Chapter 35
Cain
We headed back to the cemetery, Nazaire and two other QCS men in front, three more shadowing us from behind. Adrian carried Perla, a thick velvet throw tucked around her.
I locked my fingers around Nyx’s, the terror from earlier still thrumming in me. I was still coming down from it, fighting the urge to snarl at anyone who came too close.
Sweet Lilith, I never wanted to live through something like that again.
Watching Nazaire turn on her—my mate—had nearly sent me over the edge. The other vampire’s mouth had been set, his eyes like pools of black ice. The bastard had been willing—no, eager—to sacrifice his own spawn if it meant getting a chance at Brien.
It had taken every ounce of my control to bargain with him when what I wanted to do was rip off his fucking head and watch it roll across the veined black marble. But I’d forced myself to stick to the plan. It was the only way to pry Nyx loose from both him and the QCS.
The downside was that if I lost, Brien would be forced to welcome Nyx’s snake of a sire into the syndicate as a lieutenant.
It was a hell of an ask on my part, and I knew it.
But we’d all agreed—Brien, Twilight, Talon, and me—that if it came down to it, this was the best way to ensure Nazaire didn’t survive the night.
We exited through the wrought-iron doors of a weathered crypt. Ahead of me, Brien and Talon swept narrow-eyed looks across the cemetery, assessing for threats the way other men breathed.
Nazaire strutted over the snow-laced grass in his fancy suit, arrogance clinging to him like a cologne. He was so damn sure he’d win. Yeah, he had a couple of centuries on me—and vampires grew in power as they aged—but I was a lieutenant in one of the largest, toughest syndicates on the continent.
Did he really think I’d go down easy?
Nazaire halted at a rectangle of frostbitten earth. His men fanned out, forming a ring around us. Adrian put Perla down on a bench and draped the throw around her shoulders.
Nyx cupped my face with both hands. “I love you.”
My breath snagged. I caught her by the nape and took her mouth in a hard kiss.
“If this goes sideways,” I said, “run to Talon. He’ll take you somewhere safe.”
She just looked back at me.
That’s when it hit me—we’d mated. If I lost, I’d probably take her down with me. The shock to her system would be that great. And if she did survive, she’d be a hollowed-out shell of herself, like Brien’s father after losing Lenore.
Fear squeezed my heart.
Her eyes darkened, and I realized she could feel it—my emotions bleeding into her the same way hers bled into me. She knew exactly how terrified I was for her.
She was afraid, too, but underneath was an unshakable confidence in me.
In us.
I swallowed hard.
Her fingers brushed my cheek. “You won’t lose.”
I forced a nod, projecting confidence with everything I had. Not because I believed victory was guaranteed, but because I refused to let her see the doubt clawing at me.
She gave me a last kiss and joined Perla on the bench.
Beside me, Talon stirred. “So, which blade are you using?”
“This one.” I drew out my favorite, a long silver beauty that I’d used to stake both the guard and my opponent in the great room. A blood-red ruby, big as my thumbnail, shone in the ebony handle. Brien’s parents had gifted it to me the day I’d become a made man in their syndicate.
He nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed the pad of my thumb over the ruby. “It seemed fitting.” I didn’t add that I’d hoped it would come to a challenge, but I’m sure Talon guessed that part.
“I’ll hold the others.”
He held out a hand, and I passed over my switchblade and the other dagger. I’d agreed to one blade only. If the remaining dagger broke or was taken, I’d have to fight with fangs and claws.
Nazaire shrugged out of his suit coat, passing it and two daggers to his friend Maxime.
He rolled his sleeves to the elbow, deliberate, unhurried, then lifted the blade he’d kept.
Silver gleamed wickedly along its edge, the stainless handle carved with curling script that looked torn from some ancient book of magic.
Talon tapped his fist to mine and growled, “Now go take that fucker out.”
“That’s the plan.” I looked past him to where Nazire watched me, his lizard-like eyes unblinking.
I let the corner of my mouth lift—a slow, deliberate mockery, the kind that said I wasn’t impressed.
Talon joined the ring of vampires and dhampirs surrounding us, taking a spot opposite Brien and Twilight. Maxime remained in the center, ready to start the challenge.
I stole one last look at Nyx. She sat close beside Perla, an arm looped protectively around her friend’s shoulders. Wisps of red had escaped her braid, curling around her face and throat. Beneath her straight-cut bangs, her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a line.
Even like this—tense, worried—she was beautiful, somehow both strong and fairylike at the same time. A firefly at dusk.
She caught me looking and smiled, quick and real. The tiny diamond in her nose twinkled at me.
I found myself winking back.
A rustle swept over the cemetery, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. A half-dozen vampires dropped from the skeletal trees, silent as falling leaves.
QCS men. I recognized a few from Brien’s negotiations with their primus, Régis Dussault, about investing in a mammoth QCS casino. The newcomers sauntered forward, taking a place in the circle.
We all tensed. Brien’s hands settled on his dagger hilts.
“More observers,” Nazaire said with a sly glance. “Any objections?”
Brien inclined his head. “Not at all.”
Then Dussault himself strode through the graves, boots whispering over the snow-crusted grass, dark hair slicked back from his face, eyes like polished stone—black, unreadable.
Talon’s gaze cut to mine. I could practically hear him: Called it.
Nyx had warned us that the QCS primus might be using her sire as a proxy to strike at Brien. So we’d been aware this might be a trap, but had agreed it was worth the risk. Better to die in a fair fight than take a stake in the dark, the way Brien’s mother had.
Dussault stepped into the circle opposite Brien. Unlike Nazaire, he wasn’t tricked out in a designer suit. No, like us, he’d come dressed for war, twin daggers riding his hips.
“Brien.” He inclined his head in a greeting that felt more like a threat.
“Régis,” my friend returned, unsmiling.
Dussault rested his hands on his dagger handles, mirroring Brien. “I wasn’t aware you requested permission to enter my territory.”
“My apologies,” Brien murmured for form’s sake. “I was on a rescue mission. A friend of Lieutenant Cain’s mate.”
The other primus’s brow furrowed. “Mate?”
I nodded proudly. “Nyx Nazaire has done me the honor of accepting my bond.”
Dussault looked to her for confirmation.
She sat tall on the bench, shoulders back, chin lifted. “It’s true.”
His eyes cut to her sire. “You agreed to this?”
Nazaire’s nostrils flared. “No. But she is no longer my concern.”
“He disowned her,” I said. “If I win the challenge, she belongs to me.”
Dussault’s frown increased. “Explain.”
Maxime stepped forward, laying out the terms of the challenge.
It was highly irregular, and everyone there knew it. If Nazaire won, Dussault would lose an enforcer to the Maritime Syndicate. I braced for Nyx’s primus to object, but instead he traded a long look with her sire before saying, “Very well. Proceed.”
Brien’s mouth bent down, his eyes meeting mine past Maxime’s shoulder. Confirmation—Nazaire hadn’t been acting alone. He’d been operating with Dussault’s knowledge, if not his express permission.
Good. We’d forced him out into the open at least.
Maxime raised a dagger above his head, the blade glinting against the night sky. My grip tightened around my own dagger’s ebony hilt. I dropped into a fighter’s crouch, adrenaline surging. Across from me, Nazaire did the same.
Maxime’s voice rang out. “Let the challenge begin!” He slashed the dagger down between me and Nazaire, and stepped back into the circle.
Nazaire circled me, eyes locked on mine. Watching and waiting for an opening.
I gave him three beats, then lunged, gambling it would throw off his rhythm.
It did.
He jumped back, evading the point aimed at his chest, but the edge kissed his deltoid, slicing through his white shirt and into his skin, delivering a jolt of silver to his system.
He grunted, spun, and came back at me a breath too late. I dipped right and he staggered past me. He recovered quickly and pivoted toward me with a snarl.
Around us, the circle erupted in jeers and cheers, but I barely registered it.
I could win this fight. That wasn’t ego but an assessment born from years of sparring with Talon and Brien and the castle’s old guard—Prosper, Donald and others. Nazaire might be two centuries old, steeped in power and politics, but I’d bet it was a long time since he’d engaged in a challenge.
He hadn’t expected my hungry, streetwise way of fighting, and it was costing him.
I came at him again, a flying kick to his stomach. When he staggered backward, I sliced his cheek. Blood flowed down his face, darkening his silk collar.
He hissed and bared his fangs, attacking me in a flurry of movements that only another vampire could’ve countered. I danced and spun, our blades clashing, the dull clang of silver on silver the only sound in the now silent cemetery.
His blade got past my guard. I knocked it away at the last second and slid past him, both of us breathing hard now.
I shot left—and slipped on the icy grass, dropping to one knee. Nazaire launched himself at me, dagger aimed at my chest.
Instinct took over. I threw myself to the side, blade gripped in both hands and thrust upward. Nazaire was a beat too slow. The point of his dagger whistled past my chest, hit a frozen patch of earth and skittered out of his hand.
But my dagger found its mark, sliding beneath his ribcage and deep into his heart.
Nazaire’s face twisted in shocked disbelief.
My smile was all white teeth and fangs. “You lose, Enforcer.”
He spat something in French.
I pushed to my feet and wrenched the blade free. He swayed on his feet, blood and smoke pouring from the gaping wound. Black fire crawled over him, consuming him from the inside out. A final burst of heat and light tore through him.
He dropped to the frozen ground like a felled tree.
Nyx came to her feet, one hand pressed to her mouth.
Brien and Talon were at my side a moment later, clapping me on the back. I nodded, accepting their congratulations, my gaze on Nyx.
Mine, I mouthed.
Her hand fell away, and she gave me a smile that trembled at the edges. Then she glanced at her sire’s body, crumbling to ash and charred bone, and the small smile vanished.
I guess she still felt something for the bastard, even after everything. The man had never understood what he had in her.
At my side, Brien raised my hand, proclaiming me the winner of the challenge. The Maritime vampires let out a cheer.
Brien grabbed me in a one-armed hug. “Thank you,” he said for my ears only. “For my mother’s sake.”
I shook my head, uncomfortable. “Fuck your thanks. I did it for all of us.”
“Thanks anyway,” he said and released me.
Nyx shot across the graveyard, tears streaming down her face—but smiling again. She was still a couple of meters away when she launched herself at me.
I opened my arms and caught her.