Page 100 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

I thought of civilians thrust into tunnels to be used as human shields for a cowardly warlord.

I thought of my brother, once a teenager, now a man, sentenced to a slow inevitable death.

I thought of innocent vampire children hanging from trees.

I thought of the fucking Pythora King.

And I thought,Yes. Kill them all.

And I did not think of the Arachessen, or the Sightmother, or the blessed dagger—or Acaeja at all.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Ijerked upright with a gasp.

Pain. Sharp, agonizing pain that cut me in two.

Where was I?

Someone was touching me. I lashed out at them before I was able to stop myself.

“Control her,” an older female voice barked, and another set of hands grabbed my shoulders, pushing me firmly back to the bedroll.

The threads evaded me. But those hands—those were familiar.

“Don’t kill the healer,” Atrius growled, though I couldn’t be sure if I imagined that he sounded relieved.

Healer.

I reached for my abdomen, and someone smacked my fingers away.

“Don’t touch,” the healer snapped. “The stitches are fresh. And my medicines only go so far on a human.”

I steadied my breath, following the threads fanning out around me. They came into focus slowly, and brought with them a blindingly powerful headache, but I was just relieved to grasp my surroundings again. For a few terrifying moments back there, it had felt like I’d been cut away from the only thing that tethered me to the world.

I was back at camp, in a tent—mine?Atrius’s? It was still so hard to grasp. The healer, a vampire woman, knelt beside me. Her presence radiated sadness and exhaustion.

I turned my head, which was slightly elevated, and realized that I lay against Atrius’s lap.

When the memories from before I was injured filtered back, the first was Atrius’s voice as I faded.

And then the explosions, and the bodies, and?—

The bodies.

I bit my tongue hard, right over that old scar tissue. I still nearly drew blood. It didn’t help.

If I had been lucky, the wave of rage I’d felt in my final moments of consciousness would have been a symptom of my delirious state. If I had been lucky, I would have woken up the steadfast, calm Arachessen I had been trained to be.

I was not lucky.

The healer stood and said something to Atrius in Obitraen, to which he responded with a nod and a few curt words. She left the tent, leaving the two of us alone.

It was Atrius’s tent, I realized now. He’d brought me back to his.

I sat up again—slowly this time.

“She said to be careful,” Atrius snapped.

---