Chapter 24 Ezra
Ezra
Of all the goddamn underborne that could show up at my door right now, this soul-sucking piece of shit was the absolute last one I wanted to see.
I storm downstairs with a fractured, bitter growl, my shadows curling in tight coils around my wrists, mirroring the tension in my spine.
I force a breath through my nose. The shadows hesitate, then slowly sink beneath my skin, quiet and obedient … for now.
Aurora’s footsteps follow, soft but urgent, right on my heels.
“Vampires?” she says in a curious tone. “They’re real? And they know you? How?”
“It’s a long story. But basically, I fucked up, and to make amends, I promised them a favor. Terrible timing, though,” I mutter as I stalk to the door.
Aurora steps away as I throw it open, the sudden rush of air carrying with it a wisp of ash and burnt honey.
Vampires are mostly civil to the other underborne and the erevald but can be unpredictable when facing challenges. And if Renato seeks to redeem my favor in person, he must be desperate.
Or stupid.
Likely both.
“Renato! What a delightful surprise! Has it really been two centuries? I suppose time does fly when you’re not busy selling your soul for power. I’m truly honored you came in person. Tell me, how have you been? Still feasting on human misery? Must be a buffet out there.”
Vampires love to talk about themselves, which gives me time to think.
“Have you heard of multi-level marketing? It’s a scheme humans buy into with promises of becoming financially independent, while it siphons thousands of dollars from their bank accounts.
Our down lines worship us and allow us to feed without a fight.
And their misery runs so deep, it makes their souls taste incredible. ”
Jesus Christ. Of course, these parasites would turn to capitalism.
Why hunt when you can trick your prey into begging for the privilege?
“You’re an inspiration to us all,” I say, my voice thick with ego-flattening sarcasm.
The five-thousand-year-old soul-sucker standing on my porch in broad daylight, wearing oversized sunglasses and a Bluetooth earpiece, is what makes the modern era truly horrifying.
He’s what happens when immortality outlives dignity, though, judging by the lies they’ve sold for centuries, I’m not sure they had any to start with.
All that nonsense about sunlight killing vampires? Total bullshit.
They bubble and warp like old film left in the sun, curling and twisting until they’re unrecognizable. Not fatal, of course. Just humiliating.
Think translucent skin, zero melanin, centuries of darkness, and vanity brittle enough to crack. One sunbeam and they’re pink, peeling, and dabbing at their wounds with a limited-edition Balenciaga scarf.
Naturally, some idiot saw that and wrote cursed by God.
And vampires never corrected it.
If one of them stepped onto a beach at noon, the worst they’d get is some superficial blistering. Painful, maybe, but nothing they can’t buy their way out of.
Not that they’d ever admit it.
No, they pay human authors obscene amounts of money to keep the “bursting into flames” theory alive.
Their collective meltdown over sparkly vampires in the early 2000s? Highlight of my goddamn life.
There’s a reason that poor author hasn’t written anything of note since—and honestly? She doesn’t need to. She already pissed off half the slow-blooded elite and made a fortune doing it.
So, when one of them shows up in broad daylight, smug and peeling, I take it seriously.
Even though the soul-sucker stands at the end of my driveway, I’m careful not to say or do anything that would allow the vampire to enter my home.
Thankfully, that bit of folklore holds up.
Multiple heavily armed draughs surround Renato, each one of them desperate to become a vampire one day.
Fools, the lot of them. All so eager to die for a promise that will never come.
Once again, despite the mythos of your paperback fantasies, no one’s ever been “turned.”
Vampires are born. Not made.
The bite doesn’t give humans power. It gives vampires lunch.
Just like the “bursting into flames” myth, they pay well to keep this fantasy alive, too.
It keeps the desperate crawling.
“Shall I call you Ezra in this era?” Renato muses, his tone infuriatingly idle, like he’s commenting on cloud cover instead of my name.
So fucking dramatic. And for what?
“It is truly your choice. I’m just happy to speak with you again,” I say while internally rolling my eyes.
Aurora’s gaze burns through my back. I imagine her jaw must be on the floor in utter shock at my kowtowing. There was no time to explain the fanfare that must go into dealing with vampires, especially Renato and Vesna.
“I prefer Ezra. The Gaelic language does not suit my tongue,” Renato says, studying his nails instead of meeting my gaze.
The arrogance would be impressive if it weren’t so performative.
“Will the lovely Vesna grace us with her presence today?” I almost choke on the words as they rumble from my throat. Vesna may be beautiful and play the part of the dutiful wife perfectly, but her heart is ugly and cruel.
“Alas, Vesna could not make it. She was called out of town last week, and my trip here was quite unexpected.”
The vampire moves like he’s expecting applause. I’d bet good money he spent an hour perfecting that look in front of a mirror.
He exudes arrogance, but not the desperate kind that needs to be proven. This is the arrogance of a man who has never needed to run. Who has never needed to fight. Because money, power, and other people’s fear have always done it for him.
He doesn’t ask to enter. He just stands there, waiting, like my silence is an oversight, not a decision.
I smirk, leaning against the doorframe.
Let him fucking wait.
Renato may pretend he’s the most powerful creature on Earth.
But we both know the truth.
While we engage in our silent dick-measuring contest, I finally take in the ancient fucker standing in front of me. He’s handsome in a way that shouldn’t work, somewhere between brooding gothic prince and pretentious art student.
Renato’s skin is sickly pale, almost luminous, against the reds and golds of October, as if the world around him forgot to desaturate.
His eyes are a deep navy, as rich as royal velvet.
And his silver hair, which is streaked with indigo, is pulled into a perfectly messy bun that’s clearly been curated to look like he didn’t try at all.
He’s dressed in, what I must admit, is a beautiful black suit with a matching black shirt and tie that highlights his muscled physique.
Renato absolutely screams darkness and danger, with a dash of douchebag thrown in for good measure.
The tattoo on his neck is like a piece of night stitched into his throat.
If you ask him, it’s a wolf.
If you look closely, you’ll realize the ears are just a tad too big, the legs a little short, and the tail is slightly curled.
You see, vampires drew the short end of the stick when Lucifer created them.
Sure, they’re strong. Beautiful. Powerful. All that nonsense.
But their shifts are a goddamn riot.
What animal does their fearless leader, the one who commands armies of the alive and barely beating alike, shift into?
A fucking chihuahua.
I’ll let that sit with you a moment.
The great and terrible overlord of the minimally functional couture corpses, doomed to shiver in the cold and gnaw on ankles for eternity.
And the rest? Just as pathetic.
Fainting goats, sloths, capybaras, and one poor bastard who turns into a pigeon.
The list goes on.
Sure, they all pretend they can shift into big, bad wolves, but I know the truth.
And Renato knows I know the truth.
Madraín Béicteach is still my best work.
My shadows twitch at the edge of my vision, drawn tight and ready to strike, but I force them to be still. Keeping Aurora safe is my priority, even if I have to murder an ancient vampire to do so.
“Will you invite me into your home, Ezra?” Renato finally asks, just before his gaze shifts to the goddess behind me.
Aurora holds herself with effortless grace. The only thing she’s missing is a crown. Her undeniable power and confidence in this moment would make even nightmares hesitate.
But she’s scared. And that fear makes the Cù Fèidh claw at my insides, desperate to tear free.
“You may enter, but you’ll harm no one.” A growl curls beneath my voice. “And the little lupine?” My shadows tighten, vibrating with rage. “Touch her, and I’ll feed you your own spine.”
“Yes, of course. I’m disappointed you think so little of me. I’m certainly no heathen,” Renato says with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Besides, I don’t consume the souls of hell-children,” the vampire snarls as a wicked grin spreads across his irritatingly handsome face.
I don’t trust this lukewarm bastard but gutting him on my doorstep would start a war. So, I step aside, every nerve straining, and allow the plague that is Renato Cazador into my home.
The ancient asshole stands in front of the young queen, studying her with a bored look. When he reaches for her, every muscle in my body tenses, ready to protect what belongs to me.
Renato takes her hand, and I brace myself for the inevitable. He’ll demand Aurora kneel before him and kiss his hand. I will not allow her to degrade herself like that.
But, to my surprise, Renato lifts Aurora’s hand to his iridescent lips and grazes them across her knuckles.
Does he know who she really is? The old fool has either misread this situation, or he’s baiting me.
“Hello, my dear,” Renato murmurs, his voice almost … tender.
My jaw clenches and my teeth grind.
What the fuck?
Why would this violent meat puppet with a heartbeat speak so delicately to Aurora?
He must know.
The vampire looks at her. Then at me. Something sharp flickers behind his eyes as they narrow, cold calculation settling over his face.
He watches the way my fists curl at my hips, tendons straining beneath my skin. I’m locked in place, with my jaw clenched, every inch of me a threat waiting to be unleashed.