Chapter 52 Arabella
Arabella
“DO YOU LIKE MY PRETTY BLADE, sweet Arabella?” Lord Astor grins, that horrific scar splitting across his face as he drags the point of a knife along my cheek, opening a long, stinging wound dangerously close to my eye.
“I thought it appropriate, seeing as how you used one on me. Shall I take your eyes first? But then you won’t be able to see what I’m going to do to you.
If you tell me where you’re hiding my necklace, I could let you wear it for a few moments to heal your pretty face before I destroy it again and again. I know it’s close. I can smell it…”
I scream as he digs his finger into the cut, prising it apart to soak his scarred digit in my blood.
He pops his finger into his mouth, his tongue smacking against his ruined lips as he sucks it dry.
“You are exquisite. I’m going to enjoy drinking every last drop of you.
My revenge couldn’t have been more perfect.
The Sanctus vampires will think you’re another victim of the husker.
Meanwhile, I will introduce myself as your sire – long estranged, deeply beloved by you, and rightful heir to your fortune and the entire Sanctus Estate.
Sinead has it all planned. Within a week of your body being discovered, your house and fortune and legitimacy will belong to me. ”
The bastard.
I am in such terrible pain, but I am getting angry now.
He’s going to take everything I’ve worked so hard for? Everything I’ve built myself?
He’s going to take Sanctus.
I cry out as Astor draws another scar across my cheek.
“For nearly two centuries, I’ve lived with the scars of your betrayal.” Astor licks along the wound, pressing his lips to my skin and sucking. “Do you have any idea how cruel the world can be to someone they perceive as weak? How hard it is to exist outside of civilised society?”
I have something of an idea, yes.
“You cheated me out of what’s rightfully mine, and I have suffered for it. I have waited and longed for my revenge, but now I have you, I’m going to take my time with you.”
Sinead kneels down beside him. “Now that I’ve given her to you, you’ll do it, won’t you?” She tugs Astor’s shoulder. “Turn me, John. You promised. Turn me into a vampire right now and we’ll drain her together.”
He shoves her away. “You’ll not touch a drop of her blood. She’s mine.”
“She’s never been yours,” a voice rings out.
Gideon.
I can’t see him, but I feel him behind me. The front door slams against the wall, which means he must have stolen my secret keycode.
I’m too happy to hear his voice to care.
Astor stands, straightening his lapels, wiping my blood across his starched white shirt as he regards the newcomer.
“We meet again, mouse,” he rasps.
Gideon smiles, and that smile is all fangs and violence. The best kind of smile.
He turns to Sinead. “You’re fired.”
She laughs. “You can’t fire me. I know every one of Sanctus’ dark and filthy secrets.
You think I haven’t already copied that hard drive of yours?
When I release those files, the Conclave will come for your head and every one of your members.
John and I don’t even have to kill you – you’ve already signed your own death warrant.
You were so easy to manipulate, it’s almost laughable. ”
“A bold plan, worthy of you, Sinead.” If Gideon is afraid, he shows nothing, just stands there like they’re all discussing the weather.
I realise now that I’m seeing the man who ran the Vega empire – not a man at all, but a devil in Armani.
“Brava. But you forgot one little detail. You may be Thralled to John Astor, but you’re also Thralled to me, and I’m about to make his life rather unpleasant.
Without his blood on your lips, you’ll quickly fall back under my control, and I have many imaginative punishments for Thralls who cross me. ”
“I’m sooo afraid.” She sidles up to Astor and wraps her arms around his waist. “Good luck trying to kill him.”
“Oh, I don’t want to kill him.” Gideon grins. “Not yet.”
He lunges.
He’s fast. Impossibly fast. Not even my vampiric vision can keep focused on Gideon and Astor as they crash across the room.
My coffee table smashes. Another Rodin statue bites the dust. I dive to catch the edge of Claude’s painting before it crashes from the wall, and slide it gently behind the sofa.
Sinead backs away towards the kitchen, screaming at Astor, but neither of us can see what’s happening.
How did Mr “I’m a lover, not a fighter” get so good at this? Astor’s ancient blood should give him an edge, but not when Gideon has Astor’s blood in his veins. Gideon ducks and weaves like a dancer before diving for the silver blades scattered across the floor.
Of course. Gideon has drained two vampires.
Astor’s magic in my blood stirs, whispers, You have a chance.
Gideon’s fingers clasp around a knife, but Astor kicks it away. He grabs Gideon under the chin, slamming him against the wall with enough force to shatter the plasterboard and part of the internal wall. Gideon’s cobalt eyes flick to me, down at the floor, then back to me again.
The magic between us hums.
Yes.
I spy the blade Astor was using on me beside the leg of the coffee table. I summon every last ounce of rage and magic I possess to push through the pain and launch my body towards it.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Sinead’s heel slams down on my hand.
She grinds her stiletto into my palm, breaking delicate bones.
It hurts like giving birth to a stick of dynamite.
I haven’t given birth to a stick of dynamite, but I am currently experiencing a stiletto through my hand and can conclude, academically, that the comparison holds up.
Sinead yanks the knife from beneath my unmoving fingers. “Enough of John’s games. I’ll enjoy cutting you to pieces.”
She raises the blade, her face twisting with triumph. And from behind her shoulder, a tiny head pokes up, hood unfurled, tongue flicking between her fangs.
Sinead barely has time to cry out in surprise before Cleo VII sinks her fangs into her neck.
She drops to her knees, the knife clattering from her fingers as she grips my beautiful, brave girl, trying to tear her off her neck.
But Cleo VII holds firm, and every second she clings on, more of her venom enters Sinead’s veins.
Sinead may have been supping on Lord Astor’s blood for two centuries. She may have a tiny fissure of his magic, but she’s still human. She can’t survive a cobra bite.
There’s a moment – when she glares up at me, her eyes wide with pain – that she realises she’s gone. Then she collapses to the floor. She doesn’t move.
Cleo VII flicks her tongue in distaste, as if saying, That’s what you get for kicking my favourite rock, then slithers back into the kitchen.
Behind me, Gideon sighs with pleasure, which tells me he’s in trouble. I drag my broken body forward on my elbows, screaming as shards of glass and broken marble pierce my skin.
Not this time, Astor. You’re not taking what’s mine.
My fingers close around the knife. I have nothing left, my body is done.
The magic in my veins has faded to a whisper.
My blood streaks across the carpet. But Astor is right there, three feet away, holding Gideon against the wall and slurping at his throat while Gideon’s head lolls back with pleasure.
Something in me snaps.
I remember all the nights I lay in Astor’s coffin, terrified of what he might do to me. Alyra’s face flashes before my eyes, and then the faces of all my friends in the Nevermore Coven – the women I’ve sworn to protect.
I call up the spirit of the woman who has spent the last hundred and fifty years hating the wrong man.
I listen to the whisper in my blood, and I call it closer until it’s no longer a whisper, but a roar.
With the last of my magic coursing through my veins, I stagger to my feet and lunge at Astor.
My whole body trembles from the pain of it.
Bits of glass and marble fly from my wounds as I slam into him.
It hurts more than giving birth to dynamite twins.
But my hand around the blade is steady, firm, humming with magic, as I plunge it into Astor’s back, over and over and over, hitting bone and organs and splitting open veins, until my sire drops his fangs from Gideon and turns to face me.
I cling to the hilt of the blade, digging it deeper, twisting it until Astor cries out.
His fingers fight for the hilt, but they’re too slippery with blood.
My blood and his blood and Gideon’s blood.
I scream in his face. I let the magic ooze through my skin and sizzle on the surface. I let him see the monster he made.
I am, after all, of his blood. And like him, I will wait centuries for revenge.
Astor leans in, fangs bared. And then he sees Sinead in a heap on the floor.
A growl escapes his throat as he understands that even if he kills me and Gideon now, he can’t survive without her.
The great Lord Astor had banked his whole plan on a human, because he was too afraid of creating another Arabella Lestrange.
Astor’s hand slips from the knife.
He does what any scavenger does when he knows he might die if he stays in the fight. He turns and flees out the open front door.
I wait for a single breath, long enough to see through my blood-filled vision that he’s not coming back, and then I collapse on the floor.
“Arabella.”
I blink.
It hurts so much.
Gideon’s cobalt eyes stare at me across the floor. He clutches the wound in his neck, but the blood is already congealing, the bite marks closing over. He gathers me into his arms. His body is smeared with blood and gore. I try not to think of how much of it should be inside my body.
“How…” I murmur, my head spinning. “How did you hold him off for so long? He should have destroyed you.”