Lover Avenged(238)

There was fresh blood.

His eyes shot over to-Oh, thank you, Virgin Scribe, Ehlena was still standing, and Zsadist was on her tight as Kevlar. That was the good news. Bad news? The pair was directly opposite the door, with, oh, maybe a hundred sin-eaters between them and the safe way out.

Although given the way she held his eyes, she wasn’t leaving without him.

“Ehlena…” he whispered hoarsely. “No.”

She nodded and mouthed, We’re getting you free.

He looked away in frustration, watching the sway of the robes, knowing more than Ehlena could about what exactly this procession and the chanting meant.

Holy…shit. But how?

The question was answered as he saw the dead body of the princess against the wall. Her hands were stained blue, and he knew why: She had killed his uncle, her mate…the king.

Shaking himself, he wondered how she had done it. It couldn’t have been easy-getting past the royal guard would have been nearly impossible and their uncle had been a crafty, suspicious piece of work.

Payback had been a bitch, however. Although she hadn’t found death in the manner of symphaths, who preferred making their victims commit involuntary suicide. She’d been shot through the chest four times, and going by the accuracy of the cluster of wounds, he figured Xhex had done the shooting.

She always marked her victims, and the N, S, E, and W of the compass was one of her favorites when she was using a gun.

He refocused on Ehlena. She was still staring up at him, her eyes impossibly warm. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the compassion, but then his vampire side took over. As a bonded male, the safety of his mate was his first and greatest priority, and weak though he was, his body jerked against the chains that held him aloft.

Go! he mouthed. When she shook her head, he glared at her. Why not?

She put her hand over her heart and mouthed back, Because.

He let his head fall loose on his stiff neck. What had changed her mind? he wondered. How was it possible she’d come for him after everything he’d done to her? And who had cracked and told her the truth?

He was going to kill them.

Assuming anyone got out of this alive.

The symphaths stopped chanting and fell still. After a moment of silence, they turned to face him with military precision and bowed low.

Their grids registered in a rush as each one of them presented him-or herself to Revhenge… It was everyone he remembered from long ago, his extended family.

They wanted him as their king. Regardless of his uncle’s will, they were choosing him.

The chains he hung from jerked and then started to lower him, the pain in his shoulders roaring, his stomach rolling in agony. But he couldn’t let on how weak he was. Surrounded by his sociopathic brethren, he knew this respectful-prostration bit wasn’t going to last long, and if he looked vulnerable in any way, he was fucked.

So he did the only thing that made sense.

As his feet touched the cool stone floor, he allowed his knees to buckle smoothly and forced his upper body to sit up straight-as if the classic contemplative pose of the king were exactly what he chose to assume, instead of the best he could do considering he’d been suspended by his clavicles for…

How long had it been? He had no idea.

Rehv glanced down at his body. Thinner. Much. But his skin was intact, which, given all the creepy-crawly crap was a fucking miracle.

He took a deep breath…and drew strength from his vampire side in order to fuel his symphath mind: With his shellan’s life at stake, he had reserves he wouldn’t be able to call on for anyone else.

Rehvenge lifted his head, lit the chamber with his amethyst eyes, and accepted the adulation.

As the candles out in the hall flared brilliantly, power surged through him, a great wave of command and domination rising, his vision shifting past red and into purple. In the base of his gut, he grounded himself and branded every single symphath in the colony with the knowledge that he could make them do anything. Slit their own throats. Fuck one another’s mates. Hunt down and kill animals or humans or anything else with a heartbeat.

The king was the CPU for the colony. The head brain. And these citizens of the race had been taught that lesson well by his uncle and his father: Symphaths were sociopaths with a deep sense of self-preservation-and the reason they chose Rehvenge, a half-breed, was because they wanted to keep the vampires away. With him at the helm, they could continue to live among themselves, sequestered in the colony.

From over in the corner, there was a sloppy shifting and a growl.

The princess rose to her feet in spite of her wounds, her hair a tangled mess around her maniacal face, her lingerie glossy with her own blue blood.

“They are mine to rule.” Her voice was reedy, but determined, her obsession sufficient to reanimate what was or should have been dead. “It is my rule, and you are mine.”