Page 140 of Bite Marks & Broken Hearts

Ring after ring, unrelenting. No one used this line except White. But this wasn’t her. I knew it in my very core.

The receiver felt cool against my palm as I lifted it, saying nothing.

“Hello, Salazar.”

A male voice. Unknown. My spine stiffened. They’d used my real name, rather than Black.

“How did you get this number?” The line was a ghost—unregistered, untraceable.

“Come now, I thought you’d be pleased to hear from me.” A pause, thick with amusement. “Isn’t it so much nicer communicating over the telephone, rather than the silly letters we’ve been exchanging?”

My grip tightened on the receiver. “Marcus Vale?”

“There’s been a change of plan, Salazar.”

“What change? The arrangements are all in place for tomorrow morning.” My voice remained measured despite the rage building in my chest.

“Tomorrowevening.” The way he emphasised the word made my dead heart twist.

The receiver almost cracked beneath my fingers. Flynn’s countdown ticked in my mind—the spreading chill across his chest, the demon magic consuming him hour by hour. By evening it could be too late.

“No.”

“Tomorrow evening,andyou’re to bring your pet.”

“My what?”

“Don’t play coy, Salazar.” His tone shifted, honeyed poison. “That delectable human you’ve become so attached to. The one you slaughtered Eliza over? And then dispatched two of our deadwalkers when they only wanted toborrowhim for a while. Very rude of you. They’re not easy to replace, you know. Oh, and bring the artifact,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

My mind raced. “What artifact?”

“The one from Spain. Your silver crucifix.” His tone suggested this should be obvious.

The crucifix? How could he possibly know about that? I’d never shown it to anyone outside of Killigrew Street…had I?

Unless…

Surely not.

No.

Please, not him. Anyone but him.

I’d long ago stopped tracking Padre Rodrigo’s movements. My diaries theorised he’d died in the 1800s. Vampires were tethered to their sires. Surely I’d have feltsomethingif he’d been nearby for months?

Yet tomorrow would mark exactly five hundred years since the night he’d turned me. The symmetry was surely too perfect to be a coincidence.

A snarl ripped from my throat, feral and raw. “What are you playing at, Vale? Who are you working with?”

“My, my. Such aggression.” His voice dripped with mock concern. “And here I thought we were having a civilised conversation.” The line crackled with static, or perhaps it was the sound of my grip threatening to shatter the receiver entirely. “I look forward to finally meeting you face to face tomorrow, Salazar. Do bring the crucifix. Oh, and don’t forget your human. I’d hate to have to collect him myself.”

The casual threat in those words made my fangs descend, sharp against my bottom lip. The phantom taste of Flynn’s blood still lingered there from earlier, sweet and electric.

“No,” I hissed, channeling every inch of my fury into the word. “Adrian Knox for the cambion Damien. That was the deal.”

“There’s no point getting angry at me, Salazar. These aren’tmyinstructions. But you’d do well to follow them. See you tomorrow evening. 11:00 p.m. Richmond Park, by Pen Ponds.”

The line went dead.

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