“Who do you serve, Nathan?”
“Althea,” he breathes.
My blood runs like ice. I’ve heard him sound like that before, when he’s in the middle of a bad spell and he finally gets his hands on a fix.
“Who do you love?” Althea asks, narrowing her eyes at me before shooting a hostile glance at the doorway. Maureen must still be watching.
“Only Althea,” Nathan murmurs. “Althea, my mistress.”
She grins. “Good boy,” she purrs, patting him on the head. “Come along now, there’s nothing interesting left to do—in here.”
With blood still coating her lips and chin, she gives him a hooded look that sends shivers down my spine. I squeeze my eyes shut against the unwelcome imagery of what she could do to him in private, but open them again as she starts to drag him from the room. He’s not even looking at me, too focused on his new mistress, but I force myself to watch him go. To witness the full brunt of my failure.
Once Nathan and Althea are gone, the atmosphere of the entire room seems to shift as, one by one, all eyes turn to me. Now I’m the center of attention, and it makes my blood feel like ice water.
“A hunter,” the old man growls between his teeth, leaning toward me. “The same punishment cannot be meted out to her. Hunters cannot be permitted to live.”
Lizbeth nods grimly. “On this we agree, Tyresius.”
The rest of the Elders at the table, the ones who haven’t yet spoken, voice their own agreements. It’s unanimous—except for Bastian, who still hasn’t said a word.
I search for his eyes, and he finally allows me to see them, meeting my gaze. His face is hard. Impassive. That’s all it takes for me to realize he won’t go against the Elders in this. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. I can see the pain in his eyes, the resolve in his spine when his gaze brushes over my weapons.
His parents were slaughtered in front of him by the likes of me. I wonder if the weapons they used were the same.
I breathe, calling on my hunter zen. I’m not planning to hunt, but I’ve seen enough death to know that I don’t want to die panicking. I straighten, battered and bruised, and meet Bastian’s gaze defiantly. The least I can do is make sure this memory sticks with him for the next couple hundred years.
“Did you not hear, tribute?” Tyresius demands. “You are to be put to death for your crimes.”
“To me and mine, I have committed no crimes,” I shoot back, letting the truth of it ring through my voice. “I took my life in my hands the moment I chose to defend humanity from the likes of you.”
He snarls at me and makes a sharp gesture in the air. Vampires move in from all sides, jockeying for position around me. My stomach drops as I realize they’re going to tear me apart. I’ve seen the aftermath of that, once. There wasn’t much left but a zipper, some hair, and a couple fingernails. Everything else had either been eaten or torn small and spread thin. The gore covered an alley from one end of the block to the other, up both sides to the rooftops. A rat ran over my foot with an eyeball in its mouth.
Bile rises in my throat at the memory, but I swallow it down and keep my eyes steady on Bastian’s.
The feral, animalistic growls all around me grow louder as the vamps creep closer. They’re breathing on me, licking my skin at my pulse, teasing me. They want me broken with terror before they get rid of me. They won’t get the satisfaction. I swear to god, they won’t.
“What? No begging? No remorse?” Lizbeth sounds offended.
At some unseen signal, the vampires fall back half a step. I turn my gaze from Bastian to the too-young looking vampire and smile at her. She doesn’t like that, which makes me smile wider.
“Beg? For what? A chance to be somebody’s helpless pet?” I spit the last word, and she wrinkles her nose. I won’t even bother addressing her “remorse” comment. I have nothing to feel guilty about except my failure to protect Nathan.
Lizbeth’s gaze darts from my face to the faces of the tributes standing unobtrusively against one wall, and then to the vampires gathered around me. I can feel their fierce attention, their hunger, held back only by the command of the vampire court stationed at the table.
She scowls and raises her hand. She’s going to signal them to attack. Bastian won’t stop them, I know he won’t. I don’t see Rome or Connor in the crowd, and I can’t decide if I’m glad or sad about that. I think it might break my heart to see them turn their backs on me too.
“Stop,” Tyresius says suddenly.
I blink at the ancient looking vampire, shocked out of my fear for a moment. Lizbeth turns to face him, looking as surprised as I feel.
“I beg your pardon?” she hisses.
“I don’t like beggars.” Tyresius scowls at me. “But I prefer them to martyrs.”
He nods toward the tributes in the audience, then shakes his head. I follow his gaze, my heart constricting. Fuck, I didn’t realize any humans had entered the room. It’s definitely not all of the tributes, just some, and they’re cowering in a tight group watching everything play out before them. I don’t see Jessica, thank fuck, but I do see Winona. She’s white as a damn sheet.
“So? What do you suggest?” one of the other Elders asks.
Tyresius is quiet for a long moment, then he smiles. It’s not a pleasant smile.
“The hunter will become the hunted,” he says softly, like he’s quoting from
