suddenly in the top five on my life’s priority list. I wrench my neck, squinting, but can’t detect any levers or buttons in this darkness and inch to the side for a better angle. A branch snaps underfoot. I hold my breath.
But the old vampire continues in his own world. He hasn’t heard me—he wouldn’t. The thick masonry of the Arts building is as soundproof as a fortress. It’ll conceal my approach. Because I act tonight. No matter what.
I’d have liked more time to plan, but this is my only window when I’m certain to be alone. I dropped my students at various points along the western coast of the island. Annelise will be busy trekking across the island. Between the rocky terrain and the bloodthirsty Draug roaming the countryside, even someone as talented as she is will be occupied trying to make her way back.
I push thoughts of her from my head. Focus. Only focus will get me out of here alive. Only my focus will save her.
Carefully, I check the urumi wrapped around my waist. It’s the rarest of concealed weapons—one part coiling sword, one part whip—that I wear like a belt, hidden until the last moment. It’s the most dangerous blade ever created, as likely to kill me as it is to behead any vampire.
And yet, in my pocket is something I’m banking Dagursson will find even more threatening: a simple plastic lighter. By the time he knows what’s happening, I’ll have my urumi wrapped around his throat and a flame threatening his scrolls. It’ll be enough, I hope, to make him tell me what he knows about my remaining family.
I take the handle of the urumi in my hand. It’s cold, and I grip harder, imagining my heart as cold as this steel. I flex my hand, pumping blood into my fingers.
I watch the vampire pull out a scroll. He shuts the panel again and walks slowly back to his desk. His feet find the way by rote, so completely immersed is he in his reading.
I will kill Dagursson. Preserve Annelise.
It’s all the courage I need. Slowly, I extract the coiled blade.
Guard Annelise. Behead Dagursson.
Forget subterfuge and strategy. I’ll storm in and surprise him, whipping my blade before he thinks to look up. Paper-thin steel will bite his flesh, bringing hundreds of years of walking this earth to a dead stop.
I stalk from the bushes. A shadow moves on the path. I freeze. I’d know the curve of those shoulders anywhere.
“Bloody hell.” I’ve only murmured under my breath, but I’m heard.
Annelise stops, turns, steps closer.
I tear into her the moment she’s within earshot and hiss into the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
Even in the shadows, I sense her recoil. “Hi to you, too, Ronan.”
I take my urumi into my left hand and grab her arm with my right, tugging her back onto the path. “How’d you get back so fast?” She shuffles close, her side bumping mine. I experience a stupid, pleased sensation and shove it away again. “You should be halfway across the island right about now.”
“Why, thank you, Ronan,” she says in a voice thick with sarcasm. “I think I did a great job, too. It’s all that stuff I learned about the Draug. They feed on fear, and seeing as I’m not scared of them anymore, they’re not hungry when I’m around.” She stops walking when I pause to wrap the urumi back around my waist. “I mean, except for that time I was covered in my own blood. Being covered in your own blood would make”—she stopped short, tuning into what I was doing—“what the hell is that?”
“It’s a weapon,” I say quietly.
“Thanks, Sherlock. I mean what kind?” She tentatively reaches out to touch the blade. Her fingers brush mine.
I clench my jaw. “Careful.”
“Does this…this”—she peers closer—“this most awesome object have anything to do with the fact that we’re whispering?” At that, she tilts her head up and pins me with her eyes. She’s closer to me than I realized.
I step away, beginning a brisk walk down the path. “Why are
But the old vampire continues in his own world. He hasn’t heard me—he wouldn’t. The thick masonry of the Arts building is as soundproof as a fortress. It’ll conceal my approach. Because I act tonight. No matter what.
I’d have liked more time to plan, but this is my only window when I’m certain to be alone. I dropped my students at various points along the western coast of the island. Annelise will be busy trekking across the island. Between the rocky terrain and the bloodthirsty Draug roaming the countryside, even someone as talented as she is will be occupied trying to make her way back.
I push thoughts of her from my head. Focus. Only focus will get me out of here alive. Only my focus will save her.
Carefully, I check the urumi wrapped around my waist. It’s the rarest of concealed weapons—one part coiling sword, one part whip—that I wear like a belt, hidden until the last moment. It’s the most dangerous blade ever created, as likely to kill me as it is to behead any vampire.
And yet, in my pocket is something I’m banking Dagursson will find even more threatening: a simple plastic lighter. By the time he knows what’s happening, I’ll have my urumi wrapped around his throat and a flame threatening his scrolls. It’ll be enough, I hope, to make him tell me what he knows about my remaining family.
I take the handle of the urumi in my hand. It’s cold, and I grip harder, imagining my heart as cold as this steel. I flex my hand, pumping blood into my fingers.
I watch the vampire pull out a scroll. He shuts the panel again and walks slowly back to his desk. His feet find the way by rote, so completely immersed is he in his reading.
I will kill Dagursson. Preserve Annelise.
It’s all the courage I need. Slowly, I extract the coiled blade.
Guard Annelise. Behead Dagursson.
Forget subterfuge and strategy. I’ll storm in and surprise him, whipping my blade before he thinks to look up. Paper-thin steel will bite his flesh, bringing hundreds of years of walking this earth to a dead stop.
I stalk from the bushes. A shadow moves on the path. I freeze. I’d know the curve of those shoulders anywhere.
“Bloody hell.” I’ve only murmured under my breath, but I’m heard.
Annelise stops, turns, steps closer.
I tear into her the moment she’s within earshot and hiss into the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
Even in the shadows, I sense her recoil. “Hi to you, too, Ronan.”
I take my urumi into my left hand and grab her arm with my right, tugging her back onto the path. “How’d you get back so fast?” She shuffles close, her side bumping mine. I experience a stupid, pleased sensation and shove it away again. “You should be halfway across the island right about now.”
“Why, thank you, Ronan,” she says in a voice thick with sarcasm. “I think I did a great job, too. It’s all that stuff I learned about the Draug. They feed on fear, and seeing as I’m not scared of them anymore, they’re not hungry when I’m around.” She stops walking when I pause to wrap the urumi back around my waist. “I mean, except for that time I was covered in my own blood. Being covered in your own blood would make”—she stopped short, tuning into what I was doing—“what the hell is that?”
“It’s a weapon,” I say quietly.
“Thanks, Sherlock. I mean what kind?” She tentatively reaches out to touch the blade. Her fingers brush mine.
I clench my jaw. “Careful.”
“Does this…this”—she peers closer—“this most awesome object have anything to do with the fact that we’re whispering?” At that, she tilts her head up and pins me with her eyes. She’s closer to me than I realized.
I step away, beginning a brisk walk down the path. “Why are
Similar Books
