Chapter 16
Ambrose wasn’t sure if it was his tunneled vision causing him to only see all black or the gush of vampire blood coating every inch of his face.
He had killed the lord of another vampire manor, Ciro Reinick. He had ripped his heart out and stabbed it with a wooden stake.
And he barely remembered doing any of it even though it’d just happened.
The giant snake slumped to the ground with a loud thud, the corpse before him was shriveling up before turning to something like ash. It made him want to vomit. It wasn’t so much the act of killing Ciro that had him like this, but rather the fact that he was beyond his own control. Ambrose had tried so hard, and for two full centuries, he had kept the monster within him tamed. He kept his rage in check, holding back the vampire’s fangs. But when he was like this, nothing mattered—not himself, not the people around him, no wounds hurt, and no damage caused was too much.
It was like being changed into the strigoi all over again. It was why he’d been so afraid of himself all those years ago, when human life was nothing more than substance to him, when he could lay waste to an entire city and not care in the slightest.
But he’d evolved since then, found his humanity once more, made the Crow Court, established actual peace between vampire and human. He was still a monster, yes, but a monster with more purpose than solely bloodshed.
Ambrose heard footfalls from behind him and swiftly turned. Cold, thin arms were thrown around his center and a small thing of a woman was holding him.
It wasn’t till then that he realized she’d been calling his name through the Concord since the moment he pulled her tormentor’s heart out.
“Lila?” Her name felt thick on his tongue. And suddenly, every morsel of his being wanted to run away and hide . . . from her. Ambrose had never wanted her to see that side of him, never to know what he was truly capable of. She’d seen, and felt, enough when he became a strigoi. And, sure, he did this to someone who’d hurt her . . . but now she knew exactly what he could do to someone. What he could do to her. What he almost did while being a strigoi. He clenched his fist at the memory plaguing his mind once more.
He wouldn’t run from her, no matter how desperately he wanted to. If she looked at him any differently, he would just have to live with it. He could live with it.
And as he looked down at that perfect head of lilac hair, her face buried in his lower abdomen, he could see the emotions sweeping through her. Violent colors clashed all around her as she felt . . . she just felt so much. Fear, joy, sorrow, confusion, relief—it was all so overwhelming just seeing it, he couldn’t imagine the turmoil going through her.
He wished he could rip the sorrow and the fear from her, wished he could take it on himself if it meant she’d be freed of it. Rage began to shake his body again, he felt it rise in his chest, the need for violence. It was for her. His nails dug into his palms, and thank lords for his rapid healing or his hands would have permanent crescent moon scars all along his flesh.
Maybe she was afraid of him.
He skipped saying her name, afraid he’d choke if he did. “Are you hurt?” His voice was so distant, so cold, and he didn’t know where his usual easy cadence went.
Are you? She didn’t look up. Was she refusing to meet his gaze?
“No,” he said aloud.
She peeked up at him through those long lashes he loved so much, assessing his body, clearly seeing the scratches along his arms, the tears in his wings. And he could feel his heart melt as each second passed by, but still he wouldn’t allow himself to embrace her. He was afraid to relax would mean to let go of the monster inside that would surely tear her apart. He didn’t so much as pry his fist apart.
“Draven,” Rebekkah called. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but decisions need to be made now if you have any hope of stopping that fucking hag and my brother from taking your land.”
Ambrose didn’t move, but he shot his gaze at Rebekkah, tucking away the monster of Malvania a little further with the welcomed distraction.
Just then, Ambrose dove into the eyes of a crow. He watched the manor. Strigoi were literally climbing his walls, tearing apart his people, and changing anyone they didn’t kill. He hopped into another bird, seeing his dining room, as Drusilla sat in his seat, draining the blood of a woman on his table. Her smile was filled with red as she looked up and spotted the crow. A moment later, the link had been disconnected.
“Fuck,” Ambrose cursed, seething.
He looked through more eyes, and more. His rooms had been destroyed, his office in chaos, the garden looked like it’d been stampeded, bodies—alive, dead, and undead—were everywhere. And each time, crows were being killed.
Get out, get out now! He told them. He felt the flaps of wings and the urgency as they swarmed from the manor.
Finally, Ambrose looked in Lila’s old bedroom. And his heart stilled as his blood sang in a fire he’d never felt before.
With his throat still bloody and his face sweaty, Hektor scurried through Lila’s room, through her drawers. Heaps of clothes were tossed around, her bed had been slashed open, and a pillow was lying precariously on the floor.
The crow Ambrose watched through seemed to be hiding within one of these piles of clothes. And Ambrose immediately knew it was Pollock. He watched the intruder, full of rage himself, readying himself to attack.
Pollock, no. Stay hidden until it is safe to fly away.
Ambrose felt Pollock’s reluctancy.
Do it for Lila. She’s here. She’s safe. And she wants to see you safe.
Finally, he felt Pollock concede. But as Hektor pulled Lila’s under garments from her drawers, he wished he could swap places with Pollock and rip every limb from the man’s body as slowly as possible.
Pollock hopped out of the pile he was under, and flapped his wings as hard as possible to get away as Hektor buried his face in Lila’s clothes, using the vampire’s gross and distracted moment for his escape. As Pollock soared out of the room and past the manor, Ambrose saw a group of strigoi inbound to Asterim—toward them.
“The manor has been overrun. Strigoi are everywhere, and quickly approaching. We need to leave.”
Fly to the Arachnid Estate. Watch over Constance, Kaz, and Marcus. I need your eyes, Pol. I’ll get Lila out of here. I’ll get her to safety, he told Pollock and then unlinked himself.
The feeling of falling rushed him, and as he returned to himself, he felt his arms had wrapped around Lila. She was watching him, concern filling her features.
But right now he needed to get her out of there. They could talk later. He turned to Rebekkah, “We need to leave, now. We’re going to Nostro’s.”
She balked. “That’s far. Wouldn’t the Arachnid Estate be closer?”
“We’ve sent the kids to Darius with Kaz—”
“Marcus! Is he all right?” Lila asked, and he could see the fear in her eyes.
“He is. He and Constance are both fine. They miss you terribly.” She sighed in relief. “But going to them now may be more dangerous for them if any strigoi were to follow. Plus,” he looked down at Lila, who’d been watching him warily, and caressed the tattooed feather on her collarbone—the mark of a bargain, “I have business with the Lord of the Maggot Mansion, and if all goes according to plan, it may benefit us more to stay with Nostro, regroup, go to Darius’s, and then come back.”
“All right,” Rebekkah swallowed hard. “But if strigoi are coming, our first priority should be to get out of here.”
Without so much as a word, Ambrose went to scoop Lila into his arms, still finding her as cold as ice. But the moment his hand touched her back, she flinched and bit her lip. And that was when Ambrose really, finally looked at her. He didn’t know how much more of this storm of rage and heartbreak he could take.
“You never answered my question . . .” he realized. She’d never said if she was hurt. And she was. How had she even been standing a moment ago? How had he not noticed?
Other than the bite marks he saw earlier in his blinded rage, other than the revealing piece of cloth she wore wrapped around her body, and other than the heavy collar they forced around her neck, making her their pet, Lila had so many other wounds.
Long slashes yet again ran down the length of her back. But unlike the angry tears the Reinicks gave her before she came to his manor, these were thin, deep, and almost precise. Ambrose recognized them immediately, for he had them often in his human life. These were lashing marks. They had whipped her. And based on the cuts and bruises on her wrists, they’d bound her to do so.
“Who did this to you?”
Her eyes shot up to his. “Ambrose—”
“Give me a name, Lila. Because if it was Ciro, I swear I’ll bring him back just to kill him again. Who fucking hurt you?”
She flinched again and he knew his voice was still harsher than he meant it to be—but he was just so damn angry.
She shook her head, only slightly. “It wasn’t Ciro. Drusilla whipped my back, and Hektor . . .” She slowly lifted her hand to her neck. “Hektor helped. Then . . .” she paused, began again. “They put the collar on me, and then—” her voice wobbled. “And then I don’t remember anything. Not until you broke it off of me.”
Ambrose didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His jaw was clenching so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. He was afraid of what he’d say, what he’d do, if he unclenched them.
“Ambrose . . . I-I don’t . . . I don’t remember anything. I don’t know what they did to me while I wore that thing. I don’t—I don’t know.” He saw the panic in her eyes, the fear growing and growing with each heartbeat. He wanted to hold her. To tell her everything would be all right.
But instead, he just stood there like an idiot.
Lila swallowed a lump in her throat and met his eyes again, her arms hugging herself. She was still shivering. But before Ambrose moved to warm her, she said, “I don’t want to be in this anymore.” She picked at the sheer fabric on her thigh.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring a spare outfit for you. If I had known—”
“It’s fine.”
Ambrose stood there awkwardly for a moment, and he glanced around Asterim’s square for a clothing boutique. I’ll pay the owner back later, he thought, as he smashed the wooden door open. He grabbed a bag and blindly stuffed as much as he could inside, shoes, underwear, dresses, pants, jackets. He grabbed a coat off a hanger and met Lila back outside, placing it gently around her shoulders. She carefully slipped her arms into it, and Ambrose helped button it up as her trembling fingers did one in the time he did three.
“Lila!” Rebekkah called from nearby. She had wandered off to give them a moment, but by the shrill cadence of her voice, Ambrose knew—something was coming.
“We should go. Once we clean your wounds, I have more you can change into. But we need to get out of here.”
Lila nodded and as Ambrose went to lift her again, she took a staggering step back.
“I can walk,” she claimed. But as Ambrose looked down at her torn, bare feet, he raised an eyebrow.
“We don’t have time, Lila. Not only can you barely stand on your own, your feet will thank you later.” And without another word, he carefully lifted her into his arms. He wrapped one large arm around her, so she sat in the crook of his elbow, careful not to touch any part of her back.
She clutched onto him, averting her eyes anytime they wandered up.
Ambrose sensed the shock she was in, the shock that she was here, that everything just happened. But he also saw discomfort.
I make her uncomfortable, he thought briefly.
Though he should’ve, Ambrose didn’t say another word as they flew from Asterim and into the lavender fields on the outskirts of town.