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He did. Scream I mean, and then he was kneeling in front of me, sweating and bleeding while his eyes showed a flash of fear. Young people didn’t feel that much fear. That fear came from someone who had seen terrible things for a very long time.
“How many years?” I murmured, drawing a second drop of blood. Would I really torture him until he told me what I wanted? Absolutely, and maybe a little longer, just for insulting Anna.
“I have been in his service for a little over a century,” he whispered, the words broken from him.
I nodded and then had to work hard to resist the urge to cut off his head. “Did you do all of his killing during that time, his important deaths, the ones he felt personally about?”
He stared at me and recognition flickered in his eyes. He lunged to his feet and threw a death spell at me at the same time he thrust a small knife up into my heart, but I was wearing dragon armor, and I was an assassin. Like I wasn’t warded against death spells.
I gripped his face and pulled him to his feet while he struggled. I was really strong, probably from the blood, the rage, and the knowledge that I was about to taste the death of the monster that had slaughtered my father, taken my family, my happy innocent life from me and turned me into a monster that only knew how to kill.
The doors burst open, and the media came in with flashing cameras and eager reporters. They stopped directly inside the doors, staring at the carnage in a great deal of surprise.
“What happened to the Librarian?” a reporter asked, the one I’d thought least likely to want to see you killed. I was right. She wasn’t looking for a murder victim story, but a return of the Librarian story, which was a downright pleasant surprise. Except that I couldn’t exactly murder the cult leader in front of an audience.
What was a demonic angel assassin librarian to do?
I wrote a binding rune on his face, a bright, brilliant rune that I watched burn into his skin until his eyes went blank and he was blind as well as senseless.
I spun the ring around my finger and willed the dragon armor away. It took some experimentation with various things, but eventually, it melted back into my ordinary work outfit. Suddenly, everything was hard to hold up, including me. The pain of my internal injuries, and the effort of breathing with my poor abused lungs made standing up negligible. The ring gave me more than armor. Who knew?
The reporters had crept closer, avoiding the bloodiest areas on the floor. The board was busy taking care of the wounded.
“Is that the Junior Senator?” one of the reporters said, and then the cameras were clicking, and blinding flashes were reminding me why I was not interested in being in anybody’s spotlight.
“Sir, are you the new Librarian?” a pretty reporter asked, batting her lashes at Cross.
What kind of day was it going to be today?
“No,” I said, wiping the angel sword off on the cloak of the man I hadn’t killed. “I’m afraid that’s me.”
All the attention was back on me. I wanted to smile apologetically and shrink away, but I was holding an angelic sword that I’d stolen from a very powerful sect that would only forgive one cause for the act. Well, Cross had warned me that no sin went unpunished.
“I’m Elizabeth Montaine, daughter of Stephen Montaine, who was slaughtered by a cult following the demon that nearly came into our world today. I’d like to thank the Holy Order of the Sword of Truth for allowing me access to their sacred sword on my mission to defeat the darkness and bring my father’s soul peace.” I saluted the cameras with my sword and lowered it, hoping that would be enough to pacify them. All this bother for a sword. I should have kept it as an unobtrusive file, but then I wouldn’t have been able to chop off Jazharad’s head with it. That would go down as one of the most satisfying moments in my existence.
“You’re the Montaine heir and the Librarian?” The more-nice-than-most reporter asked slowly, like that was a lot to take in.
The reporters buckled in as a new group flooded the room. Felix, Jade, Trombull, Mirabel, Tiago, and the Scholar were there along with others, but once I saw my dragon vampire, I didn’t notice anyone else.
I loved him so completely, utterly and ridiculously, that the idea of spending another day without him was as ridiculous as trying to defeat a demon in its own world. I was finished being ridiculous today.
“I’m also soon to be the Scholar, Michael Stead’s wife, so I wouldn’t get too used to the name.”
He cleared his throat and came closer to me, walking through the reporters like they weren’t there. They made room for him, because his presence was so overwhelmingly vast, like a dragon, a real one, dwarfing everything else.
“I could take your name,” he offered with a slight smile. “I’ve never been particularly attached to Stead. Or we could hyphenate. Mr. Morell-Montaine has a nice ring to it.”
“You’re the vampire from Song!” the cute reporter accused, hitting her photographer so he’d take lots of pictures of the gorgeous vampire.
A fluttering in my veins reminded me that I’d lost a lot of blood, probably suffered some internal bleeding from Jazharad’s rage at my dragon armor, and possible lung damage from breathing ash.
I wanted to lean on the sword, but with those reporters taking pictures, I didn’t dare. The Holy Order of the Swords of Truth was not particularly forgiving. At all.
“Hey, fiancé,” I whispered to the Scholar, who was walking towards me much too slowly.
“Hey, fiancé,” he responded with a slow smile, moving to my side so he didn’t block the excellent photographers in the group. He took my hand, and we made an excellent picture, minus the blood and ash and more blood. Were we posing? How ludicrous. I tried to smile, but this wasn’t the best time for me.
“Hey, I think you should swoop me up romantically and carry me away,” I whispered.
