Chapter 10 Playing Bait

He stepped around the edge of the cot. He moved into the narrow space between the iron frame and the center of the tent. He raised his arm higher, preparing for the downward strike. His focus remained entirely on my face.

He forgot his surroundings. He forgot the monster in the room.

"Now," I whispered.

The assassin frowned.

A massive, clawed hand wrapped around his face from behind.

Vasilis lifted the assassin off his feet. The man dropped his curved blade. It clattered against the dirt floor. Vasilis twisted his wrist. A sickening crunch echoed through the tent.

The assassin went limp. Vasilis tossed the lifeless body aside like a broken toy.

The Alpha stood in the center of the tent. His chest heaved. Blood dripped from his claws. A dark stain spread across his leather armor where the first assassin had stabbed him. He looked at the two corpses on the floor, then turned his golden eyes to me.

I stayed on the cot. My hand still pressed the linen to my wound. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I kept my expression blank.

"You used yourself as bait," Vasilis rumbled. He walked toward me.

"I used his arrogance," I corrected. "I positioned him in your blind spot. You are welcome."

Vasilis stopped at the edge of the cot. He stared down at me. The feral rage in his eyes faded, replaced by a deep, unsettling reverence. He reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers left a smear of blood on my skin.

"You are no little bird," he murmured.

The tent flap tore open again.

I flinched. Vasilis spun around, raising his sword.

Ignatius stepped inside. Orson and Isidore followed. The three kings looked at the dead assassins on the floor. They looked at Vasilis. Then, their eyes locked on me.

Ignatius took off his leather gloves. He tucked them into the pocket of his pristine coat. His crimson eyes scanned my bloody chest. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"The surrounding is secure," Ignatius stated. His voice was a calm surface over a freezing ocean. "Rogue faction. They bypassed my vampires and your wolves. They wanted her dead before we could claim her."

"They failed," Vasilis snarled.

"They came too close," Isidore countered. The Fallen Angel stepped forward. His silver eyes met mine. The glow of his celestial magic illuminated the dark space. "This camp is open. She is vulnerable here."

Orson kicked one of the dead assassins. "The feathered boy is right. Every rebel, cultist, and warlord in Aetherion will hunt her now. The prophecy has a face. And it is a very pretty face."

Orson looked at me and flashed that dangerous grin again. It did not reach his eyes.

Vasilis tightened his grip on his sword. "She stays in the North."

"She bleeds in the North," Ignatius corrected. He moved with deceptive speed, crossing the tent to stand at the foot of my cot. He looked down at me. The hunger in his stare made my skin crawl. "We agree on a truce. A temporary alliance. We take her to the Silver Citadel."

"Neutral territory," Orson agreed. "My demons will guard the west gate. Your wolves take the east."

"No," Vasilis argued.

"I am bleeding," I interrupted.

The four men stopped talking. They looked at me.

I pulled the linen away from my chest. The wound continued to leak. The pain was a steady, agonizing pulse. I was tired of being discussed like a piece of furniture.

"I do not care about your territories. I do not care about your Citadel," I said, letting the anger bleed into my voice. "I want a doctor. If one of you can provide that, I will go with you. If not, get out of my tent."

Vasilis smirked.

Ignatius inclined his head. "The Citadel possesses the finest healers in the realm. You will have a proper bed, Victoria de Lamarre. You will have silk."

He knew my name. The Vampire King had been listening.

I looked at the four rulers. They were natural enemies. They despised each other. Yet, they stood in a circle around my cot, united by a singular obsession. I was the key to their world. I realized the truth in that moment.

I was a pawn in their war.

But a pawn could cross the board and become a queen. I just needed to survive the journey.

"Fine," I told Ignatius. "We go to the Citadel."

I tried to sit up. The room spun. The edges of my vision turned black. The silver poison from the dagger had reached my bloodstream.

Isidore stepped forward. "She is fainting."

"Do not touch her," Vasilis warned.

Their voices distorted. The sounds of the camp faded into a dull hum. I felt a pair of cold hands wrap around my shoulders, lifting me. It was not Vasilis this time. It was Ignatius. He smelled of old parchment and winter frost.

I tried to push him away. My arms possessed no strength.

"Rest, my queen." Ignatius whispered in my ear.

The darkness swallowed me whole.