“This istreason,” Crimson says, her stare fixed back on Waylan.
“Treachery of the highest order,” adds the other vampire, giving him a dark look.
Their words seem to activate Waylan, who eyes Crimson fiercely.
“It can’t be treason to plot against a usurper!” he declares, passionately. This provokes gasps and jeers from the vampires around him. Several more humans rush out of the lounge’s exit, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of whatever comes next. I can’t blame them, and I back away from the three vampires, wringing my hands anxiously.
“Howdareyou,” Crimson snarls, as her irises turn bright red. “I was Xavian’s right hand, his second-in-command, his eldest progeny! I earned my position throughcenturiesof service and faithful duty.”
Waylan shakes his head angrily. “Just because you’re the eldest, doesn’t mean you inherit his throne! I’ve served this clan for almost as long, standing by Xavian through his worst.Youfollowed him blindly, but you were only histool, his Crimson Stake…”
Murad glances at Crimson with a worried grimace. But her expression has become oddly cold. She stands completely motionless, her previous fury extinguished, or at least subdued.
Waylan continues, moving closer and closer to her, as if attempting to provoke a response. “You’re so arrogant, you assumed you would ascend to his position! You’ve always been cocky, always acted like you’re untouchable, but we’ve all heard what the witches whisper…”
Crimson’s lip twitches. Her voice is terribly, horribly calm. “Enough, Waylan.”
But he doesn’t stop. It’s as though he’s been wound up and now he’s unraveling. “Your whole existence, you’ve been safe, but that’s only because Xavian always favoured you. Was always there to protect you. But he’s gone now. And you’re nothing without him. Nothing without yourdaddy.”
He spits the last word, hovering only a foot away from her.
There’s a heavy silence in the wake of his speech. Every living human holds their breath, every vampire tenses, watching from the shadows.
Then Crimson speaks. Her voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear her words.
“Listen to me,brother,” she hisses. “You may be strong, but you lack the iron will to lead this clan. Xavian favoured me because he recognized that I have what you lack: the fortitude to do what needs to be done to maintain my power. You claim the witches speak of my weakness, well, let me show you my strength.”
In a flash of supernatural movement, she grabs the other vampire by the nape of his neck, twisting her wrist to pull his body closer to her. With her other hand, she clutches a dagger. Its hilt gleams in the neon red light.
I grasp my chest, rooted to the spot in fear.
Waylan squirms, but she holds him fiercely.
“Xavian’s gone,” she whispers, almost tenderly. She runs her blade along Waylan’s body, stopping at his hips. Then she grins. A wide, red grin. “I’m your daddy now.”
Her dagger moves quickly, disappearing into the folds of Waylan’s pants, at his crotch.
Just in time, I cover my eyes, but I hear the blood-curdling scream that rips from Waylan’s lips as she dismembers him.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
CHAPTER 7: KING OF THE NIGHT
Crimson
Murad greets me with a slow clap as I enter my office. He’s sitting comfortably on the leather couch, his legs crossed.
“Well, you know how to put on a show, I’ll give you that,” he says with a tilt of his head. “Castrating Xavian’s second-eldest progeny in yourfirstweek.”
With a shrug, I reply, “It will grow back as he heals.” I cross to the cabinet at the back of the office to pour two glasses of blood. I chuckle as I think about it. “Eventually. His pride, however, may take a little longer to recover.”
The other vampire grins. “You’re a sadistic bitch, Crimson.”
“Thank you,” I reply curtly, handing him a glass as I join him on the couch. My hand moves over the smooth, supple leather. The last person to sit here was that breather, when she confessed Wayland’s plot to me. I suppose I owe her a debt of gratitude. The opportunity to humiliate my brother in front of the entire clan and further cement my authority was truly priceless. Strategic, yes. But also deeplysatisfying.
Murad and I clink our glasses together and I take a long sip. Distilled blood is delicious, but it really doesn’t compare to drinking directly from the source. I would have liked to celebrate my victory by enjoying the new donor, but she seemed quite shaken up after the whole situation and I insisted she go to bed. Quite generous of me, I think. See, I’m not always the cruel villain I seem to be.
Or perhaps I just want to ensure she’s well-rested for what I have planned for her tomorrow night…
