Chapter 53
fifty-three
Drayer
Pure, unadulterated rage filled Drayer when she saw her sister’s headless body lying on the bloodsoaked rockbed of the cave. She’d heard the explosions of their base being attacked, had felt her bond to that useless magic-less girl being tested. This had all been a premeditated attack.
The Weavers must’ve finally figured out her game.
Drayer had been on her way to fetch the girl and flee with Lydia when she’d stumbled on to this mess.
Her dead sister. The feeding vampyre. And, finally, the witch who was on his knees.
She sent a stunner out and disabled the witch, pleased when his head cracked uselessly on the rock.
Then she ran to Lydia, the one person in this world who’d always put her first. She unsheathed her bone needle and waved it in the air, trying to see if it’d catch any residual parts of her sister’s soul. It didn’t.
“Lydia.” This time, she didn’t even care that her voice sounded so unlike her own, so weakly twisted with emotion.
“Oh, my sister.” There’d be no making a vampyre out of Lydia’s corpse, not with her head cleared from shoulders.
Not even vampirism could fix this. Tears leaked down her face at the revelation.
She was alone now. Well and truly alone.
Robotically, she opened her sister’s robe and retrieved Lydia’s half of the bone needle. It felt strange to have both.
Distantly, she was aware of the sounds of a feeding vampyre, knew that she’d have to kill it now that its master was deceased. A vampyre without a master only listened to its hunger.
She rose and beheaded the creature as a particularly loud boom sounded in the distance. There was no time. The Weavers had to be finishing with her hired witches soon. Quickly, she fetched the lock-jawed little girl who she’d intended to bond with.
Lydia’s death was the worst possible scenario. As the seamstress who’d tied her to that magic-less girl, only she would’ve been able to excise the bond easily. Now she’d have to stab the girl, which wasn’t possible with the Weavers breathing down her neck.
Her fortunes were crumbling before her. But luckily, Drayer had always been resourceful.
She resisted the urge to retch when she had to once again enter the same room Lydia’s corpse was in. But she reined herself in and walked over to the unconscious witch who she had knocked out — the one who’d likely taken her sister from her. She levitated him up so she could get a better look.
A handsome man with a scar bisecting his face — a useless detail — but his chest still rose and fell. He was alive, which meant she had time to find a nice, quiet hideout where she could Make her art of him. It’d been too long since she’d made a vampyre.
Drayer walked to the edge of the cliff face and mounted her broom, both of her prizes hanging uselessly in the air beside her.
A vampyre slave first. Then a new body. Stealing the little girl’s body rather than using her as a life source was not ideal, but she had no choice.
She needed a new body so she could thrust her bone needle into the magic-less girl’s heart and end their bond.
Then she could get her fresh start.
Her time as Drayer Netherton was finally coming to a close.