Page 38

Something soft and fragile flutters behind my sternum, as if one hard stare would melt it away and leave me helpless. My brain is late to the whole thinking things through party, but I attempt to keep at least some cards in my hand. Fixing my eyes on his, I straighten a little. “Not much, that’s why I’m here. Actually, I’m not here about Cor directly at all. I am here to talk about the amulet he wore. And its counterpart.” No reason to keep quiet what I know in this situation.

The guard behind me mutters something under her breath, and the Norseman’s lips twitch. His eyes leave me for a moment as he looks at her and replies in the same language—Danish, maybe?—, but the weight of his gaze soon drifts back to me. Furs whisper as he leans back more firmly and hugs his fingers to the knobby ends of his armrests. Lording over me like a king.

‟Have you happened upon the talismans then? I require them back. Both of them. And the vampires that had them. Although I assume you cannot catch either the warden, nor my pet. It will suffice if you tell me their location,” he says, tilting his head thoughtfully. Thick ropes of blond hair slip out from behind his ear as he seems to ponder my stature.

I lick my suddenly dry lips with a just as swollen tongue. ‟I have seen both of the medallions, yes,” I reply carefully. ‟One on a rotting vampire who I had to kill for an actual breach of Contract. It got taken by a cultist while I was struggling with the vampire’s coterie. The other one, Cor’s amulet—,‟ the shudder at the description comes unbidden. Cor’s shackle would be a more appropriate term, but I have to at least look unmoved. ‟—He destroyed it shortly before your team arrived in the veil. It was pulverized.” Not back then, but by now, Looke has hopefully melted it down into a clump of nothing.

Egil’s immovable face turns dark, a cold, sharp glimmer of rage moving slowly and purposefully through his eyes. He does not move a muscle otherwise, but if he would… I am not sure anyone could identify my remains. ‟Taken. By a cultist?” The tone is icy; his question is more of a curse than anything else.

I nod slowly, trying to keep the fear from creeping into my voice. “Yes. They seemed to have a particular interest in the amulet. Took it the moment I was distracted by the fight.” No need to mention how Asha handed it over out of her own free will after leaving me to die. If this ancient vampire can smell lies, he will probably assume I lied to hide cowardice or something similarly unmanly. For once, I don’t mind the toxic masculinity.

“Do you have any information on this cultist? Their identity or location?” Egil leans forward slightly, his voice hard and demanding. I feel a soft breeze on my neck as the female guard steps closer soundlessly, lurking behind me like the reaper.

If I give him everything instantly, he will simply kill me and be done with it. If I don’t give him enough, he will not be any help. And if I piss him off, he might just kill me anyway. “Yes. His name is Arzel. He is the representative of some cult on the city council.” I pause, gathering my thoughts before continuing. “I have to admit, after hearing about your kiss, I am very surprised that you do not know about him. Or how present he has been in the city.”

Egil narrows his eyes at me, clearly intrigued by this statement. “What do you mean, how present he has been?”

“There have been… incidents,” I reply carefully. “Between these cultists that have been let into Babylon City and some local vampires. Incidents with vampires who rotted down to the bones and went crazy. I think they might be connected to the cultists. But I don’t know why the cultists would go after those vampires, after they have been friendly with the leading vampire kiss of the city.”

A flicker of worry crosses Egil's face before disappearing behind the mask of stoicism once again. He leans back in his seat and steeples his fingers together. ‟It seems my spy in Loreley’s ranks wasn’t as truthful as I assumed,” he finally says, surprisingly unworried. ‟I shall have to rectify that when I see him next.”

Ah, the circle closes. ‟If you mean Andrew Farthing, he is already dead. He seems to have been patient zero for the rotting plague. Luckily, Loreley caught him before he could spread it any further. Incinerated him after some light pressure.”

It would explain why he was targeted, too. If he can waltz into this man’s home base whenever he pleases, it would be easy to infect some—if not most—of Egil’s people before he can react. And it means the crazy vampire-taunting cultist in the veil didn’t just pick random targets. She knew exactly whom to poke.

The vampire drums his fingers against the armrest of his throne, his mind clearly on a completely other thing than the betrayal. “What do you know of demons?” he asks after a moment.

I hesitate, unsure how to reply without betraying my absolute ignorance. “I know your kiss specializes in hunting and killing them,” I eventually reply cautiously. “And I know that the cult that is in Babylon at the moment tries to make everyone believe they aren’t summoning demons. And that this is a lie. I’m pretty sure they sent a hellhound after me yesterday.”

Egil nods in agreement and smirks satisfied. “I was hoping you would be a smart little mortal. That means you could prove useful after all. No cultist has ever not tried to summon demons; it would be a paradox. Tell me about these incidents you mentioned.”

The Viking vampire has turned the situation around on me, and I am not sure how to stop it. I guess there are worse things than being squeezed for information when I planned to give it out, anyway. I just need to pace myself before I vomit out everything I know with no compensation.

As Egil leans back in his seat, I feel a flutter of anxiety in my chest. I had hoped to gain some information and protection from him, but I have vastly overestimated the situation and my position in this dialogue. But then again, he has every right to be cautious. After all, he doesn't know me or my intentions. And if I want to keep Cor’s and my connection a secret, I better do my damned best to dangle other, more juicy information in front of his ancient pillaging face.

I tell him, I have no choice now. I describe every little detail of the night of the silver coffin, until the moment Cor left the hospital. I leave out most of the interaction I had with Cor, except for that first one in the coffin room, but my story works fine without it. And I tell it all as earnestly as I can. It’s not that I think I owe him anything. A lie, even a big one, is easily hidden in a forest of truth. And there are some things, like Cor biting me, or the way we talked, how he made me listen in on Asha, that I don’t want the Norseman to know.

When I’m done, the Norseman doesn’t react. He doesn’t even blink; he just stares at me as if I’m not there, and he’s seeing something else. I still myself until the need to squirm becomes a physical itch and I can’t stay frozen any longer. And once I roll my shoulders and shift, I can’t stop moving. I become a nervous wreck, cringing and shuffling and clearing my throat like a child about to be scolded.

Only then does he take a slow breath and talks. “Tell me more about the vampire who guarded my pet. You say she looked sick?”

I nod tentatively. “Like her whole body was infected. Broils, puss, horrible stink.”

He nods, but switches topics immediately. “And you took off my pet’s collar.”

A statement this time. I nod again, pressing my fear-moist hands against my thighs to keep them still.

A pause, then he says softly, “and he didn’t kill you.”

Since I don’t have an explanation either, I shrug and lick the corner of my mouth, thinking. “He didn’t.”

The Norseman barks a laugh that startles me. The guard behind me snickers softly, more at my jumping than anything else. “He has never let the chance for a kill pass; you must be special,” the massive vampire rumbles, grinning broadly. And grotesquely. I’m not sure he remembers how to look amused and not murderous simultaneously.

I’m about to shrug, still off-kilter and sweaty from getting startled one too many times, when he nods at the quiet guard behind me. I know something bad is coming and try to whirl away, but I’m too slow and she catches my arm, twisting it behind my back abruptly. I scream as my shoulder is set on fire, writhing to ease the pain. It doesn’t help.

The blond vampire lady laughs, a guttural, rough purr, and uses my tormented arm as a handle to move me closer. “Touch your gun and I rip your arm out,” she growls warningly. I let my hand drop immediately, curling myself around the pain as I stagger in front of the throne.

And throughout this, the Norseman stays where he is, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He’s almost at eye level with me, but his glare makes me feel so much smaller. And when I’m in reach and the guard forces me onto my knees, he raises one of his paws and tugs the bandage away from my neck, exposing the old bites. I wrench my eyes closed and shudder beneath the wash of cool air against my suddenly over-sensitive skin. Please don’t bite me, please don’t bite me, please don’t—