Page 50 of A Betrothal So Bloody

Fine. With everything brewing within me, perhaps I can use a little more bloodshed.

sixteen

Dante is straining with every sinew to hold the wardrobe in place. The door bows inward from the assault on the other side—coordinated heaves that pound mercilessly.

I’m so fucking sick of fighting vampires in my nightclothes, I think as I use the serrated portion of my blade to saw at the bottom of my nightgown. The beautiful fabric tears, piling at my feet. A necessary sacrifice; I can’t risk losing mobility with the silk tangling around my legs. Still, my heart squeezes as I kick away the buttery shreds that had minutes ago swirled like clouds around my heels.

Splinters explode with the next impact, and Dante throws a quick, estimating glance over his shoulder at me. He’s only buying me time. Perhaps he’d have a better chance of holding them off if one of his own kin wasn’t aiding these humans. Every few blows, there’s an earth-shattering BANG that makes Dante stagger before heaving his weight back against the deteriorating piece of furniture that is now our last line of defense.

Legs now freed, I sprint for my personal effects, wrenching free the slotted leather belt buried in my bag. I fix it around my waist, sheathing a second dagger and a razor-sharp stake into their designated slots. Six vials of holy water lay at the bottom, but I don’t have time to seize them before the doorframe explodes inward. The wardrobe topples over with a deafening SMASH, and Dante is sent sprawling onto his side with a groan. I backpedal toward him, putting space between us and the gathering assailants filling the doorway.

Thomas strides in, followed by a group of weathered, grim-faced villagers clad in sturdy but well-worn leather armor. I count nine men, each of them moving with a disciplined efficiency that confirmed my suspicions. Hunters. I recognized a few faces in the line that formed, including the ones Dante had hypnotized outside. Their clothes are damp, drenched in foul-smelling mud—and they’re pissed to all hell.

“Any luck on the search, boys?” Dante’s callous smile breaks into a grimace. “Gods, you reek.”

The curly-haired hunter bares his teeth. “You bastard!”

At the protest from the others, he whips out an uncorked flask and flicks his wrist, sending clear liquid ribboning toward Dante. Though he dodges the brunt of it, some of the water still catches his skin, sizzling with an acrid scent. Holy water, then. If the hunters had any doubt about Thomas’ claims, there could be none left now.

Dante shuffles back, glaring—a vicious red line across the left side of his face when he lifts his head. I know he’d murder them on the spot for vanity alone.

“Ah-ah, he’s mine to take,” Thomas cuts in, stepping in front of the hunters. “Do what you like to the wretch, but he comes with me.” His smile is nothing short of devilish, looking at Dante like he’s the fatted calf prepared for a feast. He’s got a short sword sheathed to his hip—clearly not taking any chances this time. “We have so much catching up to do, brother.”

Another small step forward sets me on edge. I mirror Thomas, edging closer to Dante with both my silver blades bared.

“Out of the way, thrall,” one of the hunters snarls.

“I told you,” Thomas says. “She’s not his thrall. Not yet, anyway. But she’s protecting him, all the same.”

I scan the vampire before me, searching for any weakness, any favored stance, and come up empty. The best I can gather is that he’s probably right-handed. The wounds Dante inflicted on him earlier have healed seamlessly. Thanks to the stable boy’s blood, Thomas is at full strength. For once, I feel a beat of gratitude that I allowed Dante to nibble on my neck tonight, too.

“I’m an agent of the Corvus Order,” I growl, tapping the emblem engraved on my belt with the hilt of my dagger. I look at the hunters, seething and beseeching all at once. “This vampire is my mission—a mission that may cleanse this country from all darkness—and you’re interfering, you bumbling idiots. Get out, now, or help me put this one”—I thrust my right blade in Thomas’ direction—“back into the hellish grave he deserves.”

Murmurs race through the group—reverence and superstition in equal measure.

“I don’t take orders from a woman,” crows a heavy-set hunter. He grinds the base of his spear into the floor, lips curling. “Let alone one stupid enough to fall for a vampire’s whims.”

“Careful,” Dante cuts in. “You keep talking to her like that, she’s going to get stabby.”

“There was a time when Corvus was as nightmarish a name as the bloodsuckers they seek. But time has passed. That name doesn’t carry the weight here it used to,” the curly-haired one adds. He shifts his weight, like he’s still bolstering for leadership.

“How about a dozen trained slayers stringing you up by your ankles, watching you bleed out over days?” I fire back.

“Jesus.” Someone mutters under their breath.

“Told you,” Dante says.

“Funny, I just see one,” the spear-wielding hunter says, glancing around mockingly—as though women might melt into formation from the walls. “Where are your other warriors, hm?”

He ambles closer, and I don’t miss the way his greasy eyes linger on my bare legs, where the jagged hem of my nightgown rests above my knees. “You’re fiery, but I’ve broken in worse mares than you, girl.”

Men are the fucking worst.

“Do not test me.” I bare my teeth, glaring up at him.

Thomas groans loudly. “You bugs are entertaining, but I’m short on time.” He draws his short sword, starting toward Dante. “I want to be the bigger person, but God—I have to admit I’m looking forward to hearing your screams. When I drag you back to Father’s side… It will be like a symphony.”

A dozen coordinated shinks and clicks make him pause—the nine hunters have all raised their weapons, angled toward both vampires. I realize they’ve been waiting for him to distance himself from their line.