Page 109 of The Guardian's Curse

“No?” Elliott said, comically indignant. While he stared up at Shoshanna, Alistair pounced. Alistair bore him to the ground, shattering the tile beneath them as he hit the floor. The frenzied crowd bellowed, apparently more vested in a bloody finale than a particular winner. He even heard a few shouts of kill him!

Alistair twisted Elliott’s arm up and planted one knee on his back. “People of the Casteron, your Baron has a choice,” he shouted. “I will grant you mercy if you wish it, but you will be severed from the Court and banished from the city. Refuse to yield, and I will kill you.”

Elliott squirmed. His voice was wheedling and thin as he cried, “I yield!”

Of course he would, the coward. For good measure, Alistair leaned on his arm, shattering his shoulder joint. Ignoring his cries of pain, Alistair raised his head to see the silver-haired man at the dais. The steward shouted, “Alistair Thorne has claimed the seat of the Baron.”

There were surprising shouts of joy, though he heard the whispers about his appearance. Let them think that that he had crawled from Hell itself. He cared for only one person, who stared down at him with Paris holding her hand gently. His old friend nodded to him. Then his handsome face twisted as he raised a hand to point.

Alistair had just enough time to turn before a stake slammed into his chest. He grabbed Elliott’s wrist as the weapon buried itself between his ribs. His vision went white, and his muscles went weak. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“I don’t lose,” Elliott said.

His eyes widened as Alistair grabbed his wrist and pulled the stake free. A gout of blood sprayed from the wound. Pure rage powered him now. “I’m glad you did that, because I wanted to do this.” With a growl, he swept Elliott’s legs from under him, then twisted his head around. In a haze of red, he tore the other man’s head from his shoulders and tossed it across the room. It hit the ground with a wet thump and rolled into the crowd. Bloodthirsty roars surrounded him.

Heels clattered, and he turned to find Shoshanna running for him. He swept her into his arms. The smell of her soothed his rage. Every beat of her heart was a gentle whisper that all was well. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

“I know,” she said. “Me too.”

“I need you to know—”

“Alistair Thorne, I challenge you to the throne,” a female voice announced.

Shoshanna grabbed his arm. Her eyes were wide with fear. “You can’t.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry.” He still held Shoshanna’s hand as he turned to see his challenger. “And who challenges me?”

“Vanessa Moretti,” the elegant woman said, stepping neatly over Elliott’s body. An organized formation of well-dressed bodyguards fanned out behind her, but none of them moved toward him. Though she wore a modern black dress and simple diamond jewelry, she had the regal bearing of a queen.

“And how do you wish to challenge me?” he asked.

“Combat befitting vampires of the twenty-first century,” she replied. “A vote will do.”

“Very well,” he replied, sparing a faint smile. “All who wish for me, Alistair Thorne, to be your Baron, speak now.”

“Oi, let the ugly fucker do it!” someone shouted.

“Seamus, shut the fuck up,” a woman yelled from upstairs. “Bloody arsehole.”

“And those who wish for me, paramour to your rightful ruler, who was slain by this treacherous upstart, who has known and loved the Casteron for over two hundred years?” The crowd roared their approval. “What do you say, Mister Thorne?”

“I yield to the will of the court,” Alistair said, bowing his head.

“By the laws of the Casteron, Vanessa Moretti is the Baron of this court,” Nordan shouted.

The raven-haired woman stepped up to the throne. “As my first act as your Baron, I pardon the human witches, Shoshanna York and Ruby Wang. They were enthralled against their will and weaponized against your rightful Baron. I will abide no retaliation against them.” Her eyes drifted to Alistair, and he nodded in recognition. That had been a critical point of their negotiations. Vanessa’s scarlet eyes scanned the crowd. “Victoria Beck.”

A petite blonde woman took a shaky step forward. “Ma’am.”

“Is your loyalty to the Casteron or to Elliott McAvoy?”

Her head dipped, and the woman knelt, just inches from Elliott’s decapitated body. “To the Casteron.”

“Should I hear so much as a whisper to the contrary, your life is forfeit,” Vanessa said. Her eyes lifted to Alistair. “Our guests from the Auberon may leave. There is court business that needs my attention.” She snapped her fingers, and a trio of her bodyguards approached Alistair. One gestured broadly toward the exit, and he took the hint.

Paris joined them, holding Ruby’s hand. The other woman stared up at him with sheer wonder in her eyes. Shoshanna clung tightly to his hand, her whole body trembling. He wanted to trust Vanessa’s word, but he was no fool. He wouldn’t rest easy until they were out of the court and back home.

When they reached the lobby, Vanessa’s guards led them out, and pointedly slammed the doors behind them. Outside in the moonlight, he grabbed Shoshanna’s face and kissed her. “Are you all right?”

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