She just doesn’t know it yet.
Thirty-Eight
GRAYSON
The gag tastes like a sweaty gym sock.
Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover itwas, at some point, someone’s used sock. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to wash the putrid taste out of my mouth.
The Elder’s lackey—an unfamiliar vampire with bleached-blond hair and more muscles than a bodybuilder—drags me forward and pushes me to my knees. Pain reverberates through me from where my body connects with the cold, unforgiving ground.
I knew it was stupid to return to my apartment. Fucking knew it.
But I did so anyway.
This goddamn brute was waiting for me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him from taking me. Not that I would fight back, even if I could.
All they need to do is bring up Gracie, and I’m willing to do whatever the fuck they want. They know it. I know it. Pretending anything else is futile.
So here I am, staring up at my so-called “family” as they debate whether or not I deserve to live.
I don’t know where we are—the Elders change locations every few months to evade Hunters and other threats—but it appears to be a ballroom. A hotel, perhaps? It seems too grand to belong inside of a house.
Light from a dozen crystal chandeliers spills downwards in golden pools, casting soft reflections on the polished marble floor that stretches wide in all directions. Along the walls, tall, arched windows are visible in gauzy drapes that shimmer like silk under the flicker of candlelight from long banquet tables.
The walls, paneled in rich cream and gold, are carved with intricate flourishes—faintly baroque, like something borrowed from another century. Music, faint and lilting, weaves through the air, and the scent of roses lingers from some of the centerpieces.
At first glance, you would think the vamps are preparing for a party, not an execution.
Myexecution.
They are all dressed in fine dresses and dark suits, sipping from champagne flutes. The smell of blood teases my senses, hinting that alcohol may not be their drink of choice tonight. Intermingled amongst the Elders, I spot a few other high-ranking vampires.
None of them seem perturbed to see me tied up and gagged, blood seeping from a wound on my temple.
Piper DeLong sneers at me from over the rim of her glass. “You disappoint me, Grayson.”
Edward, the unofficial leader of the Elders, takes a step towards me. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
It’s not a request.
I give him a droll look, unsure of what he wants me to say with a gag in my mouth, and Edward impatiently snaps his fingers at the brute behind me. Immediately, the gag is removed, and I suck in a jagged breath that feels like knives dragging along my throat.
Edward watches me dispassionately, but he doesn’t speak again as he waits for me to collect my bearings.
I try to quickly think through my response.
When I was kidnapped the first time, the Elders used me—along with a half dozen other vampires—to attack the shifters. Everyone died, except for me.
Including Vlad, their little pet.
“I did exactly what you wanted,” I manage to grit out, my vocal cords screaming at me. It’s been too long since I last spoke. “I arrived, I attacked the shifters, and then I got the fuck out of there when things went to shit.”
“They’re all dead,” Telly Montgomery murmurs, brushing at a strand of black, curly hair. She levels me with an unreadable look. “Including Vlad.”
“Can’t say I’m too sorry to see the prick go,” I confess, feigning nonchalance. “I told him to get the fuck out of there, but he wanted to remain and gloat.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Vlad made the decision to track down Izzy—which was definitely not a part of the plan. The Elders instructed us to kill as many shifters as we could, not interrogate them for information.
