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“Because he’s meek and obedient?”
Finally, crimson eyes lifted to meet his own. “Something like that.”
They studied each other for a moment. Haven’s brow creased in contemplation.
“Do you have a name, vampyre slayer?”
“Cypress.”
“They found you among the Veritas, did they, Cypress?” Haven regarded Cy down the tip of his upturned nose.
Cy cringed and sealed his lips closed, glaring spitefully.
“So now you’ve decided to go silent?”
A thrill of irritation ran down Cy’s spine at that chiding tone. Still, he refused to respond.
“Have it your way then.” Haven shrugged, turning back to the desk and once more scrawling on the parchment in front of him. “Being silent may well save your life one day.”
“Silent and subservient, just like your kind likes,” Cy snapped, unable to help himself.
Haven paused, his shoulders going tight. “For someone supposedly born into captivity, you know little of how to behave around vampyres. Your mouth behaves in precisely the opposite way that it should.”
Cy glowered at him.
“Perhaps Varney was wrong, then. Perhaps you weren’t a pet. Those born in captivity never survive long in the wild.”
His callous words grated at Cy’s nerves. “I survived just fine,” he retorted unthinkingly.
Haven swiveled in his seat to study Cy. “And yet, here you are. Back where you started. That must be…frustrating for you.”
He was trying to goad Cy, to stir him to rash emotion. It was in the nature of a vampyre to seek chaos, to cause harm. Cy wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
But already the damage had been done. Haven sensed an opening and prodded the space despite the distance Cy sought to put between them. “How long were you a pet? Before your time with the Veritas.”
Again, he sealed his lips.
“I could make you talk, you know. If I wanted to.”
Cy scoffed. “You could try.”
“You think you could stop me?”
“In a fair fight, I’d kill you.”
Haven smirked, reclining back in his chair and assessing Cy over the bridge of his nose. “You’re confident. Tell me, slayer. Are you that good at killing vampyres?”
Cy leaned forward, allowing his scars to peek out from beneath his robe. “I’m exceptional.”
Solemnly, Haven nodded, pressing his fingers to his lips. “An exceptional vampyre slayer somehow now captured by the enemy. Seems like your Veritas training isn’t quite as effective as you’d like to believe.”
Cy bristled. What the Veritas did was nothing short of a miracle. They made life from death, inspired hope in an otherwise hopeless situation, pushed forward through the struggles and defeats of facing an impossible enemy. But he wouldn’t tell Haven any of that.
“I’ve been wondering how they live, what they eat. We beat them back over and over again, and yet they continue to thrive, springing up out of the soil like flowers. They call us undead…”
Still, Cy said nothing. Let the vampyre keep wondering.
The truth of the matter was that the Veritas’s founder was a genius, having established bases as soon as he saw signs of the pending apocalypse. At the time, he’d been considered a doomsday occultist, but the work he’d done had paved the way for the group’s success. For humanity’s salvation.
