No Rest for the Wicked (Immortals After Dark #3)(2)

“Good,” Sebastian rasped. “Life has long been wearying. And now with the girls dying—”

“We will try to turn them as well.”

“You will not dare!” Sebastian roared.

Murdoch cast a look askance at Nikolai, but Nikolai shook his head. “Lift him up.” He made his voice like steel, the same tone he had used as a general in the army. “He will drink.”

Though Sebastian struggled, spitting curses, Murdoch raised him to a sitting position. A sudden rush of blood pooled from Sebastian’s stomach wound. Nikolai flinched at the sight but bit his wrist open.

“Respect my will in this, Nikolai,” Sebastian grated, his words desperate. He used his last reserves of strength to clench Nikolai’s arm and hold his wrist away. “Do not force this on us. Living isn’t everything.” They’d often argued this point. Nikolai had always held survival sacred; Sebastian believed that death was better than living in dishonor.

Nikolai was silent, his jet eyes flicking over Sebastian’s face as he considered. Then he finally answered, “I can’t . . . I won’t watch you die.” His tone was low and harsh, and he seemed barely able to maintain control of his emotions.

“You do this for yourself,” Sebastian said, his voice losing power. “Not for us. You curse us to salve your conscience.” He could not let Nikolai’s blood reach his lips. “No . . . damn you, no!”

But they pried his mouth open, dripped the hot blood inside, and forced his jaw shut until he swallowed it.

They were still holding him down when he took his last breath and his sight went dark.





And none will hear the postman’s knock

Without a quickening of the heart.

For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

—W. H. Auden





1




Castle Gornyi, Russia

Present day

For the second time in her life, Kaderin the Coldhearted hesitated to kill a vampire.

In the last instant of a silent, lethal swing, she stayed her sword an inch above the neck of her prey—because she’d found him holding his head in his hands.

She saw his big body tense. As a vampire, he could easily trace away, disappearing. Instead, he raised his face to gaze at her with dark gray eyes, the color of a storm about to be unleashed. Surprisingly, they were clear of the red that marked a vampire’s bloodlust, which meant he had never drunk a being to death. Yet.

He beseeched with those eyes, and she realized he hungered for an end. He wanted the death blow she’d come to his decrepit castle to deliver.

She’d stalked him soundlessly, primed for battle with a vicious predator. Kaderin had been in Scotland with other Valkyrie when they’d received the call about a “vampire haunting a castle and terrorizing a village in Russia.” She had gladly volunteered to destroy the leech. She was her Valkyrie coven’s most prolific killer, her life given over to ridding the earth of vampires.

In Scotland, before this call to Russia, she’d killed three.

So why was she hesitating now? Why was she easing her sword back? He would be merely one among thousands of her kills, his fangs collected and strung together with the others she’d taken.

The last time she’d stayed her hand had resulted in a tragedy so great her heart had been broken forever by it.

In a deep, gravelly voice, the vampire asked, “Why do you wait?” He seemed startled by the sound of his own words.

I don’t know why. Unfamiliar physical sensations wracked her. Her stomach knotted. As though a band had tightened around her chest, her lungs were desperate for breath. I can’t comprehend why.

The wind blew outside, sliding over the mountain, making this high room in the vampire’s darkened lair groan. Unseen gaps in the walls allowed in the chill morning breeze. As he stood, rising to his full, towering height, her blade caught the wavering light from a cluster of candles and reflected it on him.

His grave face was lean with harsh planes, and other females would consider it handsome. His black shirt was threadbare and unbuttoned, displaying much of his chest and sculpted torso, and his worn jeans were slung low at his narrow waist. The wind tugged at the tail of his shirt and stirred his thick black hair. Very handsome. But then, the vampires I kill often are.

His gaze focused on the tip of her sword. Then, as if the threat of her weapon were forgotten, he studied her face, his eyes lingering on each of her features. His blatant appreciation unsettled her, and she clutched the hilt tightly, something she never did.

Honed to masterly sharpness with her diamond file, her sword cut through bone and muscle with little effort. It swung perfectly from her loose wrist as though it were an extension of her arm. She’d never needed to hold it tightly.

Take his head. One less vampire. The species checked in the tiniest way.

“What is your name?” His speech was clipped like an aristocrat’s, but held a familiar accent. Estonian. Though Estonia bordered Russia to the west and its inhabitants were considered a Nordic breed of Russian, she recognized the difference, and wondered what he was doing away from his own country.

She tilted her head. “Why do you want to know?”

“I would like to know the name of the woman who will deliver me from this.”

He wanted to die. After all she’d suffered from his kind, the last thing she wanted to do was oblige the vampire in any way. “You assume I’ll deliver your death blow?”