Last Blood

Tatiana let out a shriek of anger, but spun back to face Chrysabelle. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to do what the Tree of Life didn’t.” Chrysabelle reached back, grabbed the hilts of both sacres, and unsheathed them in one graceful sweep. Their beautiful blades gleamed like water in the moonlight, the hilts humming and ready for the battle ahead. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Like hell you are.” With a snarl and flash of fang, Tatiana thrust her metal hand out, transforming it into a long, wicked blade. Toothy serrations ran down one edge. “Bring it, blood whore. I’ve wanted to cut you apart for a long, long time.”

Chrysabelle circled toward Mal, pushing Tatiana away from him and whatever Lilith had become. In his arms, she seemed like an innocent. Chrysabelle snuck a look at them. Heaven help her, but Mal looked so natural cradling Lilith, whispering soft words that had stopped her tears. Chrysabelle’s pride in him soared. He would be a wonderful father, no matter what his reservations were. Renewed by the surge of emotion, she raised her weapons and beckoned to Tatiana. “Let’s go, vampire. Your time is up.”

Slowly, Tatiana worked farther away from Mal. She spun her sword hand in a figure eight, the metal leaving trails of light in the air. “How wrong you are, comarré.”

Chrysabelle shook her head. “The only wrong thing here is that your ashes are going to dirty up this place.” Satisfied that Mal and Lilith were out of danger, she lunged.

Tatiana blocked the thrust and metal met metal. The clang scared a flock of small birds near the perimeter, filling the night sky with the rustle of wings. Tatiana twisted, bringing her sword around.

Chrysabelle ducked and the blade whistled over her head. She kicked a leg out, knocking Tatiana off balance. She fell, but caught herself with her physical hand and flipped back to her feet in a split second.

Plenty of time for Chrysabelle to reposition. She sliced both sacres through the air as Tatiana righted herself. The tips of the blades caught the front of her throat, opening a red line that closed almost as soon as it formed. “First blood,” Chrysabelle taunted. “And I’ll have the last blood, too.”

Tatiana retaliated with a downward strike, but Chrysabelle danced out of the way. Pain burned along her upper arm. She glanced down to see blood spilling from a slice on her bicep.

“Too bad you don’t heal as fast as I do,” Tatiana gloated. Behind her, Mal growled. Tatiana laughed. “Don’t worry, my love, I know you wanted to be the one to kill her, but looks like that fun is going to be all mine.”

“My love?” Chrysabelle smirked. “Is that what you’re calling my fiancé these days?”

Mal’s mouth opened slightly and he stilled. Then a smile as bright as the sun he’d never see broke over his face. “Is that a yes?”

Chrysabelle winked at him. “We’ll talk about it.”

“Fiancé?” Tatiana whirled around. “What the hell is she talking about? Explain this, Malkolm, or I swear, I will kill you when I’m done with her.”

It was all the opening Chrysabelle needed. She tossed one sacre into the air, caught it in a reverse grip and drove it forward like a lance. The blade pierced Tatiana’s back and slid through her body like a needle stitching silk until the hilt met flesh. Chrysabelle leaned in to whisper in Tatiana’s ear. “That’s for Maris.” Then she grabbed the hilt with both hands and yanked up, slicing through Tatiana’s rib cage before loosening her grip to shove Tatiana forward.

Tatiana fell flat on her face, but pushed to her knees, struggling to get a foot on the ground so she could get up. Chrysabelle danced around to face her. The first few inches of the sacre’s blade stuck out of Tatiana’s chest, dripping blood that turned to ashes as it fell. Chrysabelle shook her head. “Too bad you didn’t turn your back on my mother. Then she could have taken you out a long time ago.”

Anger gleamed in Tatiana’s eyes and blood trickled from her mouth. She lifted her sword hand to strike, but Chrysabelle stepped back from the wobbling figure. Tatiana took one step forward. “You stupid whore. You’ve ruined everythin—”

The sacre fell to the ground as Tatiana’s ashes floated down after it. They covered the weapon in a gray shroud.

It was over. A sob shook Chrysabelle in a hard rush of joy and the rising sense that she’d finally avenged her mother. “We’re free,” she whispered across the clearing to Mal. It seemed as if another person took over her body and began moving her feet, walking her toward him, and then something inside her clicked and she ran.

He set Lilith down and caught Chrysabelle up in his arms. “You did it.” He kissed her. “I knew you could.” He leaned back. “I didn’t know you were going to do it dressed like a dominatrix, but the look is growing on me.”

Laughing, she returned his kiss with tears streaming down her face. Tears of happiness and pain and redemption. Beside them, Lilith’s little hand patted Chrysabelle’s leg. She glanced down to see Lilith sucking her thumb. “What are we going to do with her? I’m not even sure what happened to her.”

Mal followed Chrysabelle’s gaze. “She’s got family in Paradise City. We take her back with us.”

Lilith lifted her arm to point at something behind Chrysabelle, her little face scrunching into a tearful mask. “No,” she shouted. “No!”

Chrysabelle and Mal looked where she was pointing. “Holy mother,” Chrysabelle whispered.