I'm facing thirteen pairs of staring eyes. Waiting for my reaction, no doubt. They heard my exchange with Turnbull.
They don't care.
For the first time, they allow emotion to show on their faces. Some are thoughtful, some are indifferent. Some, like Chael, are excited, aroused. He is looking forward to the fight. He expects me to lose.
He made the challenge.
I face him. Why?
A smile as cold as his eyes. You have no right to be here. You are too new. One of us should have been allowed to assume the mantle. The time of the vampire is at hand. You stand in the way of what should be.
He speaks as if I've already lost. And what of the Grimoire? Of the Chosen One?
Superstition. We have lived under the mortal yoke too long. It's time to assume our rightful place. We are gods among men and it is time they acknowledge it. It is time the world acknowledges it.
I think I know that speech. You borrow Hitler's play-book?
A shadow passes over his features. You prove my point, Anna Strong. When I was told of Avery, of Williams, I knew you could not be allowed to ascend. You place human life above all else. You choose man over your own kind. You are unworthy.
I glance around to see how the others are reacting to our exchange. No outrage. No objection. No indignation. The heads of the thirteen tribes are like sheep under the spell of a wolf.
And why shouldn't they be? Nothing that happens today will alter their lives. Not really. If I win, it's business as usual. If Chael wins, they assume dominance in every part of the world.
Frey's words come back to me. Show them who you are.
Time to swallow the fear and show them who I am.
Chael waits with the patience of a sphinx. Power emanates from him, the power of a thousand years. He is calm. Confident.
I allow the beast to spring forth. Let's get this party started.
When he understands what I'm saying, he laughs. You think I will fight you? I would not sully my hands with your worthless life. You will fight another.
He waves a hand. From behind me comes the sound of a door scraping open. I turn to see a section of a bookcase swing inward on a rusty track.
Light shines from the room, illuminating what looks like an amphitheater. It's not very big, maybe twenty square feet, with bench seats around the perimeter. All that's missing is a crowd chanting "Caesar."
Or "Chael."
I turn to him. You're kidding. An arena? Am I fighting a vampire or a lion?
Oh, you're fighting a vampire. He calls out to someone inside the room. Bring him in.
A familiar scent.
My body recognizes it before my mind. Muscles tense. Blood turns hot with fury.
He steps into the light. I'm sorry, Anna.
Lance.
I don't know whether to howl with eagerness or dismay. I see the logic behind Chael's choice. He thinks I will be at a disadvantage because Lance was my lover. He thinks I cannot kill a lover.
He thinks wrong.
Chael doesn't know what Underwood did to me. He doesn't know the connection between Lance and Williams and Underwood.
Otherwise, he would have chosen another. He would have known that I have sworn to kill Lance.
I let Chael see the glimmer of satisfaction on my face. You have made a grave mistake. You may have had a thousand years to acquire wisdom, but your arrogance has clouded your judgment.
For the first time, he looks into my face, really looks into my face, and the realization that he may have made an error cracks his smug mask of confidence. Admitting it, however, will never happen. He steps back, waves his hand. Let us begin.
Us? Is that a joke? The euphemism sparks a short bark of mirthless laughter. Why don't you and I have a go at it first?
Turnbull steps between us, forcing Chael to take another step back. He places a hand on my arm and ushers me into the room. A room I never knew existed. It's cold inside and smells of dirt and neglect. There is another scent, too. Blood. A shudder runs through me. What did Avery use it for? It's another reminder of how good Avery was at hiding things from me. I can't believe I let that monster touch me. I can't believe I thought I loved him.
All these thoughts go through my head because I don't want to think about the one standing, waiting, in the center of the room.
Another monster I thought I loved.
Lance does not move, does not try to communicate with me. He's stripped to his shorts, his feet are bare. In his hand is a pointed stake.
Turnbull whispers to me, "Do you wish to change?"
"Into what? Or is titillation one of the perks of this freak show?"
He lets a smile touch his mouth. "I like you, Anna Strong. You cut through the crap. But I don't make the rules. Like you, I'm new to the fraternity. How you wish to fight is up to you."
His head is bowed close to my ear. He's talking in sotto voce and in English. I'm guessing it's to prevent the foreign delegates from understanding the exchange. He's drawn a cloak around his thoughts for the same reason.
Chael sees it and is not pleased. He says again, It is time to begin.
The benches are all occupied. The heads of the tribes are seated close enough to catch any drop of blood that might spray their way, to get maximum enjoyment from the pain we will inflict on each other. I am disgusted by the eagerness shining from their faces, by the taste of their excitement as they anticipate what is to come. I am disgusted to think that when I win, I will have to be one of them.
When I win.
I must be channeling Frey.
The thought of him brings a smile to my lips.
Lance's quiet voice reaches to me. "I do not want this. I have no choice."
When I turn to face him, I'm struck once more by his beauty. His face and body gleam in the light. He might be Jupiter or Apollo stripped for battle. Instead, he's Janus, treacherous, a betrayer. "You have a choice. You had a choice before. You chose Underwood."
"You lied to me."
"What?"
"You didn't trust me enough to let me know what you had done. That you had gone to Julian and made a bargain. If you had trusted me, none of it would have happened."
I have to swallow down the anger before I can speak again. "Don't you dare suggest what happened in Biarritz was my fault. You drugged me and turned me over to that freak. You stood by while he attempted to rape me. Then you ran like a dog when it didn't go the way you planned. What I did, I did to protect you. What you did, you did to protect yourself."
The tribal heads are growing restless. Most don't understand what is passing between Lance and me. The few that do, don't care. They want the blood sport to begin. I feel their impatience grow.
"I don't want to fight you," Lance whispers. "But I don't want to die, either."
There is a fleeting moment when I wonder what would happen if I proclaimed to the gathering that the one who can corroborate my story about Williams is here. Would Lance lie? It doesn't matter. One way or the other, justice must be done. "You should have thought of that before you let Underwood touch me."
Turnbull comes up behind me, hands me a stake similar to the one in Lance's hand. Are you ready?
I nod. Lance straightens, tightens his grip on the stake.
Begin.
Lance moves first. He lunges toward me, but it's a clumsy move and I only have to sidestep to avoid the stake he holds in front of him like a dagger. I follow with a side kick to the small of his back and he goes down to his knees in the dirt.
He doesn't know how to fight. His boyish good looks and the protection of a five-hundred-year-old vampire have atrophied the animal instinct. He stumbles to his feet, whirls to face me. For the first time, he lets anger unleash the beast.
Anger isn't enough. As a human, I learned how to protect myself. It was and is part of my job as a bounty hunter. The second time Lance comes at me, I grab his hand and twist his arm back until I feel the shoulder pop.
He yelps and pushes back against me to lessen the pain.
I could stake him now. Thrust his own weapon through his back and into his heart. End this charade.
Those watching know it, too. They are furious that the fight may be over so soon, frustrated that their bloodlust will not be satisfied. They want one of us to lie bleeding in the dirt, to beg for mercy. They want to taste the fear and experience the pain.
Lance cries out. "Please, Anna. I love you."
For a moment, I'm torn-not with sympathy for Lance. He doesn't deserve sympathy. But with wondering if I want the same thing. Am I no better than the beasts watching us? Do I want to toy with Lance a little longer? Break his bones and make him beg for death?
The fight has been so one-sided, the vampire in me has yet to emerge. But now, holding Lance against me, I'm suddenly aware of the pulsing of his blood just a kiss away. It calls to the vampire and she springs forth with a growl and a gnashing of teeth. This is the way. Leave something for Adele and his family to mourn over.
I drop the stake, take a firmer grip on his squirming body. His strength is no match for mine. I pull his head back, his body arching and straining against me. With a snarl, I bury my face in his neck, tear at the jugular until I feel the skin snap. Find the artery.
And drink.