— and then Lyssa was on her, claws slashing downward as she aimed a blow at the witch’s perfect, startled face.
Betty moved aside at the last moment, graceful and inhumanly quick. Her empty hand turned into a blur as she tried to punch Lyssa in the gut — but her dragon reflexes saved Lyssa, and she blocked the blow.
Betty lashed out again in a series of precise kicks and hand-strikes. She did not use the blade. No permission. The first cut, and every cut after, would belong to the Cruor Venator.
She had training, though. Her fighting style was too polished. Time in a gym or dojo, no doubt at the encouragement of the Cruor Venator. Lyssa knew within moments that she was outmatched.
Betty’s fist caught her across the face — the blow hard enough to knock her back. She would have fallen if Eddie hadn’t caught her. His hands were strong and hot as hell, and his gaze was furious.
As he helped her stand, Lyssa caught a glimpse of the rest of the room. Lannes had dragged Lethe away from the door, holding her out of sight behind him. She could smell the stink of his fear — though it was a little less strong than the stink rolling off every other witch in that room, who stared at Betty like she was Satan personified: evil, more evil, and shitting in the pants evil.
It was just the projection — the infection of fear — but it was as potent as a death ray. Morgana was already sinking to her knees, sweat pouring off her face as she trembled so violently her teeth chattered.
Eddie, though, stepped in front of Lyssa. His hands were on fire.
“You,” he said a deadly soft voice. “Will never touch her again.”
Betty stared at him with total, unaffected calm, her gaze thoughtful, and assessing. “I told her about you. The Cruor Venator wants to know what makes you tick. Why you’re not afraid of us.”
Lyssa pushed past him, fire pulsing at her fingertips. “She’ll never find out.”
Betty frowned. “Lizard. Do you even know what she is? What I am?”
Prey, whispered the dragon, coming awake.
And Lyssa whispered, “Dead.”
Betty snarled, raising the obsidian blade. Lyssa stepped forward, ready. There was a sour taste in her mouth, bitter and metallic. A thread of power. The aftereffects of tasting Lethe’s blood.
She wanted more. More blood. More power. More than just a taste. It was like the lightest brush of an ice cube on her tongue after dying of thirst in a desert.
In other words, torture.
And here was Betty, served up on a platter. It was almost too easy.
It is too easy, she realized.
“Where’s your friend?” Lyssa asked, but Betty had already begun her attack in a frenzied blur of deadly movement. She braced herself, ready to block those blows—
— but they never came. Eddie stepped in front of her, fire still raging around his hands, and rained down one single blow that sent Betty to her knees. He was unbelievably fast — as if he were a shifter himself, or fueled with the same blood magic that infused Betty’s muscles.
The witch hit the floor, stunned, nearly unconscious. Lyssa heard, behind her, a deep release of breath — everyone in the room freed from that infection of paralyzing fear.
Do it, she told herself. Right now. End it. Betty can’t go free.
But once again, she was too slow.
Lyssa got knocked into Eddie’s side as Lannes stormed past and grabbed Betty off the floor.
His hands were massive around her throat, and she was limp as a rag doll, almost swinging from his grip. Half her face was burned. Her eyes cracked open, and she gave him a slack, half-conscious stare — just before he snapped — and then crushed — her neck.
The sound was loud, crunchy, and final. Lannes dropped Betty and backed away, staring at her body. Pure silence filled the apartment.
“Oh, my God,” someone whispered.
And then Lethe said, “Lannes.”
The gargoyle exhaled and looked at his wife. Gaze terrible, and haunted. He reached out to her with a trembling hand.
She went to him without hesitation. Lyssa released her own breath — realizing that Eddie did the same.
Without a word, Lannes picked Lethe off her feet and carried her over Betty’s dead body — which blocked the doorway. In a heartbeat, they were gone.
Eddie moved close. Fire gone from his hands, though his eyes were filled with the same haunted remorse that she had glimpsed on the gargoyle’s face.
“I was going to kill her,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“So was I,” Lyssa told him, just as softly — still able to taste the resolve that would have kept her fighting until the bitter end. A tremor raced through her, and she swallowed hard, feeling nauseated. Part of her was disappointed she hadn’t been the one to make the killing blow — but mostly, she was relieved.
Lyssa turned in a slow circle to study the witches behind her. The girls who seemed to be sisters had fled down the hall, and the woman seated beside the old man was helping him to his feet. Both looked pale, shaken. A heart attack, perhaps imminent.
Morgana had gotten off her knees. Ursula seemed surprisingly calm, except for the fine sheen of sweat on her wrinkled face. It was rare to see a witch who was physically old. Which meant Ursula was very, very, old, and accepting of it — enough, so that she felt no need to cast an illusion of youth.
Old witches usually also had balls of steel.
“We’ll take care of the body,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Come on.” Eddie touched Lyssa’s hand, something in his voice and movements undeniably shaken. “We should leave.”
But she remained still. Morgana gave her a grim, wary, look. “What now?”
Cutting Betty and tasting her blood would only expose Lyssa to every murder Betty had ever committed. Unlike Lethe’s blood, which was easily read, the Cruor Venator’s woman would carry only one message in her veins: death.
And that would tell Lyssa nothing she didn’t already know.
“I need to find out where the Cruor Venator is taking her kills,” said Lyssa. “Have you heard anything? Even rumors?”
Morgana pointed. “Maybe you should have asked. As if you don’t already know.”
“Ma’am,” said Eddie. “Go to hell.”
Ursula touched Morgana’s arm. “You and the others should leave this room. Right now.”
For a moment, Lyssa thought there would be an argument. But Morgana took another look at Betty’s corpse — her gaze lingering on the obsidian knife — and she backed away, jaw tight, eyes slightly unfocused. The old man and his companion had already left the living room. Morgana turned, and staggered down the hall — leaning heavily on the wall.
Ursula sighed and rubbed her face. “My God. No wonder we are a dying race.”
“Because you’re cruel and stupid?” said Lyssa wearily. “Yes, that’s a problem.”
The old woman gave her a look that made her feel small and slightly ashamed.
Eddie flexed his hands. “I see suitcases lining that wall. You planned on running.”
“Of course. The Cruor Venator prefers to kill witches and those with power. It was only a matter of time before we became targets. We would have left already, except Alice. . Lethe. . chose today to visit, and it became clear after spending some time with her that she was with child. We could. . feel it. . even though she couldn’t.”
Lyssa didn’t want to be here anymore, and she really didn’t want to be near a dead body. Especially this one.
“Do you know where the Cruor Venator is?” she asked again, in a sharper voice.