The Impaled Bride (Vampire Bride 3)

I obey the big man and nestle down in the covers next to Ágota. I stare at her face and notice she looks thinner and older than before the battle. I rest my hand against her cheek, stroking it with my fingers.

“Do not have nightmares,” I whisper. “You did what is right. I know it was not easy for you.”

Ágota mutters in her s

leep.

I lean forward to hear what she is saying.

“...so much blood...”

Rolling over, she burrows under the bedcovers.

I fall asleep at her side and awaken to see Soffia standing over the bed. I am shocked to see the affectionate manner in which she regards my slumbering sister. A thick quilt embroidered with the flaming tree emblem is tucked around Ágota and it was not there before we fell asleep.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“I came to give her a gift, but I see she is still sleeping.”

“Leave!”

“Come now, Erzsébet. The past must be forgiven for I have repented in the presence of the coven. I will swear my allegiance to the Archwitch when she awakens.”

“You never believed she was an Archwitch before. You said she was a fraud.”

“I believe now. After all that I saw and experienced, I believe.” Soffia sits on the edge of our bed and gives me a sweet smile. “I see the truth now. Ágota will elevate us above the mortals of this world. She will slay our enemies and force them to bow at our feet. She will give birth to more Archwitches and we will claim this world as ours.”

I do not like this proclamation. I saw the pain in Ágota’s eyes when she slew our enemies. Killing is my gift, not hers.

“You cannot use her to take over this world,” I protest. “That is not her role. She is a protector.”

Soffia shakes her head, her laughter mocking. “Once she understands exactly how to use her power in battle, she will be a conqueror.”

“Is this what Balázs wants?”

With a snort, Soffia regards me coldly. “He is weak and does not understand what must happen next. I know you are fond of him, but if you rise to the position of Archwitch like your sister, you will understand what a fool he is.”

I draw my dagger and swipe the blade across Soffia’s throat in one swift motion. Blood soaks the quilt and sprays across my face. Shocked, she grips her neck, her eyes wide with shock. Pushing her off the bed, I climb over my sister to stand over the blonde witch. Her fingers start to move, forming a healing spell. I step onto her palm to stop her. I will not let her hurt my sister. I watch her die with satisfaction and wait until I sense her soul leave her body before I begin to scream.

My cries bring the guards into the room followed by Balázs. I watch him scrutinize every detail of the scene before him before he falls to his knees before me.

“Why, Erjy?” he whispers.

“She wanted to hurt Ágota.” Tears sparkle in my eyes, not out of remorse, but out of love for my sister. No one shall ever hurt her without feeling my vengeance.

Balázs’s large hand closes over mine and I allow him to take the dagger from me. While his guards watch with uncertainty, he cleans the blade on his tunic before tucking it into the sheath on my belt. “Erjy, what you have done—”

“I defended my sister against the one who tried to kill her before and came into this room to try once more. I have no regrets,” I tell him in a tight, fierce voice.

“I have failed you both in this matter,” he whispers.

“Sir?” A guard steps forward. “Should we take the girl to a cell?”

“No, no. Soffia’s animosity against the Archwitch was well-known. Jealousy is a vile instigator of terrible deeds. Erzsébet defended her sister, our Archwitch. Let that be known.”

I sit in the corner of the room for the next hour watching members of the coven take Soffia’s body, clean the floor, remove the soiled bedding, and tend to Ágota as she sleeps. Henrietta helps me clean my face and hands, but does not ask what happened. When I am finally dressed in my nightgown, I am left alone with Ágota and Balázs. Her father sits at her side, clutching her hand. I hang my dagger in its sheath on the hook near my wardrobe, my fingers tracing the rose on the hilt.

“Erzsébet,” Balázs whispers, gesturing me to his side.