Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(34)

“And the girl?” Cian had asked.

“Alive.”

Cian had found Galina huddled in one of the bedroom closets. Terrified, she had screamed when he had opened the door. Galina had clung to him as he had taken her from the house they had shared with the cabal. She had been inconsolable for days, mourning Christian despite the fact she had been sleeping with Cian for some time. Cian had hoped she would regain her senses and stay with him, but one night he had awoken to find she had fled.

He had been alone for years afterward until Samantha had stumbled into his life.

Just as he had hurt Galina, Cian had also hurt Samantha.

Frowning, Cian leaned against the railing of the balcony. Over the years he had made plenty of mistakes, but he was determined not to repeat them. He recognized now that he should have built up a cabal of vampires and other supernaturals. He should have anticipated that one day The Summoner would be gone and with him the protective veil that had kept Cian from attack.

Without realizing it, Cian had wasted time and endangered not only himself, but the woman he now loved. The last few months had been the best he could remember in a very long time. Amaliya had not only reawakened the vampire in him, but the true man. He had been foolish to believe he could return to the man he was before The Summoner had seized him, killed him, and turned him.

Perhaps Rachon was coming to kill him, but his years with her caused him to believe it was not so simple. Rachon was clever and deceptive. She would never attack him outright. He believed that without a doubt. Perhaps it was because he shared those very traits with her. Cian was a master at manipulation from his years dealing with The Summoner.

Rubbing his face, Cian sighed. The city was alive below him, filled with life and excitement. It was his city, yet he had failed it. Only he, Amaliya and an inexperienced crew of vampire hunters could protect it from whatever Rachon, Etzli and Santos were planning.

Though his mistakes were now haunting him, he knew he would not fall without a fight. No matter what their enemies conspired, Cian believed that he and Amaliya could withstand their attacks.

If they died, he was consoled with the thought of being with her until the very end.

“No more morose thoughts,” he chided himself.

Turning, he slipped back into his apartment.



*



Snuggled into a recliner he had dragged into his grandmother’s bedroom, Sergio kept a wary eye on her tiny form on the bed. The whisper of the A/C unit in the window mingled with her soft snoring into a comforting sound. Burrowing deeper into the old worn quilt his wife had tucked around him, Sergio wished his grandmother didn’t like to sleep in such a cold room. The quilt wasn’t quite big enough to cover his large frame and he kept having to readjust his limbs to keep his feet and elbows from being exposed to the chilly air.

The glow of his cellphone screen was hidden under the quilt as he watched the fourth season of Dr. Who. As a precaution, he wore only one ear bud. Watching the antics of the Doctor and his companions, he stifled a yawn. He had already called into work and hoped that he wouldn’t end up on the bad end of his boss’ temper. Cynthia had volunteered to keep watch in Innocente’s room, but Sergio didn’t want to put her in danger. He wasn’t too sure where ghosts were on a scale of scariest monsters, but he wasn’t looking forward to one showing up in his grandmother’s bedroom.

Sipping the watered down remains of the soda in his glass, he swept his gaze over the room, scrutinizing every inch of it. Nothing seemed amiss.

The clock on the bed stand next to his grandmother’s big king-size bed said it was nearly three in the morning. Yawning again, Sergio fought the urge to close his eyes and sleep. He stared intently at the tiny screen before him as the Doctor ran about with Donna on his heels.

Lifting his glass to sip the very last bit of his drink, he gasped as the icy surface felt like it stung his flesh. He briefly glimpsed the soda frozen solid at the bottom of the glass just as his phone went dead, cutting off the Doctor in mid-sentence and plunging the room into darkness.

The blackness that filled the room terrified him. It was absolute. He couldn’t even make out his own hand in front of his eyes. Forcing his limbs into action, he set his phone and glass aside on the floor and slid to the edge of his chair.

The temperature was dropping fast and he was certain the dinky little air conditioner wasn’t the cause. Wrapping the quilt tightly around his broad shoulders, he rose to his feet. The dark was unwavering in its intensity. The digital clock’s red numbers weren’t even visible in the thick miasma of black.

Out of the gloom, his grandmother’s voice was a soft whisper. He couldn’t discern her words for it was difficult to hear over the chattering of his teeth. The piercing cold enveloped him and his body violently shivered.

Sergio couldn’t recall the distance between the bed and the chair. Cautiously, he inched his way toward the sound of his grandmother’s murmuring. Just as his knee bumped the edge of the bed, Sergio was engulfed in the clutch of an icy pillar of air.

“Fuck!”

Stumbling, he tripped over the corner of the bed and fell with a mighty thump. The wood floor shivered beneath him. Gasping in the frigid air, he grabbed onto the mattress and hauled himself onto his knees.

At the end of the bed stood a young woman with white-blond hair and incandescent white eyes. Dressed in a white lace dress, she glowed in the blackness that surrounded her.