Page 103 of Bitten By the Basilisk

By the end, the white, gold-veined marble floor had been smeared with blood. Lance had lain motionless, having succumbed at last to Gabriel’s venom.

His father had struggled to remain upright, blood pouring from numerous lacerations and tears, especially a deep, wide gash across his stomach, one arm paralyzed from a quickly escaped bite, the other keeping his guts from sliding out.

Lance’s venom was relatively weak, so he had relied on doing as much damage as possible with his claws and fangs. At the time, Gabriel had been larger and more experienced, but Lance was far younger and faster. Now Lance and Silas were comparatively equal in size.

But Silas still had one major advantage—his venom. One good bite, and he’d have Lance beaten.

“Is Alice not coming?” his father quietly asked, hiding the words within his next gulp of wine.

Silas clenched his jaw but kept his voice even. “I’m sure you’re relieved.”

“Not at all. I revised my opinion of her at the banquet.”

He slid his father a skeptical look. “You realized she would one day inherit the spa, making it part of the nest’s general holdings.”

His father shrugged. “That, too.” He took another deep swallow of wine, nearly finishing the glass. “She may yet appear.”

Silas wished hearing that didn’t give him a surge of hope.

“In the meantime…you have some vengeance to dole out,” Father reminded him. “I trust you to handle yourself. Just don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“And what’s that?”

His father swallowed the last of his wine before turning a somber gaze upon him. “Don’t let him live.”

Silas absorbed his advice without comment. Part of him desired to see Lance suffer the humiliation of defeat for far longer than a few minutes.

However, his territorial instincts wholeheartedly agreed that he should slice open his rival’s throat the moment he was helpless, contrary to how his kind had come to act. The male was a menace.

Sensing another’s gaze, Silas looked askance at Basilisk William, who acknowledged him with a small nod.

At the start of the gala, William had spoken to him about Lance. Though he hadn’t gone so far as to condone ending the life of his nephew, he had all but stated that Lance as Basilisk would be a tyrant.

A wave of clapping and cheers signaled that the mating display on the central floor had ended in success. The pair slithered away together, heading directly for one of the exits.

Silas once again caught Nic’s eye. Once again, Nic shook his head.

An instant later, a shout echoed across the chamber. “Basilisk Silas!”

All chatter instantly quieted as Lance swaggered onto the central floor, smirking as if he’d already won. His second followed, but at a short distance.

Perhaps Father was right. Perhaps letting Lance live would be a mistake.

“I, Lance Larson, have challenged you for your territory and title,” he declared. “Before these many witnesses, I demand that you face me.”

Whispers rose, the atmosphere quickly becoming charged with expectation.

Silas’s human half itched to swell in size. His fangs and claws ached to eject. With effort, he held back these changes, preferring not to appear easily riled.

Instead, he smoothly descended from the dais, knowing Bruno would follow to act as his second.

“Third time’s the charm?” Silas taunted.

Lance’s arrogant smirk twisted into a sneer. “Something like that.”

The two of them remained on opposite sides of what was about to be their combat arena while they removed their adornments and stripped down to their skin.

Silas then slowly relaxed his control over his instincts. His upper half swelled, his shoulders and chest broadening, muscles bulging. His fangs and claws slipped from their sheaths.