Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies #2)(68)

“We’re almost there, pretty girl,” Rachon said over the pounding music.

Bianca didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her in the slightest.

Gently, Rachon placed her dark fingers under the white chin of the delicate face and turned it toward her. Bianca’s lovely face was devoid of thought or emotion. “When we get there, you must do what I say, my little darling. Can you do that?”

The blue eyes shifted toward her slightly.

“Do you understand me, Bianca? You must do as I tell you.”

Very slowly, the girl blinked, her blue eyes resting on Rachon’s face, but not seeming to really see her.

“You do understand, don’t you?” Rachon grinned, rubbing the girl’s pink cheek with the back of her hand. “I think you’re somewhere in there, listening to me.”

“Almost there!” Prosper shouted over the music.

Cradling Bianca’s face between her hands, Rachon gently kissed her forehead, then rubbed her lips on the girl’s silky hair. “Oh, my sweet little thing. We’re about to rain hell down on our enemies. And it will be glorious.”

Bianca did not answer. She simply stared.





Chapter 22


The night wind tossed the limbs of the trees into a wild dance while the bats darted through the sky chasing succulent insects. Cian crouched in the clearing in the middle of Zilker Park near downtown Austin, his head craned, listening to the sounds of the city just beyond the belt of thick foliage spreading out along the river.

It was well past the appointed time of Rachon’s arrival. She was not answering her cellphone and her absence was disturbing. Resting his elbow on his knees, Cian’s fingers raked the coarse grass.

Amaliya stood next to him, arms folded over her breasts, her bleeding wrists dripping cold blood onto the ground. She’d be able to call the dead from the cemeteries scattered around Austin thanks to Eduardo pouring her blood onto a grave in each one. They had come prepared for a battle, but all was silent in the park. The scent of Amaliya’s blood was intoxicating. It blotted out the musty smell of the detritus putrefying after a recent rain and the mold growing over the rocks tucked into the edge of the river. It almost overwhelmed Eduardo’s cologne, but not quite.

Tucked behind the tree line, Cian could barely make out the hulking shape of the hunters’ van. It had been there when the three supernaturals had arrived at the park. It was just like mortals to believe they were concealed when they actually weren’t. He could even spot the cameras in the trees. Jeff’s people were not quite as good as they thought they were.

Eduardo yawned, sounding more animal than human.

Cian drew himself up. Amaliya glanced at him briefly, then returned her gaze to some distant point in the trees. She was dressed in tight black jeans, thick combat boots, and a black tank top with a middle finger emblazoned on it. It had amused Cian when he had seen it. Amaliya didn’t seem to quite grasp the concept of diplomacy.

“They’re not coming,” Amaliya said.

“Maybe they’re delayed,” Cian mused.

“Nah, she’s right. They’re not coming.” Eduardo shrugged his wide shoulders. “You got power-played, man.”

Casting a sharp look at the coyote, Cian said, “Do you know something?”

“No, I’m just taking a guess here, but I think your sister got you all riled up just so she could stand you up and show you who’s da boss.”

“I’m bleeding all over the place for no damn good reason,” Amaliya grumbled.

Cian hated admitting it to himself, but Eduardo had a good point. Rachon was temperamental and prone to unusual stunts. He hadn’t anticipated that she simply wouldn’t show up.

“Maybe we were lured out here for Santos to attack us,” Amaliya offered.

Eduardo inhaled deeply through his nose, then shook his head. “Except that there aren’t any vampires around but you two.”

Amaliya grimaced and lifted her wrists. Cian saw the weeping wounds gradually heal as her eyes glowed. With a growl of frustration, he kicked the ground, striking a divot into the dirt.

“She’s playing games,” Cian uttered through clenched teeth.

“Well, she’s his favorite kid,” Amaliya reminded him.

He bobbed his head in terse agreement, stalking about the other two. “What purpose does it serve to lure us out here? What does she gain from this?”

Amaliya shrugged. “It pisses you off.”

“Which is actually kind of funny,” Eduardo added.

The wind swirled around him, ruffling his hair and bringing with it the scents of humanity, not the supernaturals. Cian shook his head in anger.

“No, no. It’s something else. She does nothing lightly. There is a purpose to all she does, even if she is temperamental. What is Rachon up to?” Cian ran a hand through his long hair, letting it fall through his fingers to rest against his shoulders.

“What does she want?” Amaliya asked. “That’s what we have to figure out.”

Cian peered upward at the cloudless sky and pondered the question. Rachon had loved The Summoner. They had fought at times, but Cian knew that she would come to their creator’s side to defend him despite the distance. He remembered Rachon’s glee as she had tortured Cian in the ruins of a pyramid in Mexico while The Summoner calmly killed Cian’s mortal minions and stitched them back together as grotesque creatures. Maybe he had underestimated her devotion to The Summoner. If Rachon was out for revenge, she would have to find a way to destroy Cian and Amaliya. Possessing Bianca definitely evened the odds, but Rachon had not shown up with her own powerhouse of necromantic magic.