Skar flipped onto his feet once Vall got the trio of vampires off him. They danced a wicked waltz of death with their saber and war-axe spinning and keeping the vampires at bay.
I wasn’t so lucky. The vampire in front of me avoided my weak sword thrust, ducked low, and wrapped his arms around my hips to tackle me.
I was sturdy, but once the second one joined the first, I had nowhere to go but down.
Vallan roared as he fought his way through bodies. Blood splattered and sprayed on the walls and floor. Bloodsuckers became bright torches as Skar clipped one, two, three of the fuckers with his silver blade.
Soot, ash, and the choking smell of embers filled the room. More vampires funneled into the room.
Reinforcements.
“Trust me!” My shout was muffled by the bodies on top of me.
“I’ve never trusted anyone, temptress!” Skar wailed.
Only Garroway, Vallan . . . and me.
I lifted my head, looking upside down at Skartovius Ashfen as he ducked, stabbed, sidestepped, stabbed, and became surrounded by fire and pure death.
“You must, love,” I choked out.
The smoke and fire was becoming too much. The cloud of gray burned my eyes as the vampires put their weight on me and kept me pinned to the ground.
Everything went hazy and then black.
Part
Five
“You know the rest,” I say to Madame Kleora, the bloody chronicler, as I shrug my shoulders. I glance at the empty bottle of Cordoi sitting between us on the table. It’s been the fourth or fifth bottle—I’m feeling the effects quite heavily now. There’s a pulsing in my head that won’t go away—or maybe that’s the damned moth beating against the window like a mad dream.
“I was captured,” I continue, “my mates miraculously escaped in a torrent of fire and smoke, and your manslave Bregsitch here has been trying to beat the whereabouts of my men out of me, daily, for months.”
“Yes, Skartovius, Vallan, and Garroway escaping the Tanmount debacle has become the stuff of legends over the months.”
My heart stutters as she mentions their names.
Kleora sets down her pen with a frown, crossing her arms over her pert chest. Her translucent gown flutters as she sits there, showing me peaked nipples through the fabric that has me strangely feeling odd when I inadvertently glance at her lithe body.
The alabaster-faced bloodsucker examines my face for a long time, until I feel awkward and look away at the stone ground of the elaborate jail room. Taclo is still dead and rotting in the corner. Bregsitch is absent, leaving me alone with this devilish, cruel woman—a woman who isn’t half as devilish or cruel as me.
Kleora taps her elbow, tilts her head, and narrows her eyes. “Was it Zefyra?” she asks at last.
“Hmm?” My eyebrows lift.
“Who betrayed you at the Tanmount? It must have been. She worked there. She must have known.”
With a sigh, I lean back in my seat. The chains on my wrists clink together as I set my hands in my lap. “Your guess is as goodas mine. I’ve been in here for months. The guards wore gray patches and were dressed in black.”
Her lips curl. “Alacine Mortis. The overlady is quite a wily one, isn’t she? Always one step ahead.”
“Well . . . that’s a matter of opinion.”
Kleora rolls her head back on her neck and barks a laugh. “Still defiant, even in death. Even in failure.”
“I’m nothing if not a creature of habit, Madame Kleora.”
“The same can be said of us all, I suppose, Lady Lock.” Her red eyes twinkle and her lavender lips split wider. “How does it feel knowing everyone you’ve ever trusted betrayed you?”
