Don’t Judge a Vampire by her Fangs Chapter 1 #3
I felt the shift in him before I saw it. The air around us tightened, charged with the violence he usually kept leashed.
He rose in one smooth, predatory motion, lifting his hand as he came to his feet. The sword strapped across his back cleared the scabbard with a hiss, steel glinting in the chandelier light.
He stepped forward, planting himself between Rene’s prone body and the nearest edge of the crowd. His boots hit the marble with deliberate weight, each step a warning.
The circle of vampires froze.
Constantine stood tall and terrifying, sword held low at his side, point kissing the floor. His pale-yellow eyes burned, the gold threaded with a dangerous red glow I had only seen when he was one breath away from killing someone.
“This is how it is going to be,” he said, voice carrying to the back of the room without effort. “The king is down. He is not dead.”
A murmur. Someone started to speak. Con lifted the sword a fraction and the sound died.
“No one,” he continued, each word crisply enunciated, “touches him without my permission or Raven’s. No one breathes the word succession in this foyer again. Not while he still draws breath.”
His gaze locked onto Edward.
Edward did not flinch, but his throat worked as he swallowed.
“You wanted the clan to see him,” Con said. “They have. Now they will see something else. They will see that anyone who tries to use his weakness to seize power will answer to me first.”
He pivoted slightly, bringing the rest of the clan into his line of sight. “If you are loyal, you will help us protect him while we fix whatever this is. If you are not, step forward now. Save me the trouble of hunting you down later.”
Silence.
Cold, breathless silence.
Even the whispers died.
Siris’ eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat I thought he might challenge him, not with steel but with careful words about politics and tradition.
Instead he bowed his head a fraction. “No one here wants the king dead, Constantine. We are concerned for the clan.”
“Then prove it,” he replied. “Hold your people together. Keep them calm. You and Edward can argue about lines of authority when Rene is awake and capable of telling you where to shove them.”
A few vampires near the back actually snorted. Quickly, but still.
Edward exhaled slowly, then inclined his head. “You have my support. But if his condition worsens, we will need clarity.”
“You will get it,” Con said. “From him. Or from me.”
He lifted the sword, resting the flat lightly against his shoulder. The movement was casual in the same way a predator’s yawn was casual.
Nobody missed the threat.
I dropped my attention back to Rene. The tremors had lessened slightly, shifting from violent convulsions to a deep, periodic shudder. His breathing was shallow, his lips pale.
Raven’s hands hovered over his chest, magic crawling along her skin like purple lightning. She was doing something subtle, something witchy and delicate that I could not quite perceive.
“Talk to me,” I said quietly. “Tell me he is stabilizing.”
“I am holding him,” she whispered. “For now. His power keeps… slipping. Something is pulling at it. I can slow the bleed, but I cannot stop it.”
“Then we find what is pulling at him,” I said. “And we cut it loose.”
Her gaze flicked up, meeting mine. There was terror there. And fire.
“Valerian,” she said.
It was not a question.
“Yeah,” I answered. “He wants a king as a toy. He cannot help himself.”
Raven set her jaw. “Then we give him something else to play with.”
“Me,” I said.
Both she and Con looked at me. Con’s eyes sharpened, suspicion and anger flaring in equal measure.
“We are not feeding you to Valerian,” he said.
“I am already on his menu,” I replied. “You heard him upstairs. You felt him when that fragment lit up. He thinks I’m his puppet. That comes with advantages.”
“Such as?” Con’s tone suggested he would not like the answer.
“He is focused on me,” I said. “Not Rene. Not fully. We can use that. Pull his attention, drag it away from whatever he is doing to the king. Make him waste power on being obsessed with the wrong toy.”
Con’s grip tightened on the sword. “Absolutely not.”
Raven’s eyes flicked between us, calculating. “It might work.”
“It might kill her,” Con snapped.
“We are not having this argument in the foyer with half the clan watching,” I said. “You want to fight about what stupid risks I take, you can yell at me upstairs. Right now we get Rene off the floor and into a bed where Raven can work without fifty pairs of eyes breathing down her neck.”
Raven nodded. “Agreed.”
I looked up at Constantine. He still stood over us, sword gleaming, posture radiating threat. The clan stayed put, every vampire wise enough not to test him.
“Con,” I said softly. “Be careful with him.”
His eyes met mine. For a second the red in them flared, then steadied.
“Of course,” he said.
He nodded once and shifted his stance, widening his base, sword raised just enough that everyone could see the promise of violence in the line of his arm.
He stood over Rene’s prone body like a drawn blade, daring anyone to take one more step toward their fallen king.
No one did.