatient, eager to be done. “Payday.”
“The Warrior is dead?” The man in the cape didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on Amara, dissecting her, like he was peeling away her skin to see what lay beneath. Then, finally, he turned away, looking at the man.
“Oh, he’s dead, alright. Silver bullet to the back,” the shooter bragged.
Amara snorted. Both men turned to her, suspicion slicing through the night like a blade.
“What?” The caped man’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
Amara didn’t answer. She only smirked, daring them to believe their own bullshit.
“Ignore the bitch,” the shooter snapped, growing agitated. “Pay up so we can get the hell out of here. We did our job.”
“Your job was to kill the Warrior as well as bring her to me.” He took a slow step forward toward Amara. “I asked you a question.”
Amara shifted slightly, inching her hand to her hip, closer to the knife she had hidden in her waistband. She needed time.
“What… isn’t really a question,” she said smoothly.
She barely saw him move. A cold, crushing grip locked around her throat, lifting her onto her toes.
Amara clawed at his hand, nails digging into flesh that did not give. Her lungs burned, her body desperate for air until finally, he released her. She staggered back, clutching her neck as rage simmered behind the pain.
“Why did you make that noise when he said the Warrior is dead?” His voice was eerily calm.
Amara met his stare, defiance lacing every breath she took. “Because he’s not dead, asshole.” Amara choked out, hoping she wasn’t lying. She prayed that King survived and was looking for her. It was her only hope, and she knew it. “And you better pray he never finds you.”
The man’s eyes widened as he looked at the slow-healing wound on her arm. “You gave him your blood. My spell worked.” He said excitedly as he grabbed her face in a brutal hold, looking at her eyes. “The eyes of a half-breed. Do you crave blood?”
Amara just stared at him without answering. What did he mean...a spell?
He smacked her across the face, then grabbed her again, his eyes swirled. “You will tell me what I ask of you.”
The answer was stuck in her throat, and the more she tried to hold it back, the worse it hurt. Her eyes widened at the pain. “No.” She answered, then grabbed her throat rubbing it. What the hell was that? She had refused to respond, and yet, she replied. The bastard was using magic on her.
“Valkas, we did the job and want what we are owed.” The man who shot King demanded.
The man turned his attention from Amara to him. “You will finish the job.” The man named Valkas said, his voice robotic. “And you will do it now. You will go to where you left the Warrior and kill him. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” The man answered, then headed to the car.
Amara watched, shocked, and knew she had to do something to stop him. She didn’t know what condition King was in or if he was even— No! He was alive, dammit. Grabbing the knife, she rushed the man, making a slashing move, but she was pulled back just as the blade hit flesh, slicing only his upper arm. The knife was flung out of her hand and hovered in the air. Amara was turned to face the man in the cap.
“There is nothing you can do, Amara, to stop what is to come.” He stared at her with an amused look on his face. “I am the one who made you with magic, not some serum like the others have done in the past. That has been a total disaster. You may not be strong like a half-breed, but that wasn’t my intention. No, I wanted something better. You’re Golden Blood is what I’ve been after.”
“To kill the Demon Slayer.” Amara managed to say, even though she felt like she was in a trance. She couldn’t move; she just floated in front of the man who oozed evil.
“Why yes,” Valkas smiled as if pleased. “I see he has been talking about me.”
“You will lose.” Amara had to force the words out of her throat, but she managed. Her eyes felt sleepy, and she had to fight to keep them open.
“Oh, but I’ve already won. I have my weapon now.” He sighed, then placed his hand over her face. “You, Amara, are my weapon.”
Her mind screamed for King and then was cut short as blackness overcame her.