“Yes.”
With a heavy swallow, Roksana wheeled her useless luggage to the side and advanced into the darkness, positive she was being observed from all sides. For that reason, she kept her stance low and her fists at the ready. I will not be caught unaware.
She moved without a sound, balancing on the balls of her feet, breathing evenly. By the time she’d taken her fifteenth step, she knew she’d reached the center of the hall. That she stood directly beneath the chandelier that dangled vampire fangs instead of crystals.
Her mother might be the Queen of Shadows, she might hold dominion over the Russian contingent of vampire slayers, but she didn’t have a throne. No, her modus operandi was to keep everyone guessing, at all times, so she could be in any location—
A heavy object whizzed toward the back of Roksana’s head and she ducked just in time, whatever it was grazing her blonde flyaways. She dropped into a crouch and spun, kicking the feet out from beneath her attacker and pouncing without preamble, ramming her forearm into their jugular and being rewarded with a satisfying grunt. There would be no celebrating, though, so while she held down her assailant, she closed her eyes and listened for the whispers of her next attack. Concentrate. Concentrate. Would it come from above? Beneath?
Both?
A high-pitched squeal of rust was her only warning before two hundred pounds, give or take, dropped onto her from above. Someone must have been waiting on the chandelier, she concluded absently, while flipping the live weight over, smashing her closed fist into their nose—and delivering a backward kick to the first attacker who was now back on their feet.
Roksana tilted her head, using her split second of rest to dissect the new footsteps rushing in her direction from the side. A woman. No shoes. Skilled in the art of moving unaware, but not skilled enough. Roksana reached for the skulls of her first two aggressors, smashing them together, tossing both stunned bodies into the path of the oncoming threat and snorting when the chick tripped and fell over her teammates.
The confidence she’d been sorely lacking rose like yeasty dough in her veins. “Send me a challenge, Mother—”
Blunt force caught Roksana in the stomach and she wheezed, nearly dropping to her knees. She stumbled, but somehow found the strength to remain standing. To fall in front of her mother would be the ultimate shame. Die with a modicum of pride, damn you.
Light bathed the basement, revealing Inessa standing two feet away, holding an ornately carved club, which she’d obviously used to strike Roksana in the stomach. Her lips were peeled back from her teeth in a snarl, her eyes leveling utter disgust at her daughter’s head.
Roksana sucked in a breath and snapped her spine straight, a dark sort of joy filtering into in her breast. Her mother was standing there. Right there. It had been so long. If only she could just sink into that singular maternal embrace, this constant burden on her soul might lighten, the way it had post-Vegas. It didn’t matter that loathing shone in Inessa’s eyes. It didn’t matter that she’d expressed disappointment in Roksana every day since her birth. There had been occasional positive reinforcement. Sporadic expressions of pride.
In the darkness after the death of her friends, her mother had been the light shining on the other end of the tunnel, giving her purpose. A way to divert the pain before it smashed her heart into a thousand pieces. Others might classify her mother as a horrible, spiteful human being. But the little girl inside Roksana didn’t care. She just saw her mother and wanted to soak up even the smallest droplet of love.
Careful not to let her joy—or her misery—show, Roksana bowed her head. “Inessa.”
“You.” Tapping the club against her palm, she circled around the back of Roksana. “My own daughter has returned to me a failure. Your inability to complete an important assignment is made infinitely more frustrating by the fact that you’re able to take down my three best slayers without breaking a sweat. What an unforgiveable waste of talent you are.”
Knowing better than to interrupt one of Inessa’s rants, Roksana formed a flat line with her lips, keeping a close eye on the felled slayers in case they decided to attack again.
“Our contingent has a zero tolerance policy on failure. Have you returned to face your consequences head on, or will you grovel for your life like any other lowly pissant?”
Roksana lifted her chin, ordering the tears to stay locked away, where they would never be shed. “I’m here to face my consequences.”
Inessa completed her circle around Roksana, stopping in front of her. “You will not beg to keep your life?”
“No.”
“No? But you seemed to be enjoying it so much, palling around with the enemy. My own daughter,” she ground out, tracing the side of Roksana’s face with the blunt tip of her club. “Thumbing her pretty nose at my legacy, as usual.”