Don’t Judge a Vampire by her Fangs Chapter 2 #3
His faction murmured agreement. They were enraged by the public beheading, offended by the spectacle, but they were not in a position to move. Not yet. Not while Constantine stood there flanked by death dealers and reinforced by Edward’s political weight.
Con rolled his shoulders once, then turned his back on the corpse and the crowd.
It was a calculated show of confidence, that willingness to expose his spine to a room full of predators. He trusted the fear he had cultivated and the loyalty at his back.
Death dealers parted to let him pass, then closed rank again, forming a barrier between the rest of the court and the staircase.
“Get him up there,” Con said, his voice pitched low for Raven and me. “Do not stop for anyone. If someone tries to intercept, you call me.”
“And you come running?” I asked.
“Like the wrath of God,” he said.
I almost smiled. “Blasphemy looks good on you.”
Adrenaline made us giddy. Or maybe it was the smell of fresh blood on polished marble while we balanced the unconscious king in our arms.
Raven tightened her grip around Rene’s legs. “Move,” she said.
We did.
The crowd parted again, this time with far more urgency. No one wanted to brush against the warrior who had just taken a head off a man for speaking out.
As we moved, I caught the tang of blood stronger than before. It mingled with the thick, old scent of the house, the polished wood and ancient stone.
The dead vampire’s head lay at an odd angle near the base of the column, eyes staring blindly upward. The smear of blood behind it already started to dry along the edges.
One of my death dealers peeled off, stepping to the side and planting himself between the corpse and the rest of the court. He did not touch the body. He did not look at the head. He simply stood there, a silent, armored warning that no one was to interfere with whatever we decided to do with it.
We reached the first stair.
Every step felt like a mountain.
Rene’s weight dug into my arms, his head heavy against my shoulder. Raven grunted softly, adjusting her hold when her foot slipped for a fraction of a second on a patch of unseen blood.
“I have you,” I said, reaching across to steady her without loosening my grip on the king.
“I know,” she replied through clenched teeth. “Do not drop him.”
“Not planning on it.”
Behind us, I heard Con’s voice again, crisp and lethal.
“Listen carefully,” he told the court. “The king lives. Until that changes, you follow his orders. You bring all concerns to me, Cassara, or Raven. You do not scheme in corners. You do not use the word succession as a threat. If you do, I will assume you are volunteering to join this one on the floor.”
Silence answered him.
Then a single voice rang out.
“We hear and obey.”
It came from one of Edward’s followers. A moment later, others echoed it. Some voices steady, some grudging, some simply pragmatic.
Edward looked up at us on the stairs as he spoke again. “Our priority is Rene’s recovery,” he said. “Anyone who cannot support that may excuse themselves from this court. Permanently.”
Murmurs of assent drifted upward. Begrudging or sincere, I did not care. I just needed them quiet and cooperative long enough to keep the king alive.
As we climbed, I glanced back over my shoulder.
Constantine stood at the base of the staircase, sword still in hand. Streaks of blood from the execution had dried along the edge, dark against polished steel. The death dealers formed a solid line behind him, their presence a wall of loyalty I had not known I needed to see until it was there.
Edward stood slightly to Con’s left, hands clasped, posture radiating political support even as his mind undoubtedly raced ahead to the ramifications of what had just happened.
Siris remained near his faction. His gaze met mine for a brief, charged second.
He did not look cowed.
He looked patient.
He sketched a small, mocking half-bow that no one else would notice unless they were watching him as closely as I was.
Enjoy your moment, little death dealer, that cool, calculating gaze seemed to say. The game has only just started.
I tightened my hold on Rene, feeling the flutter of his power skipping like a heartbeat under my skin.
“Stay with us,” I whispered into his hair. “Because if you die and leave me alone with that snake, I will find a way to drag you back and kill you myself.”
Raven huffed a broken laugh. “That is not how necromancy works.”
“I will make it work,” I said. “I am very motivated.”
We reached the landing. The murmurs below faded as the distance grew, but I felt the tension radiating upward like heat.
A king lay unconscious in our arms. My warrior had demonstrated exactly how far he would go to keep control from shattering. Death dealers had chosen their side in front of everyone. Edward had publicly aligned himself with us.
And Siris, furious but contained, had watched every second, storing it away like a man tallying moves in a very long game.
Chaos had not finished descending.
It had only just found its footing.