Chapter 30 Miranda
MIRANDA
Matilde Duval stands on the edge, a beacon of pristine white in a world painted in mud and blood. She doesn't hold a weapon. She doesn't need one. She holds history, and she wields it like a scalpel.
"She looked just like you," Matilde says, her voice a conversational lilt that carries over the crackle of the burning brush.
"Céleste. My baby sister. She had that same defiant tilt to her chin.
That same delusion that she could rewrite the laws of nature because she found a pet dog to warm her bed. "
I stand ten feet away from her, naked, blood-streaked, and vibrating with a power I don't have a manual for. Jax is beside me, a low, constant growl rumbling in his chest, but I put a hand on his arm to hold him back.
Wait.
"You killed her," I state. It’s not an accusation; it’s a clarification of the data.
"I corrected an error," Matilde sighs, smoothing the lapel of her coat. "She was messy, Miranda. She cried so much when we found out about you. Not for herself—she knew she was dead the moment she crossed the line—but for the Wolf. And for the thing growing inside her."
She looks at me with pity that feels like acid.
"I burned her," Matilde continues, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "I lit the match myself. Do you know what burning vampire flesh smells like? It smells sweet. Like caramelized sugar. She screamed until her vocal cords snapped. It was... inelegant."
Rage flares in my chest, hot and blinding. The Wolf inside me wants to launch at her throat. The Vampire inside me wants to tear her apart with magic I don't know how to use.
But the mechanic? The mechanic is watching the clock.
I force my breathing to sync with the ticking in my head.
Fifty-eight... Fifty-nine...
"You're trying to make me angry," I say, my voice flat. "You want me to attack you. You want me to break the Truce so the magic kills me for you."
Matilde smiles, exposing those needle-sharp fangs. "I don't need the magic to kill you, little mongrel. But it would save me the trouble of getting blood on my coat."
I look at the sky. The moon is high, obscured by smoke.
"You talk too much," I say. "Inefficient."
"And you are just a spare part," she sneers, raising a hand. Shadows gather around her fingers, thick and oily. "A glitch that needs to be deleted."
"Check your watch, Auntie," I whisper.
Matilde frowns.
Click.
"It’s 12:01," I announce. "Christmas Day."
I step forward, the mud squelching between my toes.
"The Truce is over."
Matilde’s eyes widen. The mask of elegance slips.
She thrusts her hand forward.
The air in front of me warps. A concussive blast of kinetic magic—invisible, heavy as a freight train—slams into me.
I don't have time to dodge.
The impact lifts me off my feet. I fly backward, smashing into the trunk of a cypress tree. The wood cracks. My breath leaves my lungs in a painful whoosh. I hit the mud, gasping, my vision swimming with stars.
"Miranda!" Jax roars.
"Pathetic," Matilde laughs. She flicks her wrist.
Another wave of force hits me, pinning me to the tree. It feels like a giant hand crushing my ribcage. I can hear the cartilage straining.
"You have power," Matilde taunts, walking down the stairs, the shadows swirling around her like a cloak. "But you have no discipline. You are a battery without a circuit. I am going to pop you like a blister."
She raises her hand for a killing blow, her fingers curled into a claw.
Jax moves.
He blurs, a streak of black rage intercepting her path. He puts his body between us.
Matilde doesn't even look at him. She backhands the air.
The magic hits Jax. It sends him sprawling, tumbling through the mud. He hits the ground hard, skidding, his skin flayed open by the invisible force.
"Jax!" I scream.
He struggles to get up, blood pouring from his nose, but the magic is holding him down, pressing him into the earth.
"Stay down, dog," Matilde spits. "I’ll skin you after I finish your whore."
She turns back to me. She gathers the shadows, condensing them into a spear of dark energy.
Something inside me snaps.
The schematic changes. The logic centers of my brain—the parts that say magic is impossible—burn away. In their place, instinct takes the wheel.
I am not just a mechanic. Not just a Wolf or a Vampire. I am a Chimera. I am the bridge.
I push off the tree.
"Trust the design," I whisper to myself.
I feel the energy in the air. I feel the static of Matilde’s spell. It’s not magic; it’s just energy. And energy can be redirected.
Matilde throws the spear.
I don't dodge. I step into it.
I raise my hand.
The dark energy hits my palm. It burns—cold, freezing cold—but I don't let it crush me. I grab it. I grip the intangible force like I’m gripping a live wire.
"What?" Matilde gasps, her composure fracturing.
"Return to sender," I snarl.
I channel the energy. I pull it into my core, mix it with the fire of the Wolf, and push it back out.
The shockwave explodes from my hand. It hits Matilde square in the chest.
She flies backward. She crashes onto the porch steps, the wood shattering under her impact. She looks stunned, her white coat stained with mud.
I don't give her time to recover.
I sprint.
I cross the distance in a heartbeat, my speed unnatural, fueled by the hybrid engine in my blood.
Matilde tries to scramble up, baring her fangs, hissing like a viper. She reaches for me.
I slap her hand away. I grab her by the throat.
My grip is iron. My claws dig into the pristine skin of her neck, drawing bright red blood. I lift her off her feet.
"Let go!" she chokes, clawing at my wrists. Her nails scrabble against my skin, but they don't break it. I am too dense. Too strong.
I slam her against the porch railing.
"Look around," I order, my voice dropping into that dual-tone harmonic that makes the air vibrate.
The other vampires—the Duval cousins, the scouts—have emerged from the treeline. They aren't attacking. They are watching. Their eyes are wide, tracking the violence.
"They aren't helping you," I hiss, bringing my face close to hers. "Because this is a succession challenge. And you are losing."
Matilde’s eyes dart to her kin. She sees the truth. She sees her power evaporating.
"I am the Matriarch," she screeches, thrashing. "I am the blood!"
"You're a placeholder," I say coldly. "And your shift is over."
I could kill her. I could rip her throat out right now. The Wolf wants to. The Wolf wants to taste the victory.
But death is too easy. Death makes her a martyr.
I need to break her. I need to dismantle her so thoroughly she can never run again.
I shift my grip to her jaw. I force her mouth open.
"Your power is in the bite," I whisper. "Let’s see how you rule without it."
I jam my thumb against her upper gum line.
Matilde realizes what I’m doing. Her eyes go wide with true, abject terror. She tries to scream.
I torque my wrist.
SNAP.
The sound is loud, like dry porcelain breaking.
Her left fang shears off at the root.
Matilde shrieks—a high, bubbling sound of agony. Blood fills her mouth.
SNAP.
I break the right one.
I drop her.
She falls into the mud, clutching her mouth, spitting blood and fragments of tooth. She curls into a ball, wailing, her dignity shattered, her weapon destroyed. She looks small. Pathetic.
I stand over her, my chest heaving. I look at the vampires in the trees. I meet their gaze, my eyes burning violet and gold.
"Does anyone else want to file a complaint?" I ask.
Silence.
They bow their heads. One by one, they fade back into the shadows, acknowledging the transfer of power.
I look down at Matilde. She is sobbing, ruined.
"Finish it," I say.
I’m not talking to her.
Jax steps up beside me. He is limping slightly, covered in mud, but his eyes are clear. The gold is burning bright.
He looks at Matilde. He looks at the woman who killed his father, who tortured my mother, who tried to burn us alive.
He doesn't hesitate.
He reaches down. He grabs Matilde by the back of her neck and twists.
Crack.
It is quick. Efficient. A mercy she didn't deserve.
Matilde Duval goes limp in the mud.
The threat is offline.
The silence that follows is heavy, ringing in my ears. The fire in the bayou is dying down, leaving only the smell of smoke and wet char.
My knees give out.
The adrenaline crash hits me hard. The power recedes, leaving me shaking, cold, and painfully human.
I stumble.
Jax catches me.
His arms wrap around me, solid and warm. He pulls me against his chest, holding me up when my legs refuse to work.
"We did it," I whisper into his neck.
"We survived," he corrects, burying his face in my hair. He’s shaking too. The aftershocks of the battle, of the silver, of the magic.
I lean back, looking up at him. His face is streaked with grime, his hair matted, but he has never looked better.
"What a way to celebrate Christmas," I murmur, resting my head on his shoulder. "Massacre and regicide. Very festive."
Jax huffs a laugh, a rough puff of air against my ear. "What’s better than going out with a bang, chérie?"
He turns me, pointing toward the open swamp.
"Look."
I follow his gaze.
The smoke is clearing. The clouds have parted.
And falling from the sky, drifting slowly down onto the burning embers of the bayou, are soft, white flakes.
Snow.
It shouldn't be possible. It’s seventy degrees and humid. But the magic has broken the weather, or maybe the universe is just offering a truce of its own.
The snow touches the black water and melts. It lands on the roof of the ruined cabin. It lands on Matilde’s still body, covering the red with white.
"It’s snowing," I whisper, reaching out to catch a flake. It melts instantly on my hot skin.
Jax pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me to shield me from the chill.
"Merry Christmas, Miranda," he says softly.
I close my eyes, listening to his heart beat—strong, steady, and alive.
"Merry Christmas, Jax."