Deathless (The Vein Chronicles Book 2) by Anne Malcom
Once upon a time, a slayer and a vampire fell in love.
There was blood.
And pain.
And destruction.
The end.
Chapter 13
“So we’re going to kick ass and take names and figure out how to win this war, get this spell off moi and then go for tacos?” I asked the room at large. I focused on Rick, who was sitting on his throne, one ankle crossed over his knee, doing a great Thorne impression with his darkened eyes and broody disposition, yet the blankness of his face and the lack of emotion beneath the darkness signaled a storm that I didn’t even understand. And I totally got the ending to Lost. After Sophie spoiled it, of course.
Though, it could have been something to do with his visit. One I obviously hadn’t told Thorne about because I wasn’t an idiot.
“Well sorry, Your Highness, but you’re not invited to the taco part of the equation. Too much heat. And it seems that you and the old ball and chain don’t see eye to eye.” I glanced to Scott, who had somehow found his way into another war council despite not being a warrior in any way, shape or form. “No offense,” I said in a way that totally meant to offend.
He grinned at me. “But I’m invited to tacos, right? I love tacos.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes, Scott, if you manage to survive this fucking thing, which is doubtful, you can come to tacos. And pay, of course.”
His eyes lit up. “Aces.”
I seriously wondered whether he’d fight extra hard to hold onto his immortality purely for the fact that he’d finally snagged himself and invitation that didn’t have to come with some borderline creepy stalking. I was sure he had some kind of tracking app on my phone. In fact, I knew he did.
“I’m more of a nacho man myself. And after a fight I’ll need a good fuck. But I’ll pop in for a taco,” Duncan cut in.
I clapped my hands. “And I’ll get the margarita jug!” I exclaimed. Then I frowned at my absentee witchy partner in crime and her newest pet. Well, I was happy the pet wasn’t there, but she was the one who’d called us all together in the first place.
Being late was just plain rude. Which was one of the reasons why we got on so well.
Thorne and I were already an hour late.
As if I’d summoned her, the witch in question sauntered through the door. She looked great, as usual, wearing black hot pants that tied up at the front and were pretty much classed as underwear considering the amount of leg and ass cheek they showed. But then the leg was covered by thigh-high boots with laces up the front and a small heel, so it balanced.
Her simple black tank was tight and showed off her arms and shapely chest. Her neck boasted a good amount of silver and her hair was in its signature bird nest. While her eyes were framed with her signature gel liner that cut me with its perfection, it was the dark circles under them, the almost translucent quality to her pale skin and that slight emptiness behind her eyes that worried me.
“What did I miss?” she asked, clinging to nonchalance and perfecting the act.
Almost.
“Oh, obviously about a hundred memos that the ‘I blew the entire cast of Metallica’ look is out,” I informed her happily, giving her outfit a pointed look. “And that you’re paying for the first eight margarita jugs.”
Her eyes lit up in that empty way. “Margaritas? Does that mean tacos after we get this over with?”
I grinned at her. “I love that your mind works like mine.”
“Doesn’t bode well for the rest of the world, considering its survival relies on the way a crazy vampire and an equally crazy and possibly possessed witch think,” Duncan muttered.
Sophie and I simultaneously flipped him the bird.
“Now that everyone’s here, could we possibly stop discussing fucking Mexican food and start discussing how we’re going to combat a faction of immortals who are currently plotting to overthrow the entire fucking way of life that you two so fondly like to live and wreak havoc in?” a voice asked smoothly and calmly, wrapping over the profanity in the sentence with added inflection that gave it an almost physical quality in the air.
I glanced to Rick, who was now leaning forward slightly on his elbows, giving me an even look, but the storm was closer to the surface.
“Sure, if we must,” I replied. “But don’t pretend that sass”—I gestured to his face—“isn’t because you’re not invited for tacos. I didn’t make the rules. I just break them.”
His jaw ticked.
I smiled.
Thorne shook his head with a small, satisfied grin as he pointedly yanked me into his side, laying a kiss on my head, his eyes still swimming with that strange intensity.
“We need to talk through this shit about the fighting so we can go home and do the other thing that you said goes with fighting,” he murmured in my ear.
My stomach fluttered.
“Sex, you mean?” I asked, not murmuring. There wasn’t much point in murmuring, other than for the air of seduction. “Yes. That’s a great motivator.”
My own eyes darkened at the group at large.
“All right, is there a PowerPoint presentation on how we do this, or does someone just start speaking?” I paused, looking around the cavernous room. “Wait, why don’t we have one of those maps on a table with little figurines representing everyone in the fight and their place in it, like in Game of Thrones? I think the Isla figurine would’ve been wonderful.”
I pouted at the single computer in the middle of the rough semicircle we’d formed.
Rick pushed off his throne to strut over to the laptop, pressing a few buttons. The room darkened slightly so a square on the wall to the left of us illuminated like a movie screen.
On it were various pictures of decapitated bodies and flaming building appeared.
And more videos of wreckage and corpses—human, werewolf, vampire, and hybrid.
“Show and tell got a little more gory since I was in school,” I commented. “No, wait. It’s actually less gory considering at my school—you know, a few centuries ago—such contraptions didn’t exist. Everyone brought in their own severed limbs.”
“We’ve got the location of one of the witches. She’s in the dungeon at Isla’s childhood home in Russia,” Sophie stated bluntly.
I frowned at her. “So they’re not together? How did I miss that?”
She gave me a look. “They were contained in the place where they were bound, and the binding magic on their power still remains. But it seems they are somehow tied to all of this prophecy stuff, since they’ve been getting stronger with each of the events that have happened.” She paused, her eyes going glassy. “With the fall of the immortals comes the rise of those once banished beyond the shadows.”
“Here we go,” I muttered.
The moments that followed were loaded with foreboding, but thankfully silent.
I let out a breath. “Thanks to whoever decided not to give you another prophecy or weird riddle for us to decipher. We’ve got quite enough, thank you very much.”
She scowled at me.
“So the gist is, these witches are somehow connected to the hybrids? Not just because they’re the ones who are needed to create them, but it seems they’ve got a definite stake in this war, since the more the hybrids and the movement in general gain traction, the more powers they have.”
Sophie nodded, looking around the room. “Isla’s right, for once.”
“Isla’s always right,” I shot back, scowling.
She ignored me. “Because of their growth in strength, the strongest of them all are cloaked to me. After their separation, I could only follow one.”
“To the motherland,” I declared cheerfully. “That should be enough for you to issue me another pardon or whatever to go and kill my entire family on your behalf for treason, right?” I asked Rick.
His even features flickered slightly with my words. “It’s not that simple.”
I gritted my teeth. “Pretty sure it is that simple. Vampire
Then the thought of the rest of that day, the first time Thorne and I had kissed, turned my anger into something else for a hot second. “So I’m pretty sure you can sanction a mission to go blow them off the face of the earth and piss Hades off by making him have to deal with the nightmare that is my mother,” I declared.
Rick kept my glare with his level gaze. “The Rominskitoffs are one of the oldest Vein Lines in our race.”
I widened my eyes. “Really? Oh my gosh, I hadn’t even realized. You’ve just blown my little mind. So?”
“So it’s not easily that I can sanction such a mission to annihilate most of them, on the word of a witch and traitor, no less,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I got that little piece of paper from you and Sweater Set that makes me the ex traitor now,” I reminded him.
“That won’t matter to a lot of vampires who your parents call friends.”
“My parents don’t have friends,” I corrected. “Either vampires with whom they’ve committed depraved acts over the years and who likely consider themselves just as superior to the rest of those of the fanged persuasion, or other vampires who want to use them to further themselves in this society. And finally, the vampires who likely are afraid of my brothers’ wrath if they even glance at them in the wrong direction considering Viktor disseminated an entire Vein Line for someone spilling blood on his jacket,” I clarified. “Sadism, violence, and fear do not make friendships.” I paused, glancing to Duncan, then Sophie. “Fuck, it totally does.”
Rick walked around the room. “My position on the throne is being challenged by a lot of Vein Lines behind the scenes, and as this rebellion takes more of ours as causalities, powerful families watch what decisions I make. These families consider themselves untouchable because of their blood and position. And they’re partly correct. If I officially sanction a removal of your family from the earth, then I disrupt the ideals of those vampires already tempted to throw themselves in with the traitors,” Rick explained.
“So you’re not going to give me my sanction?” I seethed. “Because of fucking politics? Isn’t this meant to be war?”
He stopped his pacing. “Yes. And in war, politics are more important than ever. As are the battles you don’t fight. Openly.”
I grinned at the meaning behind his words. “Openly? So I get to do it?”
Rick gave me a look. “Without official sanction, until proof is obtained.”
I grinned. “Sounds like permission to me. Plus it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” I paused, then laughed. “Wait, I don’t ask for forgiveness. Or permission.”
The air turned, and waves of fury pulsed through me with such a ferocity that I was sure they originated within me. I was momentarily confused as to what I was pissed about until my gaze landed on Thorne, who was holding his body stiffer than he had already been throughout the earlier conversation, which was pretty darn stiff.
“You’re tellin’ Isla that she’s gonna go and do your dirty work with all of the risk and accountability while you sit here on your fuckin’ throne and get to win the popularity contest?” he seethed. “If this all goes wrong, Isla is the one who gets fucked here, not you.”
I grinned at Thorne wickedly. “No, honey, if this all goes right, I get fucked. And even wrong is the best kind of right in the conversation of getting fucked.”
Thorne barely glanced at me, his emotions taking on somewhat of a life of their own. Their taste was something deeper and more complex than the simple fury at Rick’s decision.
No, tasting it, experiencing it through Thorne, I could tell Rick’s decision was merely a catalyst, the straw that broke the camel’s back to detonate whatever had been simmering between them since they’d come face-to-face. Since before that, obviously.
Since the beginning.
Rick’s smooth, emotionless face turned into something that was a controlled version of fury as he focused his attention on Thorne. “It’s not a popularity contest,” he clipped. “It’s survival. It’s being a king. Not something you’d understand.”
“Your survival,” Thorne shot back, stepping forward, his fury rippling behind him like a cape. “Not Isla’s. Since the beginning it’s been about using her to get what you want. And you wanted her too. But you didn’t get that shit. Even when you’re a king, you don’t get the queen. ’Cause that’s what she is. She doesn’t need a crown or a fucking mansion where she executes people to keep said crown.” He stepped forward again. “She’s a queen and she’s fuckin’ mine, not just because she chose but because the traditions and legends you love so fucking much are the things that make sure she is meant for me.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Beyond the rage, of course. A grim sort of triumph. One I didn’t exactly like because it communicated that I was some sort of prize to be won or lost or possessed in whatever fucked-up little game was going on here.
I was all for fucked-up little games, just not one where I was used as a pawn.
I opened my mouth, stepping forward to say something resembling that exact sentiment but with more profanities, when Rick bet me to it.
“Typical fucking human nature to focus on something as inconsequential as a woman in the face of the end of the world,” Rick hissed.
His voice was no longer smooth, nor emotionless; it was warped and thick with rage, as was his attractive face.
I wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t a little hot. Sophie’s eyes met mine and she gave me a wicked little grin to tell me that she echoed my sentiment.
Thorne didn’t step forward that time, but the way he held his body, coiled and poised to pounce, told me this was going to come to blows very soon.
I waited.
I wasn’t going to step in the middle. I wanted them to fight it out more than I wanted a new Birkin.
“No, that’s where you’re wrong. She is the fuckin’ world, and you know that. So you’re trying your best to get her killed. And that’s the surest way to ensure your reign ends how it began—in blood.”
Rick’s eyes blackened. “And you’re forgetting yourself, human, if you think you can talk to a king that way. And if you think you can finally best me over a woman whose legs you’ve gotten between and who you’ve fucked so you think—”
Rick was cut off by Thorne lunging at him and landing an impressive punch right between his eyes.
I was kind of disappointed that he cut him off; I wanted to hear all about my bedroom prowess.
Rick may have suffered the first punch, but the unmistakable crunch of bone on bone signaled contact with Thorne’s cheek.
I winced a tad at the pain in that one, only staying with my arms crossed because it wasn’t a death blow and Thorne only stumbled slightly before spitting out a mouthful of blood—and maybe a couple of teeth—before he lunged at Rick once more.
They were a blur of grunts and thumps of flesh on flesh as they continued to battle out what seemed to be centuries of frustration.
I would’ve loved to think it was all because of me. That would’ve been gr
But alas, even I wasn’t going to be that vain.
Sophie came to stand beside me, eyes on the fight.
“We should probably do something, you know, before someone loses an eye or something,” she said over the grunts. She gave a wide-eyed Scott a look. “Sorry.”
He grinned at her, then shrugged.
I kept my eyes on the blur of motion. “Probably,” I agreed.
Then we watched silently for a moment longer.
“I wish we had popcorn,” I commented.
“And wine,” Sophie added.
“Wine would be key. A nice pinot.”
She tilted her head at me. “I’m into merlot at the moment.”
I turned to look at her. “Branching out? I applaud it, but I’m just a little more loyal when it comes to wine.”
She poked her tongue out at me.
Duncan’s bored-looking eyes met mine. “Lassie, we’ll likely have to fight a war with one less king or you’ll have to find another slayer to fit this prophecy with if we let the boys be boys for much longer,” he commented casually.
I glanced back to the fight.
Thorne was breathing heavily and half of his face was covered in blood. A swollen hand signified at least a broken finger or two, and I reasoned he had to have a couple of fractured ribs.
Rick circled him, covered in a similar amount of blood, or maybe a little more—maybe I was just blood biased. Though he healed quicker, he was still looking a little less put together than he had moments before, and his suit was history.
I felt a pang of sadness at the poor innocent suit before I sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
Both Duncan and Scott motioned to move forward.
I held my hand up. “Um, what do you think you’re doing?”
Duncan eyed me. “They’re not likely to stop on their own. We’re going to have to help the process along.”
I nodded. “Well, of course. They’re all hopped up on testosterone, so they’ll rip each other apart. But why are you so adamant that the two men in the room joining the testosterone-riddled fight will actually stop it?” I shook my head. “You’ll likely only make things worse, since you fight like a man. We fight like girls, and that means we’re better.”