Page 3 of Thorns from the Fall

Gwyn had lifted the mourning veil I’d created in my mind for Remy—but I can’t be thankful for it. Not when she’s used me to destroy everything. Not when the bodies of half my coven lie in a pile. Not when their blood is still spreading across the white marble floor.

But my brother is alive. My relief and rage mix together into something potent. Viscous and thick, wading through it is a struggle.

“If I stand, will they be instructed to rip my head off?” I ask.

“Only intervene if he seems like he’s about to kill me,” Gwyn orders the coven—flippantly, as if it’s no bother for her to do it. Had she been pretending it was difficult at Last Drop or has she improved that much in just a few days? Between her parentage and deceit, either is possible.

I stand, brushing dust and dirt from my pants while the reek of Agnarr’s chambers invades my nostrils. My shirt has come untucked on one side and I don’t bother to fix it. Some of my father’s blood has stained my clothing from when I’d attacked Gwyn a few moments ago. It smells of him, and I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this shit.

My father’s body still lies in the middle of his opulent ballroom. The puddle of blood surrounding him has finally stopped spreading just a few steps from the closest table. Set up for a feast, the splendorous ballroom is incongruent with the gore around us. Low-hanging crystal chandeliers twinkle over headless bodies. Tables lie flipped on their sides, the dinnerwareshattered and scattered. I assume it’s from the fight my coven put up as Gwyn ordered them to kill their own.

“I fear you’ll have to be more specific with your commands. From this point forward, consider me poised to kill you at any given opportunity,” I say, and my hands twitch with the desire to wrap them around her throat. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Remy being alive and half my coven being dead is insanity I can’t quite understand. But the urge to kill her? To make her fucking pay? Simple.

Gwyn walks to the table my father placed for the ceremony he’d dragged her off to—promising to eat her heart in front of the coven. It shouldn’t amuse me that his expectations were upended so spectacularly, especially since mine had met the same fate. But at least I’m not dead.

My heart resides firmly in my chest—thumping hard, raw and bloody, it remains.

Gwyn pours herself a glass of wine from the chilling bucket on the table. Her dress is covered in his blood. It’s all over her chest and neck and mouth, and I’m repulsed—both by the sight and by my reaction.

I like seeing her covered in blood, and fuck if my body hasn’t caught up to my mind.

“Too dry,” she complains, her nose wrinkling as she tosses the contents of her glass onto the floor and reaches for the pitcher of water instead. Knowing my father’s taste, the Malbec she’s glowering at is easily one of the most expensive wines in the world, likely bought on auction for six figures. “You can be poised to kill me all you want, but we both know you won’t do it.”

“For now,” I say, because she’s right. I wouldn’t be capable of doing it any other way than fast and sloppy at this moment. But that’s not what I need. Slow and painful, I want her to suffer. I want her to pay for every lie she told, every truth she omitted, every person she killed. Her eyes meet mine, and I’m sure shesees the exact breadth of my hatred. When there’s a loud slam outside the ballroom, I offer, “Perhaps your father will do it for me.”

“Ready yourselves!” she calls, ordering the coven—my coven.

“So, little siren, how do you plan to kill one of the strongest—and oldest—vampires to ever exist?” comes Nico’s soft drawl. My friend finally decides to approach the dais from where he’d been seated, puffing on a cigarette. Immune to Gwyn’s coercion due to her blood oath, his gait is casual as he shoves his hands into his pockets. He glances at me, and I attempt to communicate without words.

We can take her down before they even get to us.

The shake of Nico’s head is subtle as he approaches, gaze locked on Gwyn. Margot strains her neck, standing near my father’s body, trying to listen to our conversation. But she can’t move, stuck in Gwyn’s thrall.

“Killing Agnarr ends us all. Using Remy as collateral does nothing if Roman won’t live to see his brother.”

For just a second, my desire to kill her outweighed the knowledge that Remy was alive.

Shit.

I can’t let my anger get the best of me. I can’t fail him again. Remy isalive. Gwyn’s death can wait.

She laughs, crossing her arms as she takes a few steps back—putting distance between us. Considering I’m staring at her carotid, wanting to bleed her out, it’s not the worst choice she’s ever made.

Betraying me, though? She will rue the fucking day.

“You guys know that’s bullshit, right?” She eyes the bunch of red grapes laid out by my father—an appetizer before the entrée of her heart—and pops one into her mouth. Her fangs have retracted, and my father’s blood stains her lips a cruel crimson.

Fuck, I can’t wait to steal her last breath.

“If Agnarr dies, his progeny die. If Ketill dies, his progeny die.”

“Bjorn is dead, and you’re standing here just fine.” Gwyn’s hand gestures to me.

“Bjorn wasn’t one of Ansi’s creations.”

“Wait, do you guys really think that all the vampires came from just Ketill and Agnarr? In the entire world?” Her eyes widen, and a harsh laugh forces its way past her blood-stained lips. “Oh my god, youdo.”

“Have you not—” Nico begins, but his voice stops abruptly. Mid-sentence, his mouth doesn’t move. When I try to take a step toward him, I realize I’m rooted to the spot, also stuck. I have control of my eyes, and I’m able to breathe, but that’s it.

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