Page 97 of The Reaper's Vice

My joy is cut short, though, whenDr. Kebler decides to look my way. His eyes widen along with mine as he looks from my wrists to the metal cuffs lying on the floor. In a flash, he’s on me, drawing his dagger from his waist and raising it high above my head.

“You… you’re a traitor!” he screams, his eyes shining with tears behind his mask. “You were supposed tosaveus!”

I duck out of the way as his blade comes down, popping back up on the outside of his arm as the dagger swipes uselessly through the air. Reaching across my body, I grab his wrist andpull,forcing his elbow in a direction it definitely does not want to go.

The man’s scream rivals the booming pop of his joint, releasing the dagger on instinct and letting it clatter to the floor. Before he has time to recover, I swoop down to grab the weapon. My palm aches as I wrap my fist around the handle, but the pain is far from my mind as I reach around the Table Member, dragging the blade deep across the back of his ankles.

The man collapses backward onto the floor, a choked sound rattling his mask as the air leaves him. I clamor on top of him, red crowding my vision as I straddle his chest, raising the dagger high. He only manages to get out a pathetic “Plea—” before the blade is shoved deep into his chest.

My blood boils as I pull the dagger from his chest, deaf to the awful squelch as I raise the blade again, bringing it down onto his chest again, and again, and again.

I’m so lost to my rage that I don’t realize two more Table Members have crept up behind me. I don’t notice—not until their slimy hands grip my arms, stopping me from turning this man’s chest cavity into ground beef.

They pull me off the body, kicking and screaming, and I’m so out of my mind, I can’t seem to get a single hit in with the dagger. A third man joins the mix, grabbing my ankles and immobilizing me completely.

My chest grips with terror the longer I’m unable to escape their hold, and it’s only intensified when I look toward Orion, finding him in a similar position as I am. Five men are holding him down—though just barely—and his skin is peppered with deep, oozing gashes that cause my throat to dry.

“Orion!” I scream, bucking uselessly against my captors’ hold. “Orion! Don’t give up!”

But even as I say it, one of the members holding him down raises his dagger above Orion's chest, the tip of the blade glinting and poised to pierce his heart. As if he knows his time is nearing its end, he turns his head to face me, all the fight going out of his body as his bright blue eyes find mine—and they seem to be saying they’re sorry.

But I don’t want his apologies. I want him tolive.I want usbothto live.

Yet as I watch that dagger inch closer to his chest, I start to doubt either of us will make it out of this alive.

48

ORION

“THE LAST STAND”

I gazeinto Seraphina's enchanting golden eyes, the seconds stretching into infinity as the tip of the dagger inches closer to my heart. And I know—I know if this is the last thing my living eyes see, I could die a happy man.

But that doesn’t happen.

Just as I’m preparing to take my final breath, the door to the balcony bursts open in a mighty explosion. Heat, rubble, and smoke flow into the room, burning my eyes and causing the men around me to choke and retch. The one holding the blade to my heart seems the most affected, and while he’s fighting to get his breath back, I snap my hand up, gripping the bladed fortune of the dagger.

Warm, wet red flows down my forearm as I push the blade away from my heart, a furious bellow flying from my mouth as adrenaline roars in my veins. With nothing but sheer will, I raise my chest from the floor, never taking my eyes off the man in front of me as I rise to a sitting position. Snapping my other hand up, I force the butt of my palm into his wrist joint, smiling as a loud pop fills the air. The man screams, his grip loosening enough on the dagger for me to snatch it from his grip. In a flash, I drag the blade across his neck before he can draw his last breath.

The last four men holding me regain their bearings as the smoke begins to clear, and they quickly reposition so each man can take hold of one limb. I try to take out one more, but two of the fuckers grab my hand with the dagger and work to pry it from my fingers.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you. Orion does love his playthings.”

Everyone’s head whips to the doorway at the entrance of the new voice. You can’t make out his features past the thickness of the smoke, but I would know that white hair and immaculate suit anywhere.

Ghost.

He steps into the room, cunning violet eyes surveying the situation as he reaches toward his waistband. “I’m glad to see the Sanctum remains archaic in their use of pointed objects. That makes this much easier for me.”

He rips a matte black gun from his waist, aiming the tip of his weapon at the man closest to my head. “Traditionisa problem sometimes, isn’t it?”

He fires.

The air cracks as the bullet flies through the air, lodging directly into the Table Member’s forehead. A small red circle appears in his forehead as his eyes roll, and he slumps to the floor, lifeless. Three more shots ring out, each landing home the same as the first, and the remaining men holding me to the floor release their grip.

“Much better.” He turns his attention to the men holding Seraphina. “Would you please let go of the lady?”

“Fuck you!” one of the men snarls. “You’re interfering with a sacred ceremony!”

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