Luther's Return (Scanguards Vampires Book 10)

“It was him, it was him!” she now yelled with a fury he didn’t quite understand.

If he’d known that everybody at Scanguards held a grudge for such a long time, he would have never come.

“I paid the fucking price,” Luther ground out.

What else did they want from him? The council had sentenced him to twenty years, though they could have given him fifty, but Amaury’s mate, Nina, had pleaded for leniency. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe he didn’t deserve leniency.

“Release him!” Samson commanded the guards who were restraining him. When they hesitated, he added, “That’s an order.”

When the men took their claws off him, Luther felt a sense of surprise wash over him. Had he misjudged Samson?

A balled fist punched him in the face so fast and so hard that Luther was catapulted back. He lost his balance and crashed against the wall. Before he could jump back up, Samson was already on him.

“Where’s my daughter?” he yelled and delivered a second blow to Luther’s jaw.

Luther’s head snapped to the side, and he tasted blood. His own blood. “How the fuck should I know?”

When the next blow came, Luther blocked it with his forearm and pushed back. But Samson didn’t give up so easily. Fury coursed through Luther, giving him wings. He reared up and barreled toward his former friend, delivering an uppercut to Samson’s chin, yet still holding back his true strength.

Samson’s eyes blazed with unbridled rage, while his friends stood back a few paces, allowing their boss to do as he pleased. Luther gritted his teeth. He hadn’t come to duke it out with Samson as if they were two thugs. That hadn’t been his plan. Far from it.

But apparently it was what Samson wanted.

Another punch veered toward Luther’s temple. In a lightning-fast move he raised his arm, preventing Samson’s claws from reaching their target, while kicking his foot against his opponent’s knee. But Samson didn’t go down as expected. Sure-footed, he barely swayed before drawing back his arm for another blow.

“Stop it!” Luther yelled.

“What did you do to my daughter?” Samson repeated, flashing his fangs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

But his words fell on deaf ears. Samson’s claws came toward him. Luther moved, but the wall at his back and another vampire who stood too close made it impossible to get out of the path of the lethal instrument fast enough. Sharp barbs, as deadly as knives, sliced across his shoulder, leaving deep cuts from which blood oozed instantly. The metallic scent permeated the air in the corridor, inciting the need in the assembled vampires to show their vampire side.

Fangs flashed. Fingers turned into claws. Eyes glowed red. Men turned into bloodthirsty vampires. He’d seen it often enough—prison had been a perfect microcosm of what happened on the outside.

Samson slammed his full body weight against Luther, pinning him against the wall. Though Luther could have pushed him off, what would have been the point when at least seven other vampires were surrounding them, ready to interfere should their boss be in danger? Not even Luther could beat those odds. So he didn’t even try.

“Go ahead, slice me open!” he challenged his old friend. “But it won’t change my answer. I don’t fucking know where your daughter is.”

At least now he could guess that the slightly hostile treatment he was receiving had nothing to do with what had happened twenty years ago. Rather, he seemed to have stumbled into an incident that was only just unraveling. And he sure had no interest in sticking around to find out what this was about. If Samson couldn’t keep tabs on his daughter, it wasn’t Luther’s goddamn problem.

Through narrowed eyes Samson watched him intently, as if he could find out the truth by staring at him. Luther didn’t blink. He had nothing to hide.

From behind Samson, another vampire appeared. Luther had never seen him before, but he knew nevertheless who he was. After all, he was a younger edition of Samson himself—and a hybrid. He had to be his son.

“He’s lying. He has to be lying!” the young hybrid spat. “Dad, you can’t possibly believe Luther! Not after all he did!” It appeared Samson’s offspring knew who he was—and what he’d done in the past. Mistrust spewed from the boy’s eyes.

“Grayson!” Samson growled, tossing his son a warning look. “You take care of your mother and Patrick; I’ll handle this.”