Pretty When She Destroys (Pretty When She Dies #3)(82)

“I keep waiting for her to twitch,” Samantha muttered behind Amaliya.

“Glad I’m not the only paranoid one.” Amaliya dared to look at Samantha for a split second. She registered the blonde’s worried frown.

“Just when you think the monster is whipped, it jumps up and starts killing,” Samantha said somberly. “That’s how horror movies always work.”

A shiver slid up and down Amaliya’s spine at the thought. But the small woman in Baptiste’s arms didn’t even appear alive. Her arms dangled at her sides, head tipped back, her eyes empty.

“Tasty. For me?” Eduardo slid out of the shadows of the short hallway leading past the kitchen.

As always, Amaliya’s body throbbed with heat at the sight of the coyote. Smirking, he winked at her.

“Really, you shouldn’t have. How could you know what I wanted for my birthday?” Eduardo continued, falling into step beside Amaliya.

“Your birthday isn’t until January,” Samantha said crossly. “It’s on Jeff’s birthday calendar.”

It touched Amaliya that Samantha was so protective of her, but Amaliya could handle Eduardo just fine. Despite his raw sexuality and the carnal lust he inspired between her thighs, she kept him firmly at arm’s length.

“True, besides I have my eye on something much more delectable.” Eduardo’s eyes swept over Amaliya, his gaze lingering on her breasts.

“Fuck off,” Amaliya said, roughly pushing him through a doorway into the dining room.

The coyote growled.

Amaliya ignored the delectable shiver that raced through her at the sound. She hated how much he turned her on.

When she followed Baptiste down the stairs into the basement, the first person she saw was Cian. The somber look on his handsome face was expected, but the sword in his hand gave her pause. She wasn’t looking forward to what was coming next.

“Put her in the cell,” Cian instructed Baptiste.

“You got it.” The tall man cautiously carried the small woman along the narrow hallway and past the rest of the cabal gathered to gawk at their captive.

“Wow, it’s really her.” Benchley sucked in a deep breath. “Wow!”

“Anyone else really, really nervous?” Alexia asked.

When Cian pressed a kiss to her lips, Amaliya lightly touched his cheek. She sensed the violence stirring beneath his calm veneer. He was already mentally preparing himself for what he had to do.

“Do you think she’ll tell us where The Summoner is?” Amaliya dared to ask.

Cian’s frown only deepened. “I don’t know, but what other choice do we have? She’s our best chance.”

Biting her bottom lip, Amaliya matched his dour expression.

Tenderly touching her arm, Cian said, “We’re running out of time. Even if The Summoner can only partially open the veil, it will cause severe damage to this world. We have to do this.”

Aimee and Cassandra stood nearby, matching looks of concern on their faces. Etzli being in their haven was unnerving, but what Cian planned to do made everyone uneasy. Amaliya trailed behind Cian to the small room they had made into a prison cell. Etzli was sprawled on the floor with her eyes wide and staring while Baptiste and Benchley secured her arms and legs. As the silver shackles closed over her wrists and ankles, Etzli’s skin sizzled. Around the silver dagger plunged into her chest, the flesh was charred. The sight of the weapon sticking out from between the woman’s breasts disturbed Amaliya more than she would have thought possible. No matter how monstrous Etzli could be, she was also a woman just like Amaliya. Though her instinct was to hate the other vampire, Amaliya recognized that in some ways they were quite similar. They were both doing exactly what they thought was right.

Stepping away from Etzli, Baptiste surveyed the somber vampires standing in the doorway. “I can use fire on her if you need me to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cian said grim-faced. He motioned to the men with the sword in his hand. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

With bleak looks upon their faces, Baptiste and Benchley slipped past Amaliya into the hallway where the others stood clustered. Cian glanced at Amaliya and she deliberately leaned against the cell wall, obviously refusing to budge. Acquiescing to her wishes, Cian shut the door. Without any fanfare, Cian leaned over, jerked the dagger out of Etzli, and stood back.

Etzli immediately began to laugh.

This wasn’t what Amaliya expected.

Cian folded his arms, staring down at Etzli. He didn’t speak, but waited.

“You make it all so easy,” Etzli said at last.

“Cian,” Amaliya whispered.

Etzli spoke in a posh accent that was distinctly not her own.

The woman chained to the floor opened her mouth and darkness bellowed out in a thick cloud. It struck Amaliya and Cian like a mighty fist. With a painful whack, Amaliya’s head impacted with the wall. Black magic filled the room completely, drowning out all light, sound, and sensation. The oily miasma writhed over her skin attempting to slide into her mouth. Stunned, Amaliya clamped her lips together. The Summoner’s presence dwelled in the blackness. Or maybe he was the essence of it.

“You disappoint me,” The Summoner’s voice whispered in her ear.

Struggling to shove herself off the wall to confront him, Amaliya concentrated on drawing upon her own magic to protect her. It was a mistake. The Summoner had created her and his magic had birthed hers. Instantly, her power was wound around his, drawing her deeper under his spell. The darkness enshrouding her obliterated every sensation except for his fingers lightly stroking her throat. Even the wall she was pinned against sifted away until she was left with the impression of floating in deep, dark, frigid water. She was trapped in the heart of the absolute evil, feeling weightless, empty, and afraid.