1. FangsBlade?

CHAPTER 1

Fangs or Blade?

" I 'm feeling benevolent this evening, so I'll allow you to decide how you want to die." Brynleigh de la Point pinned the sniveling, half-dressed man with a glare that she hoped said, This is the last choice you'll ever get to make. Out loud, she added, "Fangs or blade?"

The man blinked from his position on the bed, his sluggish mud-brown eyes struggling to follow the vampire's movements across the dimly lit, shoddy studio apartment. The faint glow of streetlights several stories below filtered through the grimy glass of the single window above his head, adding a yellow tint to the space.

His inability to focus could have been caused by his half-mortal blood, the prohiberis Brynleigh had liberally sprinkled in his drink earlier to block his magic, or merely a side-effect from the pints of alcohol he'd consumed throughout the evening. Judging by the smell wafting off him, it was probably a combination of all three.

The shadows binding the man's arms and legs likely weren't helping matters either. They operated on Brynleigh's command, and there wasn't anything he could do to break the dark bonds.

If the man hadn't already concluded exactly how dire his situation was, he would shortly .

Brynleigh tapped her booted foot on the dirty floor, avoiding a questionable stain a few inches from where she stood. The sooner she got out of this apartment, the better. "What's your choice?"

He slurred, his voice pitifully weak, "I… uh… neither?"

Brynleigh barely suppressed a sigh. Did he have no self-respect? The least he could do in the face of impending death was be strong and fight with everything he had.

"That's not an option." Brynleigh withdrew the sharp, thin dagger sheathed on her thigh. It was one of the many weapons she'd hidden all over her person before venturing out tonight. "Choose, or I will for you."

Providing an answer would have been the intelligent option.

Instead, this man proved that not only did he lack self-respect, but he was anything but intelligent. His lecherous gaze raked over Brynleigh, starting at her head and dipping past her black tank top to her dark blue jeans. He smirked, probably determining that her choice of outfit meant that she was ready for a night on the town, not to kill a scumbag such as himself.

The bound man proved her suspicions correct a moment later. "You're not going to kill me."

If his response hadn't been so predictable, Brynleigh probably would have been disappointed. It was just like a man to take one look at her golden hair and curvy body, and decide that she couldn't be a killer because she didn't look like one. He wasn't the first to make that erroneous observation, and much to Brynleigh's dismay, she was fairly certain he wouldn't be the last either.

"That's where you're wrong." Brynleigh willed her shadows to tighten, their constrictive embrace proving her deadly point. "Only one of us will be walking out of that door alive, and it will be me."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, baby. I just wanted to have a bit of fun."

Yeah, she wasn't interested in his type of fun. Especially not in a place like this. She guessed he'd be a two-pumps-and-done kind of guy. Not what she was looking for. Besides, the atmosphere in this small space left everything to be desired. Yellowed wallpaper hung off the walls in clumps, chipped tiles demarcated the kitchen from the dirty living area, and the sheets on the bed looked like they had never seen the inside of a washing machine.

Not to mention the noise. The neighbors were far too loud. Tell-tale thumps came from the bedroom upstairs. The television next door blared, and a too-chipper voice filtered through the walls, announcing the arrival of a new, never-before-seen beauty serum. According to the saleswoman, it was designed to make even the most wrinkle-laden human young again.

Brynleigh barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. That so-called miracle cure was probably made with vampire blood. Not that she had a problem with people doing whatever they needed to survive—obviously, considering her current predicament—but she wasn't a fan of hiding markers of age.

Getting old was a privilege many citizens of the Republic of Balance weren't afforded, including the halfling on the bed.

The man still hadn't decided, and Brynleigh's patience had run its course. Honestly, it was a miracle she'd made it this long. "Too late. Blade it is."

She spun the dagger in the air, catching the weapon by its engraved hilt before stepping towards the man. His eyes widened, and panic flashed through those brown orbs.

"No." His nostrils flared, and a hint of fear mingled with the apartment's musty aroma. "Please, don't do this."

The sigh that slipped from Brynleigh's mouth could probably be heard worldwide. Of course, this halfling bastard would beg. She should've known he was one of those.

Zanri, Brynleigh's handler, had probably laughed when he selected this mark for her. He knew how much she hated whiners. She would rather deal with someone who fought back any day. It felt… better when they fought back. Easier, somehow, to deal that killing blow. She liked when they tried to stop her, especially when she knew what they'd done.

Still, Brynleigh had to be certain. She didn't believe in killing innocents.

She crossed her arms, and even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she leaned against the filthy counter. Her dagger dangled from her fingers as she eyed the man on the bed. "Your name is Geralt Warsh, correct?"

He stared at her.

Fine. Two could play at this game. With a flick of her wrist, Brynleigh silently commanded the shadows to tighten. "Halfling Death Elf, originally from the Northern District of the Republic?"

The man swallowed, his eyes darting back and forth. That scent of fear grew stronger until the bitter, cloying aroma was all Brynleigh could smell. During moments like this, she wished vampires didn't have such strong senses.

"N-n-no, you're wrong." He shook his head.

For Isvana's sake. This was getting ridiculous.

"Don't fucking lie to me, it's unbecoming." Brynleigh uncrossed her arms and moved across the room in a blur. She slashed her dagger across the halfling's hair in a movement too fast for anyone but a vampire to see.

A long copper lock fell onto the mattress that was three shades of brown too dark to be sanitary, revealing a pointed, pierced ear. A red swirling tattoo crawled down the side of Geralt's neck. It was a mark of his Maturation and served to confirm his identity. The three earrings hanging from his ear were additional proof that this was the man she sought.

"I know who you are," Brynleigh said, done with his games. Between the lecherous gaze, the lying, and the whining, she wanted to leave. She'd have to take a dozen showers to rid her skin of the disgusting feel of this place. " What you are."

Geralt Warsh, half-Death Elf, half-human, was not a good man. He was a hardened criminal, the likes of which Brynleigh rarely encountered. When Zanri had shown her Geralt's file, her fangs had burned in anger. The halfling had been convicted of several crimes against minors, which had led to him spending over three decades in Black Prison in the Western District of the Republic. Earlier this spring, Geralt had been released. Apparently, his time in prison hadn't taught him any lessons. He'd gone right back to his old ways.

The photos Brynleigh had seen were enough to turn anyone's stomach, including hers. She might have been a vampire, but she still had feelings, for the moon goddess's sake.

And Geralt? He was so fucking cocky he wouldn't get caught that he wasn't even covering his tracks. Finding him this afternoon had barely taken any effort. After studying the paperwork, Brynleigh had located the halfling at the Falling Star, a local dive bar. He'd been indulging in copious amounts of bottom-shelf liquor, happily telling anyone and everyone that he'd recently been released from prison.

As if that was a bragging point.

Being imprisoned meant he'd been caught, which by definition, was not something to boast about. Brynleigh, on the other hand, had never been caught. She'd never even come close to it. That was one of the many reasons she was confident she'd be the one walking out of here tonight.

Once she had arrived at the Falling Star, all Brynleigh had to do to procure an invitation up to the grungy apartment was slide next to the halfling and flirt a little. Honestly, it was child's play.

The criminal had been in the middle of removing his jeans—which, no, thank you, Brynleigh didn't have sex with pedophiles—when the vampire released her shadows and bound him to the bed.

Which brought them back to the present.

Geralt studied Brynleigh. At first, his eyes were dull and brown, like the stains on his mattress. He wailed and struggled against the shadows binding him, even going so far as to fabricate a story about a wife and two children he claimed waited for him in the suburbs.

It was all a lie.

Brynleigh had memorized his file. Like her, the halfling had no one. He was a lowlife criminal who preyed on those less powerful than him.

Eventually, Geralt seemed to realize his weeping would not get him anywhere. It was like a switch flipped inside the halfling. One moment, he was a sobbing, snotty mess. The next, his tears dried up as if they'd never been there at all. His back straightened, his chin rose, and an evil glint entered his eye. The facade of the weak, confused halfling vanished like a thief in the night.

A smile tugged at the corner of Brynleigh's mouth. There he is , she thought, almost gleefully. Finally .

Now, she'd see this man for who he truly was.

Geralt's eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. "You fucking vampiric whore. You think you can do this to me?" He tugged on his bindings as if he could break free. "Don't you know who I am?"

Brynleigh raised a brow and calmly said, "I know exactly who you are."

Her response seemed to enrage him further. He wiggled and thrashed against her shadows.

It wouldn't work. Brynleigh was a doubly blessed vampire. The night of Brynleigh's Making, Isvana, the moon goddess, had gifted the new vampire with both wings and shadows. Most vampires had one or the other. A few had none. Some, like Brynleigh, had both. Even now, darkness pulsed a reassuring melody through her veins.

"Who is your Maker?" Geralt snapped, his face turning beet red. "I'm going to drive a stake through your shriveled black heart, and then?—"

The end of his threat never came.

Tiring of the halfling's antics, Brynleigh slashed her silver blade across his throat from ear to ear. Arterial spray painted her and the walls. It would've been enough to kill a regular human, but Geralt Warsh was a Mature Halfling.

Elves, fae, merfolk, werewolves, shifters, and witches all Matured around twenty-five years of age. Maturation extended their lifespans and gave them increased access to their powers. It also made them harder to kill.

Brynleigh sighed. She hated this part of her job even more than the whining.

Maybe she should've picked fangs. It would've been cleaner, although she was certain that ripping out Geralt's neck wouldn't have been a pleasant experience. He probably had disgusting, sewer-flavored blood.

It was too late now, though. She'd made her choice.

Twisting the dagger in her grip, Brynleigh slammed the bloody weapon into Geralt's chest. It took significant force to drive a blade cleanly into a heart, but thanks to Isvana's blessings, Brynleigh had strength in droves .

When she was confident the halfling was the kind of dead there was no coming back from, even for a Mature being, she went to the sink and turned on the tap with her elbow. She washed her hands thoroughly and dried them on her jeans before slipping her phone out of her back pocket. She unlocked it, navigating to the camera before snapping a picture.

With a few taps of her finger, she sent the bloody image to Zanri.

B: He was a whiner. You owe me.

Two check marks showed up, and three dots swiftly followed. Her phone buzzed a moment later.

Z: You got it. Meet me at the usual spot.

No other instructions were necessary. Brynleigh was done.

For now.

"Was it a clean death?"

Brynleigh had barely stepped out of the Void—the dark, empty space that some vampires such as herself could use to travel from one point to another, as long as they'd been to the second location previously—when Zanri's deep tenor reached her ears.

The man in question stepped out of the shadows. His red hair fell to his waist, the lamp illuminating the streaks of brown running through it. Z was handsome in the way that most Mature beings were. His face was chiseled, his nose sharp, and his blue eyes dark as they swept over her.

Zanri was some kind of shifter, but Brynleigh had never seen his animal form. She assumed he probably shifted during the day when she couldn't go in the sun. If she had to guess, she'd think he was a cat shifter. His eyes had a predatory, feline glint. Tonight, he wore tight black leather pants that were probably a pain in the ass to take on and off. They were paired with a matching black T-shirt that looked painted on his muscled form.

Brynleigh blinked and rolled her shoulders as her vision cleared. The shadows had brought her to their safe house, the wards surrounding the building recognizing her blood and letting her enter without issue. She'd gone straight into the living room. Her plan for the remainder of the night was simple. She'd shower, grab a bottle of blood wine from the fridge, and relax in front of the TV for a few hours.

"What do you think?" was her response as she pulled her hair into a quick ponytail.

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen and drawing the photo she'd sent him. She could see the crimson that coated Geralt's apartment from across the room. No one could ever clean that space now, not completely.

A dark chuckle slipped out of the shifter. "I think he got what he deserved."

"On that, we are agreed. He was disgusting." Brynleigh looked her handler over, noting the ruffled appearance of his red hair and his flushed cheeks for the first time since she arrived. She asked knowingly, "How's Owen?"

"He's good." Zanri's blush deepened, and the corner of his mouth tilted up, confirming everything she needed to know.

Owen Farnish lived in a desert city in the Southern Region but often worked with Brynleigh's Maker, Jelisette. He and Zanri had an on-again, off-again situation. When they were on, they would disappear for hours whenever Owen came to town.

"Tell him I said hello." Brynleigh liked Owen. He was one of the kinder people that Jelisette dealt with, and he always took the time to talk to Brynleigh, even back when she'd been newly Made.

"I will." Zanri smiled for a moment before his mouth flattened. "I left as soon as I got your message. Jelisette will want to debrief, and I need to wipe the security feeds."

There went Brynleigh's plans of lounging in front of trashy reality TV. Usually, Jelisette was out until dawn, but apparently not tonight. "How long until she arrives?"

"Less than an hour." In addition to being Brynleigh's handler, Zanri was in charge of technology and communication for their little operation. He had a gift for everything electronic in nature and ensured everything they did stayed under the radar. "She'll be proud, B."

Something sparked in the depths of Brynleigh's stomach. Even if she didn't exactly like her Maker—Jelisette was cold and icy, even for a vampire—Brynleigh was destined to want to please her. That was the nature of Maker bonds. Every vampire felt that way towards the sire who'd given them the gift of immortality.

Besides, Maker bonds were some of the strongest ones that existed. Even more than a mating bond, the link between Maker and progeny was incredibly powerful. There had only ever been one person who'd successfully broken their Maker bond, which happened thousands of years before.

Brynleigh owed Jelisette everything. The older vampire had found her after the worst night of her life and taken her under her wing. Before, Brynleigh had been nothing but a mediocre human, and now she was skilled in more ways than one.

She allowed a small smile to form. "Good."

Zanri pulled his hair into a bun and strode across the room. He gave her a gentle shove towards the bathroom. "Go shower. You have blood splattered across your skin. You should clean up. You know how she feels about looking good."

If anyone else dared touch Brynleigh like that, she would bite them—or worse. But she and Z had an understanding of sorts. They weren't really friends—she didn't do friends anymore—but they were colleagues who didn't mind each other.

"I know." Raising the pitch of her voice, she mimicked Jelisette's melodic, lyrical voice. "Rule number three: vampires are weapons. We must always look our best and be prepared to use every gods-given gift to our advantage."

Brynleigh's Maker had a lot of rules.

The shifter's mouth twitched, and he looked like he was holding in laughter. "That's the one. Now go."

She wouldn't argue with him. A shower did sound appealing. Especially after Brynleigh remembered the caked layers of dirt and grime in Geralt's apartment .

Brynleigh hurried into the bathroom, turning on the shower while she removed her weapons, stripped, and threw her clothes into the hamper. By the time she stepped under the water, steam billowed around her like a cloud. It was hot, and her skin quickly turned red, just as she liked it.

Twenty minutes later, Brynleigh felt like a new vampire. There was something about hot water and soap that was utterly life-changing. She toweled off, pulling on a fresh pair of black leggings and a white crop top as Jelisette's magic swept through the safe house. Seconds later, a lilac scent reached her.

Brynleigh tensed, and her heart beat faster. This always happened when her Maker came near. It was a remnant from that first night when Jelisette saved her. Flashes of lightning, booms of rolling thunder, and memories of waves taller than her head swept through Brynleigh's mind like an unwanted storm before she banished them. This wasn't the moment to remember the worst night of her life.

Curling her fists, she forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

Again and again, Brynleigh continued the practice until her heart rate returned to its normal, measured rhythm.

She was a deadly vampire. A bringer of death. She needed to get a grip. She wasn't a child unable to control their emotions. She was twenty-three.

Well. Sort of.

She'd turned twenty-three six years ago, and then she'd been Made. Inside, she still felt twenty-three. She wasn't exactly sure when that would change. After a few decades? A century? Two? Eight, like Jelisette had seen?

Right now, Brynleigh couldn't imagine living for so long. The pains of her mortal life continued to haunt her, and she still experienced human emotions. Perhaps those would dull over time and lose their potency. Perhaps that was the key to living for centuries: letting herself get cold like Jelisette. Brynleigh had never even seen her Maker shed a tear, let alone laugh.

This wasn't the time for those kinds of thoughts, though. Jelisette did not take kindly to lateness .

Shadowing back to the living area, Brynleigh's stance was wide as she clasped her hands behind her back. Zanri leaned against the wall casually, studying the chess board that was a permanent fixture in the safe house.

Seconds later, shadows gathered on the mahogany hardwood floor near the entrance. Brynleigh's skin tingled. Her own darkness fluttered in recognition of the powerful magic entering the space.

Moments later, Jelisette's lithe form stepped out of the shadows. A shimmering crimson floor-length ballgown was draped over her tall body. The dress was sleeveless, sporting a V cut so low that it exposed the sides of her breasts and her navel. Long gloves ran to her elbows. Her chestnut hair was in an elaborate swooping bun, and a heavy black diamond necklace was her only adornment.

"Oh, good." The powerful vampire's midnight gaze swept over Brynleigh. "You're here."

Brynleigh nodded, keeping her shoulders straight. "Yes, ma'am. I finished the job."

"Good girl." Jelisette lifted a manicured brow. "It'll be the last one for a while."

The last one? Zanri usually had lots of work for Brynleigh. The Republic of Balance was extensive, spanning the entire continent. It used to be four kingdoms that had merged into one government long ago. There was no shortage of evil people who required their particular kind of deadly attention.

Although talking back to her Maker was never a good idea, Brynleigh questioned, "What do you mean?"

Something akin to a smile crept along Jelisette's face. "I did it. I got you in."

Brynleigh's brows creased as she tried to follow her Maker's words. Then, she gasped. "You mean…"

Jelisette crossed the room and gripped Brynleigh's shoulder. Her sharp nails dug into the younger vampire's flesh, but Brynleigh didn't care. Not if this meant what she thought it meant.

"Yes," Jelisette hissed, and her black eyes glimmered. "The gods have spoken, and the stars are aligned. Tomorrow, the Two Hundredth Choosing begins. "

Brynleigh's heart, slow beating as it was, galloped in her chest like a wild stallion. Her mouth dried. Her fangs ached. She sucked in a too-shallow breath, taking in a sip of air instead of a gulp. "And I'm in?"

This felt too good to be true. She needed to hear it confirmed.

"Yes, my dear." Jelisette removed her hand and trailed a sharp nail down Brynleigh's face. The gesture was almost maternal. Almost. "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

It felt like Brynleigh's heart would explode out of her chest. She'd been training for this for six years, waiting for the moment she could finally exact her revenge.

Willing her heart to steady, Brynleigh stalked over to the chess board. Zanri silently watched as Brynleigh picked up the black king. She rolled the wooden carving around in her hand before trapping it in her fist.

This plan had so many moving parts, and this game had so many rules that Brynleigh hadn't been certain they would actually pull it off. She hadn't dared give too much thought to what this day would mean until now, for fear that if she did, the barriers she'd built around her heart would shatter.

If Brynleigh had spent too long thinking about her family's murderer and the free life he was living, she would have gone on a deadly, bloody rampage across the continent and fallen into bloodlust.

Then, who would avenge her family?

Instead, Brynleigh had become a master of compartmentalization. She shoved all her feelings into a box deep within her soul as she trained to become a killer.

That would end now.

Her fist tightened until a crack echoed through the room. Brynleigh unfurled her fingers, one by one, until the now-broken king lay in the middle of her pale palm. She placed the cracked piece on the board, looking first at Jelisette and then at Zanri.

"I'm going to enter the Hall of Choice, make Captain Ryker Waterborn, Head of the Fae Division in the Republic's Army, fall in love with me, and then I'll kill him on our wedding night," she declared.

Six years ago, the captain had vanished from the public eye. He hadn't been very visible before, but no one had seen him since. Living a quiet life wasn't abnormal for Representatives and their families. Some, like Chancellor Rose, were so secretive that even their children's magical affinities were unknown.

The captain's disappearance had been so complete that even in this technological day and age, finding him had been impossible. Jelisette had been able to confirm that the captain still lived, but even when he was at work, he was never alone.

Brynleigh had spent years hunting him, trying to get close enough to kill the captain, to no avail.

Until now.

The participants of the Choosing were supposed to be kept a secret, but Jelisette had a way of uncovering things that were meant to be hidden. He would be one of the twelve men taking part in the event.

"Revenge will be mine," Brynleigh said calmly.

Hearing the words out loud made them real in a way they hadn't been before. Her shadows twisted in her veins, and her dark magic pulsed at the thought.

Zanri's face was grave as he studied her, but Jelisette's black eyes twinkled. "Yes. No matter what, the captain will die before the year's end."

Jelisette's commitment to helping Brynleigh get her revenge was sweet. Brynleigh's Maker cared for her progeny. That was why Jelisette was willing to help Brynleigh avenge her family.

This had been Brynleigh's destiny since the night of her Making. Only one outcome was acceptable.

For the crimes he'd committed, Ryker Waterborn would die.