Chapter 1 #3
He nodded, repositioning the bag and securing it with a hand as he moved closer to Belham.
He placed the messenger bag on the desk and opened it, revealing the sleek agarwood stake bespelled by an unidentified witch.
A scorched-earth weapon of destruction that the House of Hollows and the House of Knight both coveted.
The two houses were always pursuing the exact number of these stakes in the world.
I’d learned there were three. What they didn’t know was that one was in my possession in the event things spiraled out of control and I needed a nuclear option.
I wasn’t under any delusion that my life would be spared if I were ever forced to use it.
My knowledge of how the stake worked was limited to its ability to destroy all vampires sharing the same bloodline as the staked vampire.
Unless it was an immediate death—which I suspected it wasn’t—the vampire would be afforded enough time to exact their revenge.
I didn’t know who had the third stake.
The necessity for me to keep one of the stakes of necri was a reminder that, despite my position, my relationship with the vampires was tenuous.
Absently, my hand went to my neck, remembering the day I’d angered a new vampire during a meeting at the House of Hollows.
The day ended with me having a sore neck, injuries from fending off fangs, and bloody hands from exhibiting my knife work to the menacing vampire.
I’d used the ivory butt of the knife handle to break one of the offending fangs.
Instead of intervening and defusing the situation, Corrine, the House of Hollows Elite, stood off to the side, seemingly entertained by the exchange.
When it was over, I’d given Corrine the finger along with my resignation.
I hadn’t given one shit that my leaving could lead to a downward spiral and possibly a war between two of the largest vampire houses in the world.
Even worse, one of them falling. It would give the other three houses and the shifters the opportunity they’d been waiting for to plunge the world into a supernatural utopia.
A hierarchy that would put humans at the bottom with animals.
The House of Hollows and the House of Knight served as an explicit contradiction, as both the solution and the problem.
Corrine’s apology came with a substantial raise. Fangs heal, but unlike the other parts of a vampire’s body, they do so at a considerably slower rate. And coating the knife in salacene, an expensive magical agent created by my bestie, slowed the healing process even more.
My employment by the vampires came at the breaking point of the fragile thread that maintained their civility after years of animosity and murder attempts.
Against all odds, I had achieved something that many believed was impossible: a truce.
Well, kind of a truce. It was the bare minimum required to be considered a truce.
But at least they had made a binding oath not to decapitate each other or rip each other’s hearts out on sight.
I’d love to see the stake destroyed. Even Corrine, who was happy to possess it, would find more peace in its destruction.
But it was protected by strong magic. After several failed attempts at destroying it, Rachel had created a counter-protection spell that benefitted the houses by binding their bloodlines to the stake, preventing it from being used against them.
The House of Hollows was the first to be bound and, as a form of concession and goodwill, they agreed to have the same done for the House of Knight, giving them a modicum of peace about the stake being in their possession.
Belham eyed Jonah. “You’re a stronger witch than Rachel, aren’t you?”
“Not stronger. Our magic is different. I can assure you what needs to be done will be more efficient.”
Belham’s brow cocked with interest. He’d never be accused of being too patient. Belham wasn’t as concerned as I was about the new, efficient witch.
Jonah produced a small knife from his pocket and extended it to Belham, who shook his head in refusal, drawing back his lips to expose his fangs—his own set of daggers. He bit into his finger. Once the blood welled on it, he followed Jonah’s instructions and took hold of the stake.
At Jonah’s request, I took several steps back but kept a cautious eye on him.
I couldn’t squelch the uneasiness I felt about him.
Corrine didn’t care about efficiency, and the mere idea that a spell would be long and arduous to the point of annoying Belham would have enticed her.
Seeking expedient options was out of character.
“Don’t let go,” Jonah instructed Belham before his lips slowly moved as he recited a spell.
The markings on his arms that I’d incorrectly identified as simple tattoos illuminated and rearranged, creating a different set of patterns, before a swirl of smoke inched over the stake toward Belham.
Belham’s anger was replaced by panic as he struggled noticeably to release his hold on the wood.
The closer the ominous smoke crept to him, the more frantic his struggle became.
“Release him,” I demanded.
Jonah flicked contempt and annoyance in my direction, but his invocations continued at a feverish rate.
Grabbing the expandable baton from my side pocket, I extended it with a quick flick and slammed it onto Jonah’s wrist on the hand holding the stake.
A wail of pain interrupted his spell. Reflexively, he released the stake and cradled his injured arm to his chest, shuffling back into a corner before I could administer another blow.
With the spell discontinued, the stake fell to the floor, putting Belham out of harm and the effects of the spell.
Belham’s eyes flashed with rage. He whirled around, removed one of the swords from the wall, and was inches from Jonah in a flash.
I stepped between them. Risking a glimpse over my shoulder, I saw Jonah’s eyes moving desperately around the room.
Frustration fell over his face, and I figured he’d had an exit plan, but with the pain and unexpected turn of events, he was either too flustered to execute it or do it with a wrist that was likely broken.
“Kara, move,” Belham demanded.
Shaking my head, I crouched in front of Jonah, creating enough of a barrier to keep Belham from him.
Jonah deserved punishment, and a broken wrist was rightly deserved.
Witches could only heal soft tissue injuries, and he’d have to live with the fractured wrist for weeks, unless part of his payment included healing by a vampire.
Witches rarely took that option because the consumption of vampire blood had disastrous effects on their magical abilities for months.
They never considered the exchange worth it.
“I won’t ask you again,” Belham seethed through gritted teeth.
“Good, because I don’t want to ignore you again.”
He scoffed. I could see him calculating the swiftness of my movement and the likelihood of getting to Jonah without injuring me.
“Please return the sword to its mount,” I directed in a soft, even voice. A command would only agitate him more.
The fact that he’d opted for a weapon and not his fangs was a clear indicator he wanted to inflict a great deal of pain. A shiver ran through me at the violence in his eyes.
He didn’t comply. Belham held a steady gaze on me, the turbulent rage easing from his eyes as his fangs pierced his lips. He let out a relieved sigh in some odd appreciation of the pain.
You odd little freak.
He blew out a long sigh. “Kara, far too often you place yourself as a shield for others against my wrath. What happens when it is no longer adequate protection?”
“Then you’ll see how dangerous I really can be.”
A slow smile curled his lips. “Is it terrible that I’m quite intrigued to see how terrible our Kara can be when pushed?”
“Not terrible. But weird as fuck.” I was fully aware that his banter was intended to get me to relax enough to drop my defenses and give him an opening.
“Belham, let me handle this.” I was acutely aware of the effortless way he handled the sword, flicking it back and forth between the fuller and the edge, waiting for a chance to get past me.
“I can’t find out anything if he’s dead. ”
“I’ll leave him alive,” he conceded, showing the edge of his teeth in a menacing smile.
“Barely alive doesn’t make people amenable to speaking. His wrist is broken, and he doesn’t heal as you do. A point has been made.”
It was clear the only point he wanted made was the blade making some contact with Jonah’s body.
“I think this stunt of Corrine’s warrants you becoming the new owner of the stake of necri, don’t you think?” I added.
It was rather a given, but now he knew I’d make no effort to persuade him to return the stake to its owner.
Splitting my attention between him and my phone, I called Rachel.
Despite him not requiring her to be placed on speaker, I did.
He listened intently as I scheduled an appointment for her to bind the House of Knight to it.
“Can she remove the House of Hollows from it?” Belham’s eyes were still scanning for a vulnerable opening.
“No,” Rachel replied. She sounded sincere. I couldn’t determine whether it was a lie but was grateful she’d said it.
“Rachel, please try to find one,” he requested.
“Of course.” She ended the call before I could, obviously avoiding being pulled into the middle of the mess I clearly was in. It was doubtful she’d missed Jonah’s whimpering in the background.
Belham seemed more satisfied with the situation, but Jonah had ignited his lust for violence, and this passive solution didn’t satiate it.