The Beautiful (The Beautiful #1)(77)

Besides that, I do not bargain with lesser beings. I take. After which I make the necessary amends, so that I might one day thrive. It is a blessing to even hope for such a future, given the stains of our past.

I remember the last time I watched a vampire die.

She was a vampire I loved beyond words, though I knew I should not, for I realized it would amount to nothing but heartbreak. But when one finds a kindred spirit, how is it possible to turn away? These connections are so rare, even for immortals. For me, they are the food of life.

I watched as they threw Marin into a narrow pit. Those in my coterie bore witness from the sidelines as cloaked sentries. I buried my affection for her deep behind my heart. Locked it tightly in my chest, so that none of our ranks would know how much I loved a creature who flouted our rules and treated the gifts given to her as nothing more than tokens of appreciation from a dark god.

It was one of the things I appreciated most about her. Marin never took herself too seriously.

After they threw her in the pit, it took a moment for her to regain her bearings. Only a moment. She realized where she was the instant she looked up.

I remember seeing her face as the knowledge passed through her, thankful she could not discern me from the shadows.

She was terrified. Her eyes turned to stone, leached of all light.

But she laughed. Defiant to the end.

She called out to us, knowing we stood on the fringes under cover of darkness, safe in our self-righteousness. Secure in the cloak of our shared hatred.

Marin hurled terrible names in our direction. Demanded to know what we sought to prove by putting an end to her existence.

I call it an existence because—to this day—I do not believe what she lived was a life. Hunting under cover of night. In constant war with beasts of the Otherworld. In constant worry about whom to call friend and whom to call foe. It was not a life because Marin never longed for anything more. She was complacent. She learned nothing in all her years.

And in the end, this complacency failed her. She should have betrayed me before I betrayed her. She never should have been my friend. I never should have loved her. It brought me nothing but pain in the end. The reminder of her skin, soft and hard all at once, like velvet and steel. The taste of her lips upon mine, ever so bittersweet.

But no matter. That is a story for a different night.

Not long after Marin was thrown into the pit, the sun began to shift over the opening of the narrow chasm, slipping in place of the waning moonlight. We all watched in silence while its rays streamed toward the stone floor. We listened as Marin laughed louder, pressing her body against the stacked stones of the cylindrical chamber.

She cried for help in the last moments. Screamed through her laughter, begging for a reprieve. Howling for rescue, her song a broken melody.

Her shrieks haunted me for years. The smell of her flesh as it burned is a memory that still turns my stomach, and not much can do that anymore. Alas, fire will never be my friend. In the years that followed, I hardened myself to such sights. These punishments were necessary if my kind intended to survive. If we meant to establish our place in this world.

After Marin’s death, her coven scattered to the far corners of the earth. Every so often I would hear tales of one of its ranks stalking one of ours in retaliation.

A fool’s errand. True vengeance does not happen in a moment. It happens over time. The careful doling out of chips, the assiduous display of self-control. When I reap what I have sown, it will be in safety. It will be a breath to savor. And I will be far away when it finally comes.

I turn from my lovely street corner, moving toward a narrow alleyway shrouded in thick darkness. A place in which my kind have thrived for centuries, across all the continents of the world.

I sense a familiar presence though it moves without sound. I wait until it draws near. Close enough that I am the only one to hear his words.

“Master,” he says, his eyes glowing like embers in the night, “I did as you asked.”

I nod, my features cool. Aloof. Even through the layers of darkness, it is impossible to miss the adoration in his gaze. The almost feverish desire to garner my approval. “And the girl?” I continue.

“She is no longer welcome at the convent.” He practically vibrates with the pleasure of delivering this news.

Irritating how much he craves my affection. Like a dog begging for its master’s touch. “Good,” I say. “And the Court?”

Amusement tinges his words. “They know of her plight. A member of their thieving ranks was sent to her rescue.”

Delicious. It will make my vengeance that much sweeter. “Does he know?”

My faithful servant draws closer, the scruff on his youthful chin shadowing his inhuman speed. “I assume as much. The Valmont creature will undoubtedly tell him. She angers me, master. I wish to silence her now, more than ever. I wish to silence them all for what they stole from us.”

“The girl is incidental, as are the rest. The usurper alone matters.”

Silence swallows us for a breath. “Master?” he says, his voice tentative. “What is the meaning behind the Carthaginian symbols you’ve instructed me to leave?”

“It is the mark of my kind. Its deeper meaning need not concern you.” I keep my tone flat, my rejoinder final.

When my servant shifts back in frustration, his motions send a whiff of dried blood in my direction. Immortal blood. I narrow my gaze at him. “What caused you injury?”