Rhiannon Frater - Pretty When She Destroys

Bianca’s gaze slid to the other medium. Amaliya’s eyes were wide, staring, her breath rattling in her throat. She wasn’t gone yet, but close. Tendrils of the vampire’s power punctured Amaliya’s body, feeding her false life. The other medium’s lips and tongue were stained with blood.

Tears blurring her vision, Bianca reached out to Amaliya, her fingers straining for the other woman’s hand. So many regrets filled her. If only she had been wiser, stronger, and bolder, maybe she could have saved Amaliya.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

The vampire didn’t answer. Striking as swiftly as a viper, his fangs tore into her throat, her blood spilling into his mouth and onto the ground. Bianca tried to call out, but his power rendered her speechless. Even as the agonizing pain threatened to swallow her into unconsciousness, Bianca strove to reach Amaliya’s limp hand. The vampire savagely tore at her flesh, the excruciating pain her punishment for interrupting him. She could feel his anger pouring into her, but she fought against the giant wave of his power. Death loomed ever closer, but she fought against it.

With one last great effort, Bianca managed to at last touch Amaliya’s fingertips with her own. Or maybe Amaliya had reached for her? Just a spark of life remained in the other woman.

Find me, Bianca whispered into the dying woman’s mind. Find me. We will defeat him together.

The vampire tore Bianca from Amaliya, dragged her into his arms, and forced her mouth against the wound he’d inflicted on himself. Cold blood poured into her mouth, gagging her as his dark magic infested her dying body, binding her to him forever.

July 2012

The aggravation Santos felt toward his sister, Etzli, was beyond the normal low-grade variety he usually experienced. She had simply vanished from the house earlier in the night and none of the cabal knew where she had gone. Even Gregorio, who was obsessed with her, had no idea where Etzli may have slipped off to.

Pacing in his office, Santos clutched his cellphone in one hand. Every call he’d made had resulted in the knot in his gut clenching ever tighter. With all that was going on in the supernatural realm, he couldn’t believe his sister would be so flagrantly inconsiderate. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea that Cian and his necromancer-vampire hybrid may have taken her.

Dark hair falling over his brow, he rested his hands on the edge of his desk. Everything felt wrong. The takeover of Austin and the capture of Amaliya should have been easy. Instead, he had lost a valuable witch and was quickly losing face in the eyes of the other vampire leaders. Santos had fought hard to claim San Antonio, Texas as his territory and meticulously created a strong cabal that was feared by the other vampire masters of Texas. He refused to lose their fear and respect.

For years he had left Cian alone in Austin. The most powerful of vampires, The Summoner, had created Cian. For that reason, Santos had not dared to move against him. Cian had lived a solitary life in his small college town for nearly forty years. The last decade had altered the state capital into a growing metropolitan area that was able to now support a greater vampire presence. The arrival of Amaliya had changed things further when she killed The Summoner.

Amaliya was pure power.

Santos loved power.

With The Summoner gone it was time to kill Cian and claim Amaliya, but nothing had gone as planned. To make matters worse, Etzli, the one person who was supposed to be his unwavering supporter, had been elusive and contrary of late. Santos had already lost Irma, his black witch, and Manny, one of his guards, this week when he’d sent them to test Amaliya’s power. He didn’t want to lose anyone else, especially his sister.

Checking his phone again, Santos growled low in his throat. None of the people searching for Etzli were reporting in. This was not a good sign. What if she was dead? The thought terrified him. They’d survived for so long together he couldn’t bear the thought of not having her near him.

There was a sharp knock on his office door, then it opened without his permission. Gregorio poked his narrow, craggy face through the gap.

“Since when do you just barge in, Gregorio?”

“My master, there’s a situation developing. You must come quickly!”

“What is it?” Santos asked, his voice sharp with disapproval. Now his servants were disrespecting him in his own home. He’d deal with whatever was upsetting Gregorio then punish him.

“Etzli has returned, but not alone. It’s...” The man hesitated. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and upper lip. Fear was in his eyes.

“Is she hurt?” Santos moved swiftly toward the human.

“They’re with the blood minions. It’s very bad,” Gregorio muttered, lowering his eyes in submission. “Very bad.”

Santos wrenched the door from the man and brushed past him into the long hallway. The heels of his highly polished black leather boots clicked sharply against the tiled floor as he swiftly strode toward the wing where he kept the humans that provided blood to his cabal. The blood minions were well taken care of and offered their throats and necks, and sometimes other choice spots, willingly and without complaint. They were addicted to the vampire bite. Santos kept them in luxury until either they died or were turned into new members of his vampire family. A few of them were his personal favorites, and only fed him. There were very strict rules in place when it came to the minions. One was not to kill them without Santos’s explicit permission.

The reek of blood, terror, and offal reached him when he entered the wing the minions inhabited. Screams, sobs, and moans assailed his ears, emanating from the large room used as a recreational room. Bursting into a sprint, Santos leapt the length of the hall. The footfalls of his cabal sounded in his wake. Word spread fast among his vampires when something was amiss.

The vampire hurtled through the arched doorway into the room.

Blood splashed the walls, stained the furniture, and puddled on the floor. The bodies of the minions were strewn about like debris after a Texas tornado. One his favorites, seventeen year old Ricky, lay in two pieces near his feet.

“Etzli!” Santos shouted, rage blinding him so that he didn’t immediately see if she was among the broken, torn bodies.

“She was hungry,” Etzli said calmly from the shadows.

Santos whirled about, glaring at his half-sister. Long black hair glimmered in the light and her dark eyes burned like coals. Clad in a black dress that was slashed to the thigh, she held one of her bone knives in one hand. Blood was slathered across her full lips. Raising one arm, she revealed a twisted, stumpy hand.

“And I needed to regrow this.”

Confused and frightened, Santos grabbed her mutilated limb. “Who did this to you?”

“Cian,” Etzli answered.

“Cian?” Santos stared at her, not understanding. “You fought Cian?”

“And Amaliya.”

“Where?”

“A graveyard in the Texas Hill Country.” Etzli smirked, obviously enjoying feeding him only tidbits of information.

“Why did you go there alone?” Santos demanded.

“I wasn’t alone.” His sister turned adoring eyes toward the center of the room.

“Master, she’s still killing,” Gregorio said, his voice urgent.

Disoriented by all that was occurring, Santos whipped about to see a girl he didn’t recognize crawling on her toes and fingertips toward a cowering female human. At first he thought it was a child, but then realized it was a young woman, perhaps in her late teens. Blood soaked her pale blond hair, stained her white lace dress red, and dripped from her lips.