This summon took much less energy, which was good as I was waning after the Form of the Chariot had taken such a beating. I didn’t need the Devil herself; only what she wielded. There was no bright glow, no hesitation; in an instant the card had disintegrated into red particles of magic, and in my hand I held a long, coiled whip with a solid black and gold handle.
“Let him go!” I yelled, scrambling to my feet and twisting the whip to gain momentum with the weapon I held. The vampire only spared me a glance when the leather licked at his face. When he did, I drew back, staying careful not to hit myself as I hit him again.
He dropped Indra, thankfully, and the hellhound leapt to his paws. I cracked the whip hard against the man’s face.
The vampire never got a chance to retaliate. Indra was too quick for him. The hellhound grabbed the vampire’s throat and I hit him once more. Within seconds the hellhound had snapped his fangs clean through the man’s throat, causing blood to paint his black coat with streaks of crimson.
Would I be able to do that in my wolf form? Would I be strong enough to take a vampire’s head off of his body? Was there a wolf-self-defense-course out there that I’d been missing all this time?
“Are you okay?” I asked, stepping closer and reaching my free hand out to Indra. He surprised me by shifting back, blood still painting his neck and side of his face. He nodded and reached out to touch my hand. “Thank you for saving me,” I said in a hushed voice.
“Anytime,” Indra replied. “I just–“
A vampire screamed, the sound becoming an agonized keen that made us drop our hands and look towards the middle of the clearing.
The fight was decidedly over.
Cian held Gavin’s head in one hand, his foot on the dead vampire’s chest.
“Stop!” he called, his voice sharp. The other vampires hesitated, Akiva shoving one of them back with a scoff.
The keening came from a dark-skinned woman kneeling at the far end of the clearing; a man with similar sharp features with his hand on her shoulder.
“You all knew this would happen. You knew what you were doing was wrong.” He spun slowly in a circle. Akiva came to stand beside me, eyeing the whip in my hand with a raised brow and a half smirk.
I rolled my eyes but did not let the whip disappear. Akiva’s eyes found and held mine, making my heartbeat quicken. At that moment, I didn’t want to punch him. It was progress.
“He didn’t do anything to you!” the woman screamed. “You did not need to come.!“
“I could not ignore your clade any longer,” Cian snapped. “Not when the council had turned their eyes on New Orleans because of you.” He glared at her and she met his gaze without fear or submission.
“You did not need to kill him,” she hissed, still not backing down.
“I tried to let him leave.” He looked almost regretfully down at Gavin’s corpse. “So what will the rest of you do? I will not keep you here, if you will not follow me. But it is me or somewhere far from this city.” He met the gaze of the seven surviving vampires. “Those are your options.”
Two men dropped immediately to their knees, staring submissively at the ground.
Another followed suit, though was slower to do so.
That left the woman, her companion, and two other vampires.
“No,” she said simply, getting to her feet. “We do not accept these terms, Cian. You are not the king of the New Orleans clade. Not to me.” She looked to the others and they gathered around her supportively.
“You will die for this,” the woman promised, her red eyes impossibly bright. “You and yours.”
“I’ve had enough.” Cian’s voice was low and he disappeared in a blur of motion, appearing in front of the rebelling vampires. He made a move to grab the woman, but his hand found only empty air and dissipating red mist. The woman and her supporters had vanished.
Her laugh echoed through the clearing, but they were gone.
“Akiva?” Cian didn’t turn.
The lich cast his gaze about, eyes red rimmed once more, but then shook his head. “They are truly gone, though I do not know how,” he admitted.
Cian looked to the three kneeling vampires and gestured for them to get up. “Do you swear fealty to me as your king?” he demanded, blood stained mouth dark in the dim light and dark blood painting his clothes.
The three of them nodded jerkily.
“Out loud,” Cian pressed. “You know how this works.”
“I-I swear,” the teenage-looking vampire was the first to speak. The other mumbled their assent after him.
“Go back to your clade and tell the others my ultimatum: you swear, or you leave. There is no in between. Am I understood?”
They didn’t speak. When Cian gestured dismissively they left, disappearing in the shadows of the trees beyond the clearing.
Finally, Cian turned to us.
Specifically, me.
“You’re a summoner.” He eyed the whip in my hand, which I gripped tightly still.
“And you’re King of the New Orleans clade,” I shot back, voice faltering. He was much more intimidating now, because of his attitude shift, and because he still held Gavin’s head in his hand.
Inclining his head, he sighed. “You can put that away. I’m still not going to bite you or cloud your mind.”
I didn’t quite trust his words. “You’re hurt,” I said instead, not bothering to look at the wounds on his arms nor the ragged bite on his throat. “Don’t you need blood?”
“I will,” he agreed, a spark of amusement playing across his lips. “And luckily for your racing witch’s heart, I have two willing donors right here.”
“Willing?”
