Pretty When She Destroys (Pretty When She Dies 3)

“I said...kneel.” The smirk was gone. A cold, impassive face stared at him. The white glowing eyes compelled him to obey.

Shuddering, Santos locked his legs, refusing to fall to The Summoner’s power. “No.”

A corner of The Summoner’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing.

One of the monsters swung its long arm, its claws glistening wetly. Santos fell as his leg was torn from his body. Gritting his teeth, he refused to cry out or reveal his agony. Willing his wound to heal, he felt his powers waning. Silence filled the room. Lifting his head, he saw the vampires of his cabal were all shifting their healing bodies into kneeling positions. Gregorio was already prostrate before Etzli.

Striding over to Santos, The Summoner planted her small foot on his chest, shoving him onto his back. “You will kneel before me willingly.” Pressing down, she broke his sternum, driving it into his heart. “Do you understand me?” Applying more pressure, she cracked ribs.

Blood bubbling on his lips, Santos glowered up at The Summoner.

“Kill him,” Etzli said, her dark eyes hard as obsidian.

“No,” The Summoner intervened. “Chop his other leg off, drain his blood, and pack him away until he’s needed.” Tilting her head, her blonde hair stained red by the blood she had consumed, The Summoner said to the cabal, “You serve me now.”

“Yes, Master,” they answered in unison.

“Our time comes.” Leaning down, The Summoner gripped a handful of Santos’s hair and drew his face close to hers. “You will see my greatness. You were a babe playing the games of children. Soon you will see true power.”

Amaliya shoved the silver dagger into the sheath in her boot and reached for a second one tucked into the foam of the weapons locker Cian had hidden in the base of one of the guest beds in their penthouse.

“I’m carrying the obsidian blade and the silver-plated sword.” Cian squatted beside her, loading a clip with silver bullets for the pistols. He wore thin black gloves to protect his hands. “I’m going to put the silver stakes in the black bag, the white birch in the red. The silver will work on both vampires and weres. The white birch is for Etzli. It’s even stronger than silver.”

“Gotcha.”

Amaliya was glutted on the blood of the residents of Cian’s apartment building. As soon as she had awakened, she had slipped in and out of the fancy apartments sipping from the throats of the inhabitants until she literally couldn’t drink anymore. Cian had taught her to drink without killing, but her anger an

d grief was so strong it had been a struggle not to drain her victims dry. Red-tinged tears streaked her face. She hated that she was crying, yet how could she not? Not only was she mourning, she was furious. Her grandmother had been incredibly important in her life and now she was gone. Wiping at her face, she struggled to steady her nerves.

“As soon as we reach Santos’s mansion, bring the dead up. Have them attack whatever moves. Santos keeps a lot of blood minions, so keep that in mind if you need more blood.” Cian’s accent was thick, deep, and dangerous. “Don’t hesitate to kill the minions if you need more bodies for zombies.”

Amaliya nodded.

“I’ll concentrate on Etzli.” Cian hesitated, then slapped a clip into one of the pistols. His hazel eyes met hers. “The Summoner is yours.”

“I’ll kill him,” Amaliya said in a tough voice. Her sweet little grandmother lay in a mortuary somewhere in Eastland County waiting to be prepared for burial in a few days. Innocente had only been dead less than twenty-four hours and already the void that she had left in Amaliya’s life was unbearable.

“Staking didn’t work on The Summoner, so try decapitation.” Cian tucked the pistol into a holster on his belt.

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cian said with a wry smile.

Amaliya grabbed the collar of his shirt, dragged him close, and kissed him. His tongue and lips were flavored with fresh blood. He tasted like power. Releasing him, Amaliya experienced a surge of love so powerful it hurt. She loved him. He loved her. It was one of two truths she knew without a doubt. The other was that The Summoner needed to die.

“I fuckin’ love you,” Amaliya growled at him before rising and stalking out of the room. “Now let’s go kill that asshole.”

Cian grabbed the bags of weapons and followed her out into the main living area of the apartment.

The vampires were dressed alike in black jeans, t-shirts, and boots. They needed clothes that allowed them to move quickly and hopefully without detection until it was too late for The Summoner and his people.

After they had returned the previous night from Fenton, Texas, Amaliya had waited until their friends left for their own homes and their house guests - Cassandra, Cian’s dhamphir daughter and her girlfriend, Aimee, a witch - had gone upstairs, before informing Cian that she was going to kill The Summoner. The death of Innocente ate at her viciously, but the demise of Pete, her childhood friend who had died trying to save her, inspired a rage so powerful it made her tremble. The Summoner had murdered people who loved her and she was going to kill him. She had found a way to kill him once, and she would again.

Cian placed the bags in the front hall, then checked his jean pockets for his car keys. “We’ll take the back route into San Antonio. It’s longer, but there is less of a chance of one of Santos’ people spotting us before we hit the mansion.”

Amaliya nodded tersely. “Sounds good.”

A wisp of fear threaded through her raw fury, but she ignored it. Maybe it was a suicide run going after The Summoner, but she didn’t want to acknowledge that possibility. She hadn’t even discussed her plan with Cian when she had awakened. Cian had simply anticipated her desires and started preparations immediately.