A firm nudge from Paine’s hand on my lower back informed me I needed to stay close. I nearly plastered myself to Paine’s side, fighting back the urge to cling to him like a terrified child. I took a peripheral peek from the corner of my eyes, getting a layout of the place. There were two doors, directly across from each other, on the far sides of the room.
“This area is reserved for those facing my justice or when I want to share more, how should I put this, primal pleasures with my guests,” Revenald addressed me for the first time, taking the center seat as Anton sat in the chair to his right. “As you can imagine, this room doesn’t see justice happen often. Those who enter our fold are smart enough not to bring attention to themselves. Once you become a member of a vampiric household, you are loyal to it until death.” Revenald clapped his hands and the door to the left opened. I didn’t have a chance to see who entered the room, paying attention to Revenald as he continued, “Several years ago, another servant was taken to task. He was punished, of course, but it appears the lesson wasn’t learned. I’ve offered my assistance in teaching him a proper lesson. You see, he attempted to run from his mistress not once, but twice. That just won’t do.”
I only managed a brief glimpse of the man—a necromancer—who was dressed in the same manner as Goose before I saw the woman leading him toward us. My eyes went wide, my heart thundering in my chest. She looked exactly as she had in the future, dark hair, bright eyes, expensive yet slutty clothes. I knew our paths would cross one day. I’d actually warned her half-brother just before I killed him she would meet the same fate. She took the empty seat beside Revenald, staring at me, her bright green eyes full of hatred.
Victoria Delcroix.
The vampires accompanying her yanked on the arms of the man between them. He was in chains, complete with wrist and ankle cuffs. He stopped in front of the half-demons, chin lifted in defiance. His brown hair was heavy on his brow, nearly falling over his whiskey colored eyes. Even beneath his shirt, I could see the definition of his muscles, the broad lines of his shoulders. Standing at six-feet, he wasn’t huge, but he was deadly. There was a glint in his gaze I knew only too well, one I sometimes saw staring back at me when I looked in the mirror.
“Matthew Johnson,” Revenald said, flicking his hand at me, “meet Rhiannon Murphy. Rhiannon Murphy, meet Matthew Johnson.”
We didn’t say a word, sizing each other up. He was bigger and bulkier than me, meaning he would be slower on his feet. I glanced at his arms and hands. Jesus. I’d have to avoid those guns at all costs if he aimed them in my direction. Just the right punch could and would break bone.
“You’re dead,” Victoria chimed in softly and I looked at her. She was staring straight at me, her expression unreadable and set in stone. “Before the evening is done, I intend to drain the life from you.”
“Don’t start, Victoria,” Revenald chided. “The night has just begun.” He waved at the guards beside the chained man and they started removing the bindings. “Let us begin the festivities.”
Revenald motioned me forward and waited until I stopped beside the now-unchained necromancer. “This is your first test, servant of my blood. Matthew has defied his mistress more than once, meaning he is challenged by death—the same as you. I’ve been told you prefer violence, which works nicely in this case. The two of you will engage in battle in this room, but there’s a catch.” There was a sinister spark in Revenald’s eyes when he said, “Only one of you will survive. It’s a fight to the death. Win and you will be given the opportunity to absolve yourself of your crimes against my home. Die and, well...” He chuckled, shrugging. “You die.”
“Kill her and I’ll release you, Matthew.” Victoria tossed out. “Her life for your freedom.”
Why did she have to do that? My palm twitched, itching to connect with the side of her face. Matthew’s gaze went from intent to lethal. She was going to reward him with the very thing he’d done to get himself in trouble in the first place—the thing he wanted most.
Damn it to hell. I was as good as fucked.