A vein near his temple throbbed, his jaw flexed.
The quickest way to bring a man to an uncontrollable tizzy was to tell him he didn’t matter. That he was unimportant. Damage his ego, and the job was done before it started.
Baylen whipped a longsword out from his sheath and held it two-handed, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Ungrateful cunt. All I ever wanted was to love you. Why did you deny me that?”
I dipped my chin. “You only cared about whatyouwanted, Baylen. Like so many others, you never took into consideration my thoughts, feelings, or desires.”
With a scoff, Baylen shook his head. “You could have taught me.”
“It was not my job to make you compassionate. It never has been.”
Rolling his neck on his shoulders, Baylen stood straighter. “Then tell me, Seph. What is it you desire?”
“Right now?” I tilted my head, lowering my voice menacingly. “Revenge against all who have wronged me. I desire your death, Baylen.”
As anticipated, my words spurred him into action. He charged at me haphazardly, yelling out a battle-cry that had the audience of vampires chuckling.
Baylen lifted his sword high, and I didn’t move. My eyes narrowed, quickly studying him as Lukain had taught me—his movements, his posture, his gait, his technique.
Oh no,I thought, reeling with a swift conclusion.He has learned so little. Baylen has no chance.
It was the awkwardness of his gait. The uncertainty of his positioning and footwork, not sure where to stand or how to come at me. Even the grip on his sword was all wrong.
Despite managing to get to this level in front of Lord Skartovius Ashfen and his bloodsucker court, Baylen was not a skilled fighter.
I suppose it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
What ordinary human living on the streets could possibly compare with someone who has spent every waking hourover the past five years training for combat? Eating, drilling, sparring, practicing, being molded into a weapon.
Lukain Pierken had given me the tools to exact my vengeance against everyone on my list.
Father Cullard, Dimmon Plank, Jeffrith, Baylen Sallow—
I swept to the left in a blur, Bay’s sword arcing past me and cutting through the air.
As I pushed off my back foot, my dagger came up and notched a slash against his forearm, spilling a quick spray of blood.
Father Cullard, Dimmon Plank, Jeffrith, Baylen Sallow—
He seethed, hissing, leaping back in bewilderment, narrowly avoiding my shortsword eviscerating his belly.
A few vampires snickered from the tables surrounding us. They could see what I saw—Baylen was the only one still blind to the truth.
His eyes widened as he noticed the expression on my face: cold, calculated control, whereas he was already sweating and giving himself over to rage at being slighted.
I had never so easily thrown someone off their game.
He pitched clumsily toward me, swinging his sword in broad strokes.
I effortlessly dashed right, bobbing around him. Keeping my swords down, toying with my former brother, only angering him more.
“Fight me, you bitch!” Baylen screamed. His eyes were alight with wrath.
The vampires watching us were raising their voices, pleased at what they were seeing. It was to be expected from monsters who also toyed with their prey.
I’m not like them,I told myself.
With that mantra coursing through my mind, I lifted my blades to parry Baylen’s next attack, rather than dodge them.
