Kresley Cole - A Hunger Like No Other

Oh, hell, no.

"I will feed and…heal. Turn again and never stop until I've killed…the Lykae. Slaughtered his…clan."

That's my clan, too . The door was bowing now, wood splintering. The Instinct whispered, Protect it .

"I'm really sorry to have to do this."

A shadow of a smile, then he grimaced in pain. "Emma the Unlikely…the killer of kings."

She raised the sword and took aim, tears pouring from her as quickly as the blood from her leg wound.

"Wait! Emmaline, the head first…if you please."

"Oh, my duh." She gave him a sheepish, watery grin. "Good-bye…Father."

"Proud."

He shut his eyes and she swung. She got through enough to knock him out, but sadly, this sword blew—so dull she had to hack three more times at his neck to sever it. Then his waist took forever. She was streaked with blood before she even reached his legs.

The Mob was dead-on to call this stuff wet-works.

Just as she finished with the last of him, the door burst open. She hissed.

Ivo. She remembered him from Lachlain's memories. She lifted her sword again. Hey, as long as she was in the neighborhood…

Why was he looking at her that way, red eyes glued to her? As though he adored her for her kill. It was chilling. He asked in an unsteady tone, " Are you truly Emmaline ?"

When more vampires crowded the door behind him, she realized one assassination might be enough for the day. She ripped Lachlain's ring from Demestriu's finger, then put her shoulders back. Myst always said, "It's not if you castrate an entire Roman legion, it's if they believe you did. Perception is everything."

In a voice ringing with strength she didn't have, she said, "I am Emma." Own it, own it . "The king killer."

"I knew you would be like this." He crossed toward her. "I knew it."

She raised her sword that totally sucked as if it were Excalibur. "No closer, Ivo."

"I've searched for you, Emmaline. Searched for years, ever since I heard rumors of your existence. I want you to be my queen."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. There were two options. Into their hands, or out the window into the sun. "But I've already accepted a position elsewhere."

Maybe she could trace—hadn't been able to during the fight, but damn it, she'd done it once. She could disappear before she even hit the ground outside. In theory. But she was weak from Demestriu's attack. Couldn't go to Lachlain. Blood running freely. You only went a few feet last time—not around the world…

One for two in terms of tracing. Didn't know if she could. About to bet the farm… But when they charged, she hissed weakly and jumped.

Flying! Tracing! No…

Landing on her ass in a bush. Spitting leaves in the sun. She leapt up, running for cover. She closed her eyes to the pain and thought of the bayou… Still thinking. Bayou! Coolness. Wet.

Her skin caught fire.

One of his eardrums had ruptured from her scream even as he fought to follow the sound. Then, in a last echo through the castle, it was gone. His heart had seemed to stop with it, but he'd sprinted on in the same direction, following the winding stairs. Lachlain remembered that Demestriu's rooms were located high in the castle, and he charged ever upward.

Now he heard only his own ragged breaths. He tried to scent her, but the odor of copious amounts of blood drowned all other smells.

At the landing of the top floor, he slowed to stalk in the shadows. The kill was imminent. He was almost at the door. He would save her, take her from this place—

He scarcely comprehended the sight. Demestriu lay butchered.

He saw Ivo lunge, reaching into a shaft of sunlight as though he'd dropped a treasure from the window. "No!" Ivo bellowed. "Not into the sun!" He leapt back out of the light. "Traced away!" He visibly sagged with relief as he rubbed his skin, then his blinded eyes.

Ivo turned to his two henchmen. "She lives. Now, get the video! I want to find out everything about her."

Lachlain was stunned. She couldn't have jumped into the sun…

He charged into the room, diving for the window, but saw only the empty field. She had truly disappeared. His mind was in turmoil. Had she killed Demestriu? Had she traced to safety? To Kinevane?

Behind him, Lachlain heard a sword being drawn.

"Back from the dead?" Ivo asked pleasantly.

Lachlain turned in time to see Ivo glance at the door to the adjoining room, through which the others had apparently exited. To get a video ? Lachlain had learned there were surveillance cameras that were capable of secretly filming. "You spy on your king?"

"Of course. Why ignore the benefits of the modern age?"

"But now you're alone." Lachlain bared his fangs with pleasure. "You've got to fight me on your own. No' with the help of a dozen. Unless you want to trace from me?"

Lachlain burned to rush home, but Ivo, he realized, posed a considerable threat to Emma. She might not have needed Lachlain to kill Demestriu— she apparently had done that—and there was no need for rescue. But seeing the fanatical look in Ivo's eyes, Lachlain knew he would never stop sending out his minions to hunt her.

Ivo raked his gaze over Lachlain's injured arm, appraising his opponent. "No, I'll stay and fight for this one," he said. "I heard you think she's yours."

"There's no doubt of it."

"She assassinated my nemesis when no one else could, and is the key to my crown." Ivo's voice was low, thrumming as though in wonder. "That means she belongs to me . I will find her. I don't care what it takes, I will find her again—"

"No' while I live." He gripped his sword hilt in his left hand and charged, striking at Ivo's head. Ivo blocked and their swords crossed, ringing.

Several more charges, each parried. Lachlain was out of practice, especially with his left hand. He sensed the other two returning and growled in fury, blocking a stroke from the back and slashing out with his claws, dropping one of the henchmen.

The other two put Lachlain between them. Before he could even register what had happened, Ivo traced to mere inches from Lachlain, slashing out with his sword, then tracing away. The blow ripped across Lachlain's shoulder and chest, sending him spinning to the ground.

Damp ivy. Oak trees. Home. She'd somehow made it.

Or at least to the grounds of Val Hall. But her skin still smoked, and she was weak as a babe from her injuries. How much blood had she lost? Had she made it so far just to die at dawn?

She tried to roll over in order to crawl, but failed. The effort made her vision go blurry. When it finally cleared, she spied a massive, black-haired man peering down at her. Brows drawn, he scooped her up into his arms, then began walking up the long drive to the manor. Emma thought this was the drive. She could also be mistaken that it was a man.

"Easy, girl. I know you are Emmaline. Your aunts have been worried." Deep voice. Strange accent. European and moneyed. "I am Nikolai Wroth."

Why did that name sound so familiar? She squinted up at him. "You are a friend of my aunts?" she said, her voice sounding faint.

"With one . And it seems only one." A short laugh with no humor. "Myst is my wife."

"Myst married?" Was that where she'd been? No, no way. "That's funny."

"The jest's on me, I'm afraid." As they reached the manor, he bellowed, "Annika, call off the goddamn wraiths and let me in."

Emma stared up at the sky, seeing swirling red swaths of ragged cloth circling the house. Occasionally she spied a gaunt, skeletal face, but it would change to beauty if you met its eyes.

The price for their protection was hair from each of the Valkyrie within. The wraiths wove each lock into a massive braid, and when it grew long enough, they bent all living Valkyrie to their will for a time.