Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies 2)

“Oh, fuck you. ”

“Later. ”

“Ugh!”

“If you don’t practice, you’ll regret it. You need to have control of your power. ” Cian stood up on the crooked headstone, easily balancing.

“What if the neighbors see us?” Amaliya looked over both shoulders through the clusters of thick trees dotting the graveyard, then across the street at the darkened houses.

“They’re all asleep; the street lamps don’t even reach this far, but. . . if it will make you feel better. . . ” Cian closed his eyes, concentrated, and exhaled.

Almost immediately a thick mist billowed up from the ground, slithering around the old graves, and floating up to form a protective curtain around them.

“Show off. ” Amaliya dug her heel into the ground, flexing her foot slightly. She was agitated by the whole night. She had wanted a nice evening out with Cian, pretending they were actually a couple, and just not the only two vampires in the cabal of Austin that were under constant threat by outside forces. Ever since her arrival in Cian’s city, she had been trouble for him. She knew it, he knew it, but they had fallen hard for one another. In a weird way, they were family because The Summoner had created both of them. Incestuous family, she supposed, since they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Unless she was mad at him. Then she just wanted to punch him.

“You need to practice, Amal. If we’re attacked, I need you to be able to protect yourself. ”

“I killed The Summoner! That has to count for something!”

Cian stared at the daggers at his hands. “Well, it does. But there are greater monsters in the world. ”

Amaliya barely saw him move, his action was so swift. She ducked, but the blade nicked her as it passed. Blood trickled from her wounded arm as she crouched in the mist, ready for his next move.

“You hit my tattoo!”

“It’ll heal. ” Studying the tip of the remaining dagger, Cian said, “But the point is, I hit you. ”

“Grazed me. It’s just a flesh wound. ” The blood sluiced down her arm and dripped from her fingers.

“You should be faster than that. ” Cian’s Irish brogue was seeping through his words. He wasn’t happy with her.

Amaliya felt like ripping off her shoes and hurling them at him before stomping home. She never asked to be a vampire. She never asked to be a necromancer. Hell, she had never asked to fall in love with him and shack up in Austin. She hated that she was trapped in the city since she had killed The Summoner. Other vampire cabals had a keen interest in her power. With the threat of The Summoner removed, the other powerful vampires were not very happy with the idea of his progeny remaining alive.

“I am fast,” Amaliya protested. “I just don’t want to be-”

The blade glinted for a second in the moonlight and she flung her hand up before her. The ground around her gave way as a corpse exploded out of the unmarked grave on which she was crouched. The dagger slammed into its chest and the very old, decayed body shuddered.

Amaliya reached out and touched the zombie with her bloodied fingers. The mildewed fabric and desiccated form beneath her fingers didn’t disgust her as it once would have. She felt an affinity to the dead now. She felt a kinship with them, compassion, almost a sense of belonging. As her blood touched its flesh, the corpse took on a more human appearance. It was an elderly black man. Inclining his head toward her, the zombie awaited her next command.

Standing, Amaliya gripped the dagger and yanked it out of the zombie’s chest. “Sorry. Instinct. Didn’t mean to awaken you. ”

The dried orbs that were once eyes, were slowly taking on colo

r. The longer she touched the zombie, the more he would resemble the living. Her blood was life to a zombie. It was the basis of her necromantic power. The Summoner hadn’t needed to shed blood to raise the dead, but she did.

“Sleep,” she whispered.

The zombie closed its eyes and the grave swallowed him.

Staring at the dagger in her hand, Amaliya felt both sickened and enthralled with her power.

“You could raise the graveyard,” Cian said stepping next to her.

“I don’t want to pull a Night of the Living Dead,” Amaliya said in a sad voice.

Tangling his fingers in her long black hair, Cian lifted his chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He was an old vampire and at five foot seven they were almost the same height. In heels, she loomed over him.