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Spirits. I don’t think I can handle any surprises,I think as Zy leads me to a winding staircase.
I very much change my mind about that when I see the roof.
Because there are roseseverywhere. They’re of every color imaginable and I can’t spot a single defect in the winding array of gorgeous petals.
Spirits. I think I just fell in love.
Chapter21
Kornelius
My father looks like the prick he is as I peer at him over my steepled fingers.
Slicked-back blond hair. Dead blue eyes. And fangs still tinted red with blood from his latest victim.
He usually kills someone before he comes to visit, knowing that it gets under my skin, but this time he’s actually brought a girl to sit on his lap.
She’s half-conscious as she teeters on his thigh. Blood drizzles down her neck and chest, soaking into her silver-sequined dress.
The scent makes me dizzy, but not hungry. I haven’t fed in days, but my control has always been strong when it comes to my vampiric nature.
Perhaps it’s because I’m only half vampire and half something else.
It’s the “something else” that always pisses off my sperm donor. The cloaking spell that the patriarchs came up with for us works on our shared death magic. I can walk freely on Staten Island.
He cannot.
Royce is peering out the window, frowning because he is disappointed Ishara isn’t here. “A safe location?” he repeats. His tone has gone whiny and is grating against my ear.
“Yes,” I reply, leaning back into my chair. I keep myself completely at ease as if there aren’t two murderers in my den. “As I said, Daithi gave us an order to protect her virtue while preparations are being made for his resurrection.”
“An order we conveniently can’t confirm,” my father says as he nuzzles the poor female’s neck.
Based on her scent, she’s some sort of shifter who must have been picked up in No Man’s Land. My father mainly frequents the Vampire Syndicate in the Bronx, but he does enjoy hunting, too.
I don’t know how the vampires in the syndicates operate and I don’t care. What little blood needs I have are met by the bags in our freezer. I don’t know where the supply comes from and I don’t ask, but I do make a point to ration as much as possible.
Only the Gods know where the patriarchs are getting their blood supply for their little pets from.
I tire of their tactics just as I tire of being apet.
Royce taps the glass. “Yes. I’m not sure if I buy your story about the death stone disappearing due to so many deaths.”
“It’s simple,” I say, easily formulating the lie that will be enough to buy us some time. Especially if I pull at the threads of Royce’s weakness, which is his arrogance. “You do know what happens to the death stone when a thousand spirits pass, don’t you?”
He frowns. Of course he doesn’t know, because it’s not something we’ve ever had to encounter. But I act like this must be common information, which already puts him on edge.
He hates to be ignorant, of which he’s guilty quite often.
“Of course,” he snaps. “It just makes sense that it would weigh the stone down. But if you expect me to believe that—”
“So it has sunk like a stone to the bottom of the death plane; is that what you’re saying?” my father asks.
There’s a twinkle to his eye that suggests he’s playing along, but I’m not sure why he wants to help me.
It most likely has something to do with the little witch we’ve taken custody of. Royce wants a taste, and my father no doubt wants abite.
Neither of which is going to get the opportunity before I rip their heads from their bodies.
