Chapter 199

Chapter 199
Alaric

The transformation was hideous—elegant vampire lord becoming a monstrous bat-creature nearly nine feet tall. Leathery wings erupted from his back, his face elongating into something bestial and wrong. One massive wing swept toward me like a battering ram.

I tried to dodge. Wasn't fast enough. The blow caught me square in the chest, sending me flying backward to crash against the marble floor. Pain exploded through my ribs—probably cracked a few. My blade skittered away across the blood-slicked stone.

Byron descended from above, moving with terrifying speed despite his bulk. That ceremonial dagger was still clutched in one clawed hand, and I could see dark magic crackling along its edge. He dove toward my prone form, aiming to pin me and drive that cursed blade through my heart.

I rolled aside at the last second. The dagger struck marble where my chest had been, and the floor exploded in a shower of stone fragments and dark energy. The shockwave sent me tumbling further away, ears ringing, vision swimming.

"Fuck!" I spat blood, scrambling to my feet. "Ugly bastard!"

Byron's response was an inhuman shriek that made my teeth ache. He launched himself at me again, those massive wings creating gusts of wind that made it nearly impossible to maintain my balance. I dodged, ducked, rolled—but his transformed state gave him an aerial advantage I couldn't match.

Then his wings began to beat in a specific pattern, and I felt the air itself turn against me. Some kind of wind magic, creating vortexes that pulled at my clothes, my hair, my very movements. Each step became a struggle. Each dodge required twice the effort.

Byron dove again, and this time I was too slow. His claws closed around my throat, lifting me off my feet with contemptuous ease. My hands scrabbled uselessly at his transformed flesh, unable to find purchase on the leathery skin.

"Idiot!" His voice was distorted, barely recognizable through his monstrous form. "You've killed countless members of our family! For this pathetic rebellion!" His grip tightened, cutting off my air entirely. "I'm going to make your death exquisite. Hours of suffering. Days, maybe. I'll keep you right on the edge, healing you just enough to start over."

Pain exploded through my skull as his claws dug deeper into my throat. My vision was already starting to blur at the edges, black spots dancing across my sight. But despite the agony, despite knowing I had seconds before unconsciousness claimed me, I couldn't help but twist my head, searching desperately for Draken through my failing vision.

Byron's laugh was a guttural rasp. "Your fucking dragon is busy hunting down my fleeing nobles. He can't save you now, mongrel."

Then my gaze landed on the corner—on the one figure who'd remained motionless throughout this entire bloodbath. Silas. Standing there like a statue, eyes empty, completely under my control.

And just like that, I had my answer.

"Come on," I choked out, managing a strained grin despite the pressure on my throat. "You think this..." I gasped for air, "...little headache is real damage?" Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth as I forced out a mocking laugh. "No magic, no weapon..." I let my eyes drift deliberately toward where his ceremonial dagger lay on the floor, embedded in cracked marble. "How exactly are you planning to break me, Byron? Because this sure as hell isn't it."

Byron's monstrous features twisted into something approximating a smile. He glanced at the blade, then toward the corner where one figure stood motionless, untouched by the chaos. "Silas!" His voice was a guttural command. "Retrieve my dagger. Now."

The Duke moved with mechanical precision, crossing the blood-soaked floor to wrench the blade free from the stone. Byron's grip on my throat tightened further as he watched his puppet approach.

"That's not just any blade," Byron hissed, his breath hot and rancid against my face. "Forged with curses even our kind can't resist. One cut, and you're paralyzed—stripped of every ounce of strength. The pain?" He laughed, a wet, rasping sound. "Like burning alive from the inside out. But that's just foreplay." His eyes gleamed with vicious satisfaction. "The real beauty is the curse. Every insult you've ever endured, every time you groveled for scraps of respect, every pathetic attempt to prove yourself worthy—it forces you to relive it all, over and over, until you finally break."

He leaned closer, voice dripping with contempt. "For mongrel filth like you, with all that buried trauma? Days of exquisite suffering." His smile widened. "You should be honored—dying to a weapon this refined is more than your bloodline deserves."

Silas reached us, the cursed dagger held in his steady hand. Byron's smile widened as he prepared to take it. "Goodbye, Alaric. I hope you enjoy—"

The blade punched through his chest from behind.

Byron's words died in a gurgle of shock. His grip on my throat loosened, and I dropped to the floor, gasping for air. The ancient vampire's monstrous form wavered, beginning to shrink back toward his normal appearance as pain and confusion overwhelmed his concentration.

"You..." Byron twisted his head to stare at Silas, who stood behind him with the cursed dagger buried to the hilt between his ribs. "Duke... you were my most..." His voice was breaking, the transformation reverting in stutters and starts. "Why..."

I kicked off the floor, my boot connecting with Byron's chest and sending him sprawling backward. He hit the ground hard, the dagger still protruding from his torso, dark blood beginning to pool beneath him. His face—now fully human again—was a mask of agony and betrayal.

I walked over to Silas, patting the Duke companionably on the shoulder. "Every minute," I instructed calmly, "I want you to stab him again. Somewhere new each time. Every minute, you get to relive what betrayal feels like—mine, Silas's, all of it." I smiled coldly. "Keep him conscious. Keep him suffering. Don't let him die until I say so."

"Alaric!" Byron's scream was raw, desperate. "Please! Don't—we can talk about this! I can give you—"

I was already walking away, tuning out his pleas. "Oh, and when I get back, I'll be sure to give you a full report," I called over my shoulder. "Every detail of how your precious noble bloodlines met their end tonight. But for now?" I paused at the doorway. "Enjoy that exquisite blade you prepared. I need to confirm there are no survivors. Can't have any of your 'superior bloodlines' escaping their fate—becoming the dust they always claimed was beneath them."

Behind me, Byron's screams intensified as Silas pulled the dagger free and selected a new target. The sounds followed me out into the hallway, but I didn't look back.

I had work to do.