"Go on," Parker said, voice soft, almost casual, but laced with command that rang through the very blood of the throne hall.
The girl—no, not a girl anymore, but something newly remade, something terrifyingly pure—bowed to him. The moment her small head dipped forward, the air twisted.
With a sound like silk tearing through dimensions, black bat-like wings erupted from her back. They weren't the ragged, crude wings of common vampires—no. These were sharp, beautiful, each vein stitched with threads of blood and darkness itself. The edges shimmered like knives dipped in crimson and night.
And then she moved.
One second she was standing there, wings flexing gently.
The next—
Three heads rolled across the marble floor like broken crowns.
The bodies of the traitorous vampires crumpled silently, geysers of blood painting the throne hall in a macabre symphony of justice.
