Chapter 31 #2
"There's something else you should know," Valentina says. "Before I kill you. A parting gift from your loving maker."
"I don't want anything from you."
"You'll want this." She smiles. "The love you feel for Maximus? That's real. Completely, painfully real. Konstantin didn't manufacture it. He didn't have to."
I stare at her, waiting for the twist.
"That's what makes this so perfect," she continues.
"You genuinely love him. And when Konstantin activates you, you'll be aware of every second of it.
You'll watch yourself tear him apart, and you won't be able to stop.
You'll feel your own hands killing the man you love, and there won't be a single thing you can do. "
The horror of it washes over me.
"He could have made you a mindless drone," Valentina says.
"But that's not what he wanted. He wanted you to suffer.
Wanted Maximus to see the woman he loves become his executioner.
Wanted you both to know, in those final moments, that your love was real and it didn't matter.
" Her smile widens. "That's the cruelty of it.
If you didn't love him, it wouldn't hurt. But you do. And it will."
I think of every moment with Maximus. Every touch. Every word. The way he looked at me in the firelight. The way he chose me over and over again.
All of it real. All of it mine.
And all of it potentially the setup for his murder.
"You're a time bomb," Valentina purrs. "Ticking away in his bed, in his heart, in his life. And he doesn't even know it."
"He knows now," I say quietly. "And so do I. Which means we can stop it."
"Can you?" She laughs. "Konstantin has been perfecting this for centuries. You think you can just... decide not to be activated? Will yourself out of programming you don't even understand?"
"I think I can try. I think we can find a way." I meet her eyes. "And I think you're afraid of that. Afraid that your master's perfect plan might fail."
Something flickers in her expression. Uncertainty. Just for a second.
"And when you've served your purpose," she says, recovering, "when you've destroyed him completely, Konstantin will collect what's left. A broken lord. A broken weapon. Everything he's wanted for a thousand years."
"No."
"No?"
"You're wrong." I straighten, pushing down the fear, the horror, the sickening uncertainty. "I don't care what Konstantin built into me. I don't care what trigger he buried. I will find a way to rip it out. And until then, I will fight every single second against whatever he tries to make me do."
"You can't fight programming."
"Watch me." I meet her eyes. "I've been fighting my whole life.
Fighting to survive. Fighting to matter.
Fighting against people who told me I was nothing, that I'd never be anything.
And I'm still here." I feel something shift inside me.
Something that might be the weapon waking up, or might just be rage.
"Konstantin thinks he built a bomb he can detonate whenever he wants.
But bombs can be defused. Triggers can be removed.
And I would rather die, truly die, than let him use me to hurt Maximus. "
"Pretty words. Let's see if you mean them."
I attack before she can respond.
Not with technique, but with fury. All the rage I've been carrying since I woke up in that warehouse, alone and changed and abandoned.
All the grief for the life that was stolen from me, the sister I can't see, the future that was ripped away.
All the hatred for the woman who did the stealing and then walked away laughing.
I fight dirty. No rules. No referees. Just violence, pure and purposeful.
I grew up scrapping in back alleys before I ever learned proper form. I know how to fight someone who outmatches me. You don't try to win, you try to survive long enough for them to make a mistake.
We tear at each other. She opens a gash across my stomach; I rake my nails down her face. She breaks two more of my ribs; I dislocate her shoulder. Blood splatters across the concrete, mine and hers, mingling.
Through it all, I stay aware of the other fight. The rhythm of it. Maximus is still standing, I can tell by the sounds, by the way the combat ebbs and flows. He's hurt but holding. Matching Konstantin blow for blow.
Hold on, I think. I'm coming.
Valentina catches me with a strike to the temple. The world tilts. I stagger, and she presses the advantage, driving me back toward a concrete pillar.
"You can't win," she snarls. "I made you. I know every weakness you have."
"You didn't make me." I duck under her swing, spin behind her. "You just awakened me."
My elbow locks around her throat. She thrashes, but I hold on, tightening my grip until I feel her spine grinding against my forearm.
"Let me tell you what you actually gave me," I hiss in her ear. "Eight months alone. Eight months of figuring out how to survive without a maker, without guidance, without anyone. Eight months of fighting every single night just to see the next sunset."
She claws at my arm. Blood wells up, but I don't let go.
"You thought you were breaking me. But you were training me. Every night I survived made me stronger. Every battle I won proved I could do this on my own." I tighten my grip. "You made a mistake, Valentina. You should have killed me when you had the chance."
"Konstantin will..."
"Konstantin isn't here. And even if he was, I don't care." I feel her struggles weakening. "You took everything from me. My life. My sister. My future. And now I'm taking something from you."
"What?"
"Your existence."
She makes one last desperate move, her hand diving into her jacket, pulling out something that gleams silver in the dim light. A blade. Short, sharp, designed for killing.
The blade catches me in the side, sliding between my ribs, burning as it goes. The pain is unlike anything I've felt, not just physical agony, but something deeper. Something fundamentally wrong, like my blood itself is screaming.
But I don't let go.
"That won't save you," I growl through gritted teeth.
"Silver to your original modification site." Valentina's voice is a rasp, barely audible. "Konstantin said that was your weakness. The place where he first changed you. Now the changes will come undone. You'll die, just slower than me."
"Then I better make this quick."
I wrench my arm sideways, snapping her neck. But that won't be enough, not for a vampire her age. Not for my maker.
So I don't stop.
I twist with everything I have left. The crack of her spine separating vibrates through my palms. She's still fighting, still clawing, so I keep going. I dig my fingers into the torn flesh of her throat and pull until muscle shreds and tendons snap like wet rope.
Her jaw is still working. Still trying to curse me.
I wrench her head free. The sound is wet and grinding, nothing clean about it. Her body spasms once, twice, then goes still.
I drop her head and watch it roll across the concrete until it comes to rest against a pillar. Eyes finally empty.
I stand over what's left of her, breathing hard despite not needing to breathe at all.
My maker. The woman who turned me, abandoned me, used me. Who watched me struggle and suffer and nearly die, and laughed about it. Who told me I was nothing but a weapon, a product, a thing designed for someone else's destruction.
She's dead. By my hand. With my strength.
I should feel triumphant. Instead, I feel... hollow. Empty. Like I've been running on rage for so long that without it, there's nothing left.
The silver blade is still lodged in my side. I wrap my hand around the hilt, grit my teeth, and pull.
The pain is blinding. I hear myself scream, distant, detached, like it's coming from someone else. The blade comes free with a wet sound, and I throw it away from me, watching it clatter across the concrete.
Blood pours from the wound. Too much blood. And something else, a wrongness spreading from the injury, radiating outward through my body.
The modifications will come undone, Valentina said. You'll die, just slower than me.
I can feel it starting. A destabilization deep in my core. My blood turning against itself, fighting some internal war I can't see or understand. The silver wound in my side burns with a wrongness that goes beyond pain, like it's unraveling something fundamental.
Silver to your original modification site, Valentina said. The place where he first changed you. Now the changes will come undone.
Whatever Konstantin built into me, the silver is tearing it apart.
I stumble. Catch myself on a concrete pillar. The parking structure spins around me, lights blurring into smears of white and gray.
The silver is still working its way deeper, I realize. Spreading from the wound site. Destroying whatever it touches.
I slide down the pillar, leaving a streak of blood on the concrete. My legs won't hold me. My vision is tunneling, darkness creeping in at the edges.
Through the haze, I see Maximus and Konstantin.
They're both bloodied now. Both moving slower than before. Maximus has a gash across his chest that hasn't fully healed; Konstantin favors his left side where something seems to be broken.
But they're still fighting. Still matched. Neither willing to give ground.
Then Konstantin sees me.
His gaze moves from me, to Valentina's headless corpse, back to me slumped against the pillar, blood pooling at my feet. I watch him calculate. Watch him reassess.
"It seems my fledgling has exceeded expectations," he says to Maximus, loud enough for me to hear. "Killing her own maker. Impressive."
Maximus doesn't take the bait. Doesn't look away from Konstantin. "Surrender. This is over."
"Is it?" Konstantin smiles. "Your woman is dying, old friend. I can smell it from here. The silver is in her modification site, Valentina's little insurance policy. Whatever's happening to her, it's not going to stop on its own."