Page 153 of The Rogue's Curse

“It’s going to help me get close to my target,” he said. “You’re not the only one hunting.”

At that, she grinned. “We could race to see who gets our kills first.”

“I’ll win,” he said, chuckling at her little pout. Then he nodded to her and said, “I should report in. Good night, Scarlett.”

“Good night,” she said, lingering in the yard to watch him go.

Why wouldn’t she just rebel? Why couldn’t she just run away from all of this? Armina didn’t even have to use magic to control her; she simply wove a tapestry of lies so comfortable, so close-fitting, that Scarlett never even noticed.

Poor orphaned Scarlett, parents killed by that awful vampire man. And wise, generous Armina Voss, ready to take her in and train her to protect others from vampires. Truly a philanthropist, she was.

A chill ran down his spine as he walked into the house. The smell of another vampire—an old and powerful one—billowed through the house. An unfamiliar male voice rang out in wordless pain. Wrinkling his nose, Kova followed the scent into Armina’s workshop, where he froze in the doorway.

Strapped to a too-familiar stone table lay a male vampire, half his body burnt and half healed, a sheet draped up to his waist. Blood-soaked bandages were wrapped around his neck.

Armina’s sociopathic apprentice, Lux, stood at the man’s head and wove gray-black threads of light in the air as Armina slowly carved markings onto his left wrist. His right was already done, with runes and designs from wrist to elbow. The arm was barely attached, though he could see the pulsing red flesh at the joint trying to knit back together.

She was making herself another little puppet. If not for the sheer absurdity of it, he might have been jealous.

“Ms. Voss,” he said quietly.

Her dark eyes lifted to him. The male vampire shifted, and he tried in vain to roll over, propelling himself toward Armina. “No, no,” she scolded. “Kova?”

His own markings seared, and he lurched forward, planting his hand on the man’s chest to push him back. The poor bastard looked nearly dead. Chunks of shattered concrete protruded from his skin, which was blistered and pink as it healed.

Beneath blood and charred flesh, a familiar smell wafted off his skin, one that made no sense.

He smelled Paris Rossignol. He smelled his brother on this man.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lux said sharply. Her face was scratched, and there were ugly purple bruises peeking from beneath her shirt, creeping up to her throat. She smelled like smoke and blood, too.

“Ms. Voss—” he protested.

“I’m busy,” the elder witch said. “Go entertain yourself for another few hours.”

With an irritated look, he stalked out of the workshop. His stomach churned as he paced in the large sittting room, staring at the glowing red lantern. One kill stood between him and Lucia’s freedom.

He was no fool. If his sweet Lucia, as gentle and kind as she was beautiful, found out what he had done, she would never forgive him. He had no illusion that they would be happy as they once were, for those brief years when everything was perfect. But at least she would be free, and he would know she no longer suffered because of him.

Hours later, Armina called for him. Her voice was quiet, but the tug on her magical bindings was irresistible. He lurched down the hall and found her and Lux both looking pale but smug and satisfied. The vampire male lay flat on his back, eyes gleaming red. His wrists, ankles, and chest were marked with the same binding runes that marked Kova’s skin. Bandages were wrapped tight around his neck, crossed over his shoulders and chest.

“He’s all finished,” Armina said. “Do us a favor, dear, and take him to the basement. He needs his rest.”

Kova grimaced and hefted the man into his arms, prompting a terrible groan of pain.

“Careful with his head,” Lux said, letting out a little laugh. “He nearly lost it.”

“Do you find your failures humorous?” Armina snapped at her. Lux’s face went pale, and she shook her head rapidly. “Perhaps next time you’ll be more careful instead of dropping an entire building on our valuable weapons, you incompetent twit.”

Kova left the two witches and carried the brawny vampire downstairs. The man struggled weakly, but between the sheer destruction that had been wrought on him and the newly added bindings, he was no match for a toddler, let alone a well-fed vampire like Kova.

In the basement several steel-barred cages lined the walls, their metal engraved from floor to ceiling with Armina’s clever spells. Kova placed the man inside one of them, trying to set him down without jostling him too badly. He groaned as he hit the ground, then grabbed Kova’s arm with startling strength. “Get me out of here,” he said gruffly.

Kova pulled back, peeling the man’s fingers away from his arm. “Tell me who you are, and I might consider it.”

“I trusted that treacherous little bitch,” the man growled. “And she betrayed me.”

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