‘We’ve brought your sacre back.’
‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ Chrysabelle shut the door, glad to get away from Rennata’s line of questions. She had no intention of explaining what had happened unless left with no other choice.
The suite was almost the way she’d left it. A few insignificant things were missing, no doubt taken to furnish the cell Rennata had used to throw Tatiana off. Her sacre rested across the foot of the bed. Chrysabelle laid Maris’s sacre on the bed beside it, then stripped off her clothes and boots and changed into a high-necked white suede tunic and trousers and new slippers. She grabbed her sacre and slung it across her body. As good as it felt to be in her own clothes again, the weight of her personal sword felt doubly good.
She added Maris’s sacre over her own, then slid out the drawer in her bedside table and tapped open the hidden panel in the bottom, releasing the ring into her palm. She turned it in her fingers, wondering what power the band held for Tatiana to want it so desperately. It must be great. No matter. If handing the ring over to Tatiana was what it took to get Aunt Maris home safely, so be it. The ring could be dealt with later. Certainly the heads of the Families would be interested in knowing what one of their children was up to, no?
The sound of her name being yelled at ear-piercing decibels rattled the door. She dropped the drawer, shoved the ring in her trouser pocket, and yanked open the door. Rennata stood facing the way they’d come, her face a horrified mask, a gold pocket watch in her hand. ‘It’s not been eight minutes yet,’ she muttered.
Chrysabelle flew past. Something was wrong. Mal would have given her the time allotted otherwise. She burst into the great room, her heart pounding, and skidded to a stop beside him. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothos. I smelled brimstone as soon as I opened the door. We need to go now. Did you get—’
Rennata rounded the corner. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothos.’ While Rennata crossed herself, Chrysabelle nodded to Mal. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Wait,’ Rennata called.
‘What?’ Mal hesitated.
Rennata gripped the door frame as though she might tear it from the building. ‘If you go against Tatiana, you must kill her.’ She pointed a look at Chrysabelle. ‘That is the only acceptable outcome.’
Chrysabelle and Mal both nodded, and with the speed only a vampire his age could manage, Mal disappeared from the room. Chrysabelle chased after him, following through the open door and out into the night. She caught up to him behind one of the massive oaks lining the drive.
Neither of them said a word.
Two Nothos, one on each car roof, trails of vapor leaking from their nostrils. They were hideous. Wrongly jointed and excessively muscled. And not one iota human. Brimstone fouled Chrysabelle’s throat. She envied Mal’s ability to forgo breathing.
The closest Nothos reared back, its massive hand aimed claws down. Mal pointed at Chrysabelle, then to the Nothos about to jam its talons into the car roof, indicating he would take the one farther back. She nodded and reached for her sacre. Her hand trembled slightly as her fingers closed around the hilt. This was no weak fringe she was about to take on. Holy mother, help me.
The handle warmed in her grasp, reassuring her. This weapon was tuned to her, its hollow hilt filled with her own life’s blood to marry the blade to her as though it were an extension of her arm. It quivered in her hand, ready to taste her opponent’s flesh.
She started forward, but Mal held his palm up for her to wait.
The Nothos plunged its fist into the car roof. Metal screeched. From inside the car, Fi screamed. Mal slashed his hand down.
They both leaped out from behind the trees. In one silent jump, Mal landed on the roof behind his Nothos. Chrysabelle ran toward her target, a calm settling into her veins. She was meant for this. With a steely sense of purpose, she vaulted onto the car with a thud and raised her weapon.
Her Nothos yanked its hand, trying to free it, but failed on the first try. That bought her enough time to bring her sacre down on his shoulder. The hot blade bit into the beast’s stinking flesh but sizzled to a stop against bone. The open wound smoked, releasing a brand-new stench into the air.
The creature howled. Car doors opened. She unstuck her blade as the Nothos’s free hand slammed into her side and swiped her to the ground. The pain and impact sucked the air from her lungs. She lay there gasping, watching the beast’s shoulder knit back together in an oozing line of flesh and hair. That shouldn’t be possible. A hot blade left a lasting mark. Slowly, the creature turned, its yellow eyes scanning the night, looking for her.
Doc stepped in front of her, roaring like a jungle cat. His body had partially shifted into a half-leopard, half-man state and his fingers now sported lethal claws. The Nothos roared back, reaching for Doc. She pushed to her feet and whipped a bone dagger into the beast’s eye. Fluid exploded, coating the side of the creature’s face and Doc’s right arm. With a yowl of pain, the Nothos fell to its knees, denting the hood. It grabbed the dagger and pulled. The punctured eyeball came out with the blade, leaving a gaping, wet hole.
The Nothos flung the dagger at Doc, eyeball and all, but missed.
Doc hissed and was about to pounce when Chrysabelle grabbed him and pointed to Fi, the last person besides the drivers still in the vehicles. Chrysabelle yelled to her, ‘Get out of the car.’
Fi shook her head, shivering against the leather seat. The Nothos pounded a fist into the roof and she jumped.