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Nadia tried yanking her hand free, but Darrow didn’t let go. Kassemyr was ordering him, as his maker, to kill her. Something didn’t add up, but her mind reeled, focusing on the threat first, and the facts later. She swung her sword toward Darrow. It was a bad angle, but even a halfhearted strike with the inlaid silver in the blade might unsettle him.
It didn’t.
Darrow caught her wrist, stopping her attack. He let go of her other hand and grabbed the sword, forcing it out of her hand. She saw the feral smile on Kassemyr’s face, the eagerness in his eyes, and then—Darrow ran the sword through Kassemyr’s side.
Every sound in the throne room was muted then. No one dared to breathe.
Kassemyr stepped back, his eyes wide in surprise. He stared at Darrow while he shifted into his vampiric form, his skin turning deathly white, his eyes ice blue. His elongated fingers draped around the hilt of the sword and he drew the blade out. The smell of his blood mixed with the rest in the room.
Kassemyr dropped the sword and took a shaky step back. Darrow had shoved the blade right through him. But he was undead, and an old vampire at that.
“You can’t control me anymore, Kass,” Darrow said, and let go of Nadia.
“Since when?”
“Six months. Your blood no longer compels me. I’m strong enough on my own.”
Kassemyr forced a gasping laugh. “You tried to fool me?”
“Seems I succeeded.”
Kassemyr laughed outright then. Nadia could see the pain on his face, but he didn’t let up. Instead, he turned to the last three hybrids. “Kill him.”
They didn’t hesitate, but then, neither did Darrow. He shifted form then, into his vampiric one, the one Nadia now realized he seldom took unless necessary. His least favorite. Strong as he was, he levitated, meeting the others head-on.
Nadia bent and grabbed her sword, the blade still covered in Kassemyr’s blood. She backed up, trying to get an overview of the situation, but it all happened fast. Darrow was, like Kassemyr, an older creature than these hybrids. He was more in control, stronger, more experienced. Three hybrids were a death sentence to a human, but one by one, he killed them, in whatever form they took, his long clawed fingers slicing into throats and abdomens.
The donors screamed in fear and pulled back against the walls, some dragging the weakest with them. Nadia stared at the dried and wet blotches of blood on the tiled floor. It was everywhere.
Darrow ripped the last throat open. The vampire he lifted into the air, slumped, and then landed like a sack of bricks as he dropped it. Darrow landed on the floor and turned toward Kassemyr.
A bark of a laugh escaped the older creature. Then, despite the wound in his side, he levitated and flew toward Darrow.
Nadia watched them clash together, teeth and fists flying, their attacks vicious. She drew back, not wishing to be hit by accident, or on purpose.
Darrow, in this horrid form, was still recognizable to her now. Why had she not seen before that he never seemed to be out for blood in his vampiric form? Even now, he avoided biting if he could. He’d never tried that with her either, and he’d had plenty of opportunities over the last few months.
Noises from outside caught her attention. Shouts and doors slamming far away. Someone was in a hurry and they didn’t care that they were heard. Nadia risked another look up toward the upper gallery. Was that a shadow? A movement? They had to be there. Wouldn’t Kassemyr have paraded them in front of everyone else if they’d been caught?
The two fighting vampires crashed into walls and the gallery and tore and struck at each other. But finally, Darrow’s attacks became too much for the old and already wounded vampire. Kassemyr crashed to the floor, landing on his back. Before he could get up, Darrow landed right on top of him and bent, pushing him down.
“Nadia,” Darrow yelled and held out his free hand toward her.
For the first time since he was turned against his will all those years ago, Nadia took a chance and trusted him. She ran over and drew her silver knife and handed it to him, hilt first. He took it and was about to pierce Kassemyr’s heart when, right before the point of the blade struck him, Darrow stopped.
Nadia raised her sword, but then saw the shock and anger in Darrow’s eyes. The strain. He pushed hard to press that knife into Kassemyr’s chest, but it wouldn’t budge. Kassemyr’s face mirrored Darrow’s, icy blues battling each other in a silent fight.
“Icancontrol you,” Kassemyr persisted.
“No,” Darrow gasped. Nadia didn’t know what it was. Maybe a residual connection from Kassemyr’s blood? It didn’t matter. She could hear different sounds from outside now. Feet hitting the ground in a tidy and rhythmic jog. There was order and determination in those steps.
“I’ll grant you one thing, Kassemyr,” she said, and stepped closer. “Your hybrids are … well, they are so fast. I bet they’re all here by now.” She was sure she’d heard them return first, ready to hunt some Ghosts. There were a couple hundred of them altogether—so strong they controlled the whole city through violence and fear. “I heard them come. But do you hear that?”
Kassemyr and Darrow both lost control then; Kassemyr over Darrow’s mind, and Darrow over the knife as they both turned to look toward the windows. There was nothing but darkness to see, but they heard it too. Kassemyr twisted the knife away from his heart just when Darrow thrust it down. The silver pierced between Kassemyr’s ribs, and the vampiric screech that followed hurt Nadia’s ears. That didn’t stop her from smiling at Darrow when he looked her way, shifting back into his human form.
“I told you,” she said to him. “There are none as loyal and dutiful as the Wraiths. Despite everything.”
A crash sounded from above. The glass window of the upper gallery shattered and shards rained down into the throne room. Darrow and Kassemyr stared in utter surprise, the donors screamed, and Nadia, for once, yelled. “The masks, now!”
