“But a Salem nonetheless,” Corvin cuts in. “She’s your principal task, Valgrave. She seemed to fare decently during tonight’s attack, so that training must be yielding some results. Keep at it. She may not be as skilled as Esme, but she’ll have to do. With her brother still under… she’ll have to do.”
“Easier said than done,” I confess. “Brynn can be… hard-headed.”
Blythe allows herself a wry smile. “That’s the Salem bloodline. It comes with the package. But while we rebuild our defenses, while we heal our spiritual shields… we must use every weapon at our disposal. And there is hardly a weapon more effective than a Salem.”
A weapon.
That's all she is to them. Just another Salem-shaped gun to point at the enemy.
My jaw clenches hard. Doesn't matter that the girl's got a brain that could run circles around half our senior researchers. Doesn't matter she can stitch up a spiritual wound that would leave most healers pissing themselves. If she can't kill on command, they'll toss her aside like yesterday's trash.
But hey, the clearbloods did the same with Mazrov and every other poor bastard they sent our way. Used 'em up, watched 'em die. Rinse and repeat.
Some days I can't tell which side of this war is the bigger pile of garbage.
Today's definitely one of those days.
15
BRYNN
Sleep? After almost getting my soul ripped out through my nostrils? Fat chance.
I drag myself to the window of my turret room in Darkbirch's north-west wing and peer across the stretch to Esme's window. One quick vampire ride—that's all it would take. But her room's dark as a tomb. Empty. Figures. My sister gets dragon-napped while I get stuck with the world's worst hangover minus the drinking.
I've lit every damn candle I own. Can't read ancient grimoires in the dark, and the flickering light vibe matches the genre. Right now, books are the only things keeping me from losing my crap completely.
“Honey, you should be asleep,” comes Kun's voice, dripping like syrup from the shadows.
I hurl my knife at the wardrobe without even looking. The blade sinks into wood with a satisfying thunk, and out steps Kun—smirking and completely naked.
“Sweet merciful—” I yelp, spinning around so fast I nearly topple over. “Put some clothes on, you perverted shadow-creeper!”
“I was worried about you.”
I grab another blade from my nightstand and point it at his junk. “Don't be a creep, Kun. I've said no about fifty-seven times. Want me to carve it into your forehead next?”
The air gets thick and sticky-sweet, like someone dumped a vat of honey into a sauna. Classic incubus crap. I focus on Chad's stupid face instead—those annoyingly perfect shoulders, that smirk when he thinks he's won an argument, how he makes me want to punch him and... other things I'm not admitting. Gross. But hey, it works as incubus repellent.
“Just thought you'd want to know Sun and I handled that clearblood problem,” Kun giggles—actually giggles.
“Yeah, saw the corpse. Very dead. Gold star for you.”
“Sun had fun with his spine. Crack, snap, pop!” He mimes breaking something with disturbing enthusiasm.
“Dude. Therapy. Look into it.”
The wardrobe creaks as he leans against it. For someone who moves like smoke, he weighs approximately one metric ton. “Shame they didn't unleash us sooner. Not like there's anything worth guarding here if you're not around.”
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly hurt myself. “What do you want, Kun?”
“Checking on you. Making sure you're alive.” His voice drops to a purr. “Also, about that date you promised... Sun and I are absolutely starving for you, Brynn...”
“Not happening, Kun. Not if you were the last incubus in the multiverse and I was dying of... whatever it is incubi cure.” I twirl the blade between my fingers. “And don't pull that 'you owe me' crap. Killing clearbloods is literally your rent payment to Darkbirch.”
“We could show you ecstasies beyond mortal comprehension,” he purrs, voice dripping like melted caramel. “Pleasures that would make your Salem blood sing.”
Yeah, my completely untouched Salem blood. Virgin territory, as it were. But telling him that would be like throwing raw meat to a starving wolf. I flick the blade toward his general direction.
