Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(3)

“How will you control her?” Prosper frowned, his wide brow crinkled with concern.

Rachon lightly touched the gris-gris hanging around her neck. “Entombment and a steady diet of my blood. He may have made her, but she will belong to me. In a few months, she will do everything I ask of her.” Rachon crouched and rolled the girl onto her back. Pulling off the remains of the girl's dress, she saw the ugly cuts from the autopsy were already healed. The thick thread used to sew her up had been ejected from her flesh and clung to her damp skin. She was fully transformed now.

“Fill in the grave and we'll head back to Shreveport,” Rachon said in a soft voice as she gently stroked the girl's fine white-blond hair that was stained pink by blood.

“Fine. Anything to be out of Texas and out of this mess your Master made.” Prosper picked up a shovel that the boys had brought to dig up the grave. “Hope you're happy with your new toy.”

“Oh, I am,” Rachon said with a bright smile.

“What is her name again? They haven't put in her headstone yet.” Prosper started shoveling dirt back into the grave, covering the bodies he had stacked inside.

“Bianca Leduc,” Rachon responded, her fingers resting on the girl's soft cheek. “And she is mine.”





Four Months Later...





Part One

Friday Night





Chapter 1


“Fuck you!” Amaliya scowled, feet set apart, hands on her hips.

“Nice language,” Cian chided her, smirking as he perched like a bird on a leaning tombstone in the center of the cemetery.

“You call this a nice evening out?” Amaliya narrowed her eyes at him.

She had been lured out of their comfortable spacious apartment to the east side of Austin, Texas under false pretenses. Cian had promised her a nice night away from the hubbub of the downtown area. She had assumed they would be hanging out at one of the dive clubs, or maybe one of the small venues run by theater groups that were located east of I-35. Instead, they were standing in the middle of a very old cemetery at a little past midnight.

“We’re away from the hustle and bustle of downtown just like you wanted,” Cian said, grinning. His chestnut brown hair was ruffled by the wind. It was not as long as it had been for a while. He had chopped it off to a more manageable and stylish length, but it looked good on him. His keen hazel eyes, heavily fringed with dark lashes, clearly projected his amusement.

“I even dressed up!”

Well, technically, she really hadn’t. The jeans were clean, the black platform heels with lots of straps were not too scuffed up, and her black corset-top had actually been hanging in her closet and not strewn on the floor with the rest of her laundry.

“You look beautiful,” he said, flexing his hands. He held a dagger in each one.

“Oh, f*ck you.”

“Later.”

“Ugh!”

“If you don’t practice, you’ll regret it. You need to have control of your power.” Cian stood up on the crooked headstone, easily balancing.

“What if the neighbors see us?” Amaliya looked over both shoulders through the clusters of thick trees dotting the graveyard, then across the street at the darkened houses.

“They’re all asleep; the street lamps don’t even reach this far, but...if it will make you feel better...” Cian closed his eyes, concentrated, and exhaled.

Almost immediately a thick mist billowed up from the ground, slithering around the old graves, and floating up to form a protective curtain around them.

“Show off.” Amaliya dug her heel into the ground, flexing her foot slightly. She was agitated by the whole night. She had wanted a nice evening out with Cian, pretending they were actually a couple, and just not the only two vampires in the cabal of Austin that were under constant threat by outside forces. Ever since her arrival in Cian’s city, she had been trouble for him. She knew it, he knew it, but they had fallen hard for one another. In a weird way, they were family because The Summoner had created both of them. Incestuous family, she supposed, since they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Unless she was mad at him. Then she just wanted to punch him.

“You need to practice, Amal. If we’re attacked, I need you to be able to protect yourself.”

“I killed The Summoner! That has to count for something!”

Cian stared at the daggers at his hands. “Well, it does. But there are greater monsters in the world.”

Amaliya barely saw him move, his action was so swift. She ducked, but the blade nicked her as it passed. Blood trickled from her wounded arm as she crouched in the mist, ready for his next move.

“You hit my tattoo!”

“It’ll heal.” Studying the tip of the remaining dagger, Cian said, “But the point is, I hit you.”

“Grazed me. It’s just a flesh wound.” The blood sluiced down her arm and dripped from her fingers.

“You should be faster than that.” Cian’s Irish brogue was seeping through his words. He wasn’t happy with her.

Amaliya felt like ripping off her shoes and hurling them at him before stomping home. She never asked to be a vampire. She never asked to be a necromancer. Hell, she had never asked to fall in love with him and shack up in Austin. She hated that she was trapped in the city since she had killed The Summoner. Other vampire cabals had a keen interest in her power. With the threat of The Summoner removed, the other powerful vampires were not very happy with the idea of his progeny remaining alive.