And then I begin to swing it. In a large arcing circle, I swing the tool, moving toward the path of vampires filling the room. With as much strength as I can, I spin that motherfucker, watching as vampires duck and dodge and try to get the fuck out of my way.

“Enough,” Ketill shouts, and the vampires all stop moving as one.

The blade of the bone saw embeds in one of their heads, and the vampire collapses to the ground.

“That was disappointing,” I murmur before more hands than I can count grab me, pulling me toward the center of the room. They move as some sort of goddamn hive mind, and it’s fucking terrifying. I can’t see Gwyn. I have to hope she managed to escape from behind that fucking door.

If she didn’t, if she’s still in here with me and Agnarr, being hoisted to the front of the room toward Ketill like a scrap of food carried by gatherer ants, she’ll die with us.

I don’t know why I bother hoping though, because she’d never run in a situation like this. She’ll stick around to the end. Ketill will kill us both because she’s too fucking stubborn. Stubborn with a serious disinclination to live, Gwyn would never leave me here.

If Ketill succeeds, she’ll never know she’s my fucking mate. She’ll never know that I would live and breathe and die for her—and that’s just something I’m not willing to risk.

“Gwyn is gone, and there’s no need to chase after her. You can have me instead,” I shout, and the lights flicker back on.

Ketill looks so much like Agnarr, I have to wonder if they’re twins. He doesn’t look as rough as his brother, wearing an expensive suit and sporting an old money haircut. But their sharp jawlines and high cheekbones are undeniably similar.

“Why would I barter?—”

“I’m a hybrid too,” I interject.

None of what I say matters when Gwyn slams the door into Ketill’s face. He groans, lifting his hand to his temple, and everything implodes in sparkling silver as Gwyn throws a fistful of powdered metal into the vampire’s eyes.

It all moves so quickly, I almost miss her arm rearing back and punching him in the face.

I only notice she was holding something as she stumbles back, a scalpel jutting out of Ketill’s eye as he roars.

41

GWYN

It buys them time.The split second of pain as I blinded Ketill makes him lose grasp of his bloodsworns—and none of them seem to know how to react. And when I stab him in his stupid fucking eye, Agnarr makes a move.

As Agnarr launches himself at Ketill, Roman makes a beeline straight to me. He’s got scratches all over his neck and face and his leather jacket is torn, but he shoves everyone out of his way with ease. They don’t even seem to resist as he pushes past them. He folds me into his arms, my back to his front, as he turns us away from the crowding vampires. They seem unsure of what to do, but they hold off. A tall man with a long scar going across his face steps forward, squared up like he plans to reach for me, and my fangs snap out. I growl, and a low echo rumbles from Roman’s chest. His gravelly bass underscores my alto melody, harmony and horror.

A coordinating partnership, we move in lockstep to position ourselves defensively.

In sync.

The vampire backs off, and his eyes widen as he glances over at the two ancient brothers.

“Það er gjört, bróðir,” Agnarr says, speaking a language I hope to learn one day. His hand is buried deep in Ketill’s chest, and the scent of blood is pungent as it permeates the room. Considering what Roman told me about his motivations, the desire to maintain pure vampire blood, I’m not upset that Ketill doesn’t have a chance to spew his hateful vitriol. Bitter to the end, Ketill spits in his brother’s face.

Agnarr doesn’t even flinch as saliva lands on his cheek a moment before he rips Ketill’s heart free from his chest. I don’t expect him to launch it at me with force, but Roman catches the crimson organ with a wet splat just before it hits me in the face.

“Eat it,” he says, holding it up to my mouth.

“Fuck, no.Youeat it,” I say. Consuming just a single heart is more than enough for one lifetime.

“It does not matter!” Agnarr bellows, as he rips his brother’s head from his shoulders. “But someone must!”

“Okay, fuck. Goddammit,” Roman murmurs as Ketill’s vampires, now sworn to no one, watch with rapt attention. I pull out the half-empty vial of powdered silver and dump it into my hand, ready to blow it in their faces if they so much as consider moving toward us.

I’m grateful to be in front of Roman when he tears into the thick, muscled flesh. The wet squelch of blood and the rough pulling and tearing sounds send a shiver up my spine. I’m going to have nightmares about this, I’m sure. He manages to eat it faster than I ate his father’s, a disgusting belch tearing up his throat only a few moments later.

“How the hell did you do that?” I ask.

“Can’t talk,” he says, putting a fist to his mouth to stifle his gag. My own reflex sympathizes. If he pukes, I’m not far behind him.