Slaying the Vampire Conqueror(49)

The minute I’d killed, the hourglass had turned. Now the real game started.

We crept up the staircase, me leading with Atrius a step behind. I kept my awareness attuned to our immediate surroundings, but also peered ahead, to those on the floor above. Tarkan was easy to spot, but it was more difficult to keep track of the exact locations of the others.

We emerged in a narrow hallway. This was clearly a back path, originally intended for servants and others too unfit to be seen by nobility. But paranoia drives one to inventive measures. Tarkan had decided that this was the only way his followers would be able to reach him.

The first hall was empty. I could sense Tarkan’s general proximity, but it was harder for me to understand the specifics of the castle layout. People and nature were easy, their threads bright and clear. Architecture… that was more difficult.

I paused at the juncture of two hallways, reaching—

Atrius’s sword was already out, body coiled. Something came over his presence when he was getting ready to kill—a certain determined ruthlessness, a singular focus, like he was preparing to do what he had been born for. “Which way is he?”

“That way, I think.” I motioned, still preoccupied with the threads. “But—”

The answer was more than enough for Atrius. He started to move.

A moment too late, I felt them.

I grabbed his arm and wrenched him back with all my strength.

Atrius realized what I had a split-second later. Perhaps he smelled them—perhaps his superior vampire hearing helped. One moment I was grabbing him, and the next, I was pressed between the wall and him as he flattened his body over mine into a shallow enclave.

Seconds later, the voices drifted down the hallway.

One of Atrius’s hands pressed to the wall above my shoulder. The other held his sword, while I gripped his wrist—both of us battling for that arm. Every muscle of Atrius’s body was tight, ready to strike. All that taut energy surrounded me, raw power contained only by my grasp.

His breath rustled the silk fabric of my veil.

I shook my head slowly. I felt his eyes burrowing through that silk like hands pulling back layers.

The guards around the corner, oblivious, wandered closer.

“—doesn’t have a chance against him,” one of them was saying. “Have you seen him fight? Dunno why he’s trying.”

The other one let out a slurred scoff. “It’s not just about strength, idiot. He’s scrappy. You’ve never seen ‘im in action.”

“I’ve seen enough not to throw my money away. You just wish it was you in front of all those people.”

Tournaments. Sporting events. Mindless small talk.

I decided not to remember that I knew someone who used to talk about sports that way once.

Atrius’s eyes slipped to me. Then to the hallways, where the voices grew closer. To me again.

We couldn’t speak. But I knew what he was saying.

My fingers tightened around his wrist. I shook my head.

No. Wait.

A slight narrowing of his eyes.

Another shake of my head, harder this time.

No.

The boys wandered closer. They were high, or drunk, or both. One of them kept laughing at his own jokes.

This close, I could feel all Atrius’s strength, the warmth of his body enveloping me. It was distracting—especially because I kept thinking about what that body was capable of doing to those boys around the corner. His muscles still trembled, straining against my hold, but he didn’t pull away.

His chin dipped. The tips of our noses touched through the veil, and despite the fabric, I still felt the urge to twitch back at the touch. Not that there was anywhere to go.

He mouthed, Why?

No sound. But I saw the word on his lips. Weaver, I felt it on my own.

I just shook my head again.

What I hoped he’d understand: If you go out there and kill those boys now, then it starts the battle early. You’d better be ready to fight through the rest of them with me.

We’d have to do that later, of course—and I didn’t know what to make of my oddly strong certainty that however many there were, he and I alone could take them. But I hoped to put it off as long as I could.

In the hallway, the voices stalled. The boys had moved on to discussing who they were betting on for the next horse race.

Atrius stared at me, brows low over his silver-and-gold eyes. Then his fingertip rose and flicked the edge of the veil, making the silken fabric ripple.

And he mouthed, I hate this thing.

Beneath the silk, my lips thinned. Then, despite myself, curled into a smile.

I could’ve sworn that maybe the twitch of Atrius’s lips was almost a smile, too.

“What time is it?” one of the boys asked.

A pause, then the other muttered, “Shit. We’re late.”

The footsteps, quicker this time, moved back down the hall. Away from us.

I cocked my head in a way that I hoped said to Atrius, See? I was right.

He narrowed his eyes in a way that said, This time.

I finally released his wrist. My grip had been so tight that my knuckles were sore. He glanced down at his arm as the voices finally disappeared around the far corner, raising his brows at the red marks.

I shrugged and motioned down the hall—a wide open passage for us now, bringing us that much closer to Tarkan. We moved unobstructed through one hall, and then another. At last, I peered around the next corner to find a set of majestic double doors, two guards standing before them.