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The murderous urge is only quelled by the knowledge that if I did so, I’d have nowhere to keep Ishara safe for the next two weeks. Previously, it was the suppression of my will magically bound by my soul-captor that kept my violent needs at bay. It’s ironic that now it’s my protective nature that stills my hand.
“That’s a good metaphor,” I say, forcing my mouth to praise my father, even if it’s all a ruse. “With that many spirits, the death stone has sunk, and we simply have to wait for it to surface again.” I turn to Royce and give him a fake smile. “I’ll be sure to let you know the moment it’s returned.”
He snarls, which is a cute sound coming from a warlock. Vampires are more intimidating, at least.
“You asshole,” he snarls. “You just want to keep the witch pussy for yourself. You think I don’t know your brother is hiding her somewhere on Staten Island? I’ll find her myself and when I do, I’ll—”
His words are cut off when the elevator dings. I raise my eyebrow when Jasper enters the room.
His presence here is unexpected, but not unwelcome. It means he’s grown to trust Zyran a lot faster than I would have expected, but then again, he can read our intentions when he touches us.
I learned as much when I saw it happen last night. It must be some consequence of being triplets, or being brought into existence by a goddess. Either way, I’m grateful for the connection. I need Jasper to be on board and on our team so we can focus on protecting Ishara.
He stares at our father, his mood instantly darkening when he sees the poor girl on his lap. “Father,” he says.
Zane practically beams. “Jasper, is that you?” He slaps the girl’s thigh, making her squeak. “Fuck, let’s celebrate! Here. This bitch is on the house.”
I’ve never seen a hand severed so quickly.
Chapter22
Jasper
My father’s hand rolls across the floor, thumping over the wood as my chest heaves with anger. I grabbed a sword off the wall and acted on instinct.
Fucking asshole.
Well, not entirely on instinct. My instinct had been to behead the bastard, but for some reason, I didn’t.
Even though my unbeating heart throbbed for violence.
Even though the telltale signs of bloodlust had been so easily activated. If I don’t reel it in, I’m in danger of losing control for a few hours. It doesn’t escape me that I just tasted Ishara Doyle, my fated mate and an extremely powerful witch.
As a vampire, I could be prone to bloodlust simply by tasting her, and I’ve had more than my share recently.
Bloodlust is a dangerous thing for a vampire, even a hybrid such as myself. It sends the creature into a frenzy, one where fucking, feeding, and maiming are all one can think about.
I steady myself against it when I recognize the signs. Ishara would likely be my target, and she doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
So I take a steady breath, flaring my nostrils as I take in the metallic tang scenting the air. My handiwork satisfies a small part of me, but I still deeply crave to saw my blade across his throat.
Why did I aim for his hand and not his head?
Maybe he deserves a more prolonged death than that. Or maybe some remaining logic centers buried in the back of my brain understand I’m out of my element here and my father, as much as I hate him, is vital to the plan my brothers have put in place.
He can phase objects through matter, which is the only way Kor can kill the number of people needed to activate his magic. I’m not sure if he’s going to need to pull that particular stunt again.
Not to mention I don’t fully understand the politics involved. I hate politics, always have, but right now I wish I knew what was going on.
Because without understanding my father’s role, I can’t do something stupid.
Like kill him. That might endanger Issy. And I need to put aside my own bloodlust to protect her in any circumstance—even if it’s from myself.
But I wonder who’s going to protect the poor shifter still on my father’s lap. She’s frozen in time with blood splattered all over her. His fleshy stump is on her lap. The wound slowly closes as my father’s vampire nature heals him.
He’s older than me and my brothers. Much older, which tends to make a vampire stronger, so if I’m being realistic with myself, he might have evenallowedme to sever his hand.
If I had tried to behead him, I might be the one bleeding all over the floor.
