Chapter 2

The mansion was quiet without Gabby within its walls.

Nye leaned back in the chair behind the desk in the study, stabbing a gold letter opener into the mahogany. A million and one problems to deal with and no discernible way to begin tackling them.

Outside, night had fallen, the air had taken on iciness, and the witching hour was upon the city. Trouble was brewing—he could feel it in every breath he took—but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from first.

Tristan appeared in the doorway in all his curly-haired Irish glory, and Nye glanced up at the knight. He had better have good news or at least a lead on someone he could kill. It was far too long since he had the pleasure of dealing the ultimate punishment.

“What are you doing?” Tristan asked, watching the trajectory of the letter opener.

“Stabbing shit,” Nye replied, rolling his eyes. “What do you want?”

“There’s a prize fighter who’s stirring up trouble,” Tristan replied, getting right to the point. “Hate speech, anti-witch…”

“Anti-Nye,” Nye spat. “I know what they say about me, Tristan. I’m a spineless witch lover. Traitor to his own kind. I did conspire to kill Regulus, after all.”

He and Zac had killed the Roman, but Gabby had tricked them into believing the deed had actually been done. Zac had been prepared to die, knowing that if he took the founder’s life, he’d bite the dust along with him. Gabby had put a stop to that, not knowing the founder was the only creature who could end a larger threat, which was crazyass vampire-fairy hybrids. It wasn’t until Aed had bitten the founder that he actually kicked the bucket, but Nye would never live down the fact he’d been a part of the conspiracy.

Regulus had been respected, and Nye…well, apparently, he was a spineless witch-loving traitor if the rumors were to be believed.

“I think we should do somethin’ about him before it gets out of control,” Tristan said, eyeing him.

Nye’s fingers tightened around the letter opener. “And what would you have me do?”

“That’s not for me to decide,” the knight went on. “You’re the leader here, Nye. Not me. I agreed to be here to help, not use you like a puppet.”

Nye scowled and imbedded the letter opener into the surface of the desk, the gold blade sinking deep into the mahogany. Things had been so easy when he only had the Six to worry about. Orders were handed down. He made sure they were carried out, and he was congratulated on a job well done. Now he had to compile those orders and gather his own followers to hand them to.

Snorting, he straightened up in the chair and smoothed down his black shirt. There was only one thing he could do in this situation.

Glancing at Tristan, he said, “Let’s go pay him a visit he’ll never forget.”

The city was buzzing as they ventured through the darkened streets to the warehouse, which sat just off Old Street in Hoxton.

The building had been spelled a long time ago by an unknown witch to be negligible to humans, which was a juxtaposition considering vampires weren’t meant to take favors from their kind. Nye didn’t know who had originally set this place up or why, but nothing about it pointed to the fact the spell was consented to. Most likely, it was under duress.

The man on the door was the usual stock standard security thug. He was a six foot five, bald, mean-looking son of a bitch who looked like he delighted in dishing out punishment. Not of the kind they’d find inside…no, more like a tiny power trip that made men like these think their pitiful lives were worth living.

Nye knew the guy was a vampire, he had to be considering the patrons he let in and out all night, and as they sauntered down the lane, the stench of blood and sweat began to seep through the cracks around him.

The bouncer’s eyes widened as he recognized the two vampires, and he began to back away. Nye nodded toward him, and Tristan sprang into action, moving forward silently.

Pushing the oversized man against the wall, the knight said, “You didn’t see us, understand? If your mouth so much as opens, I’ll remove your tongue and shove it up your ass.”

“Very dignified,” Nye drawled.

“Vampires like him love to lick ass to get ahead,” Tristan replied, still holding the bouncer in place. “Seems like he understands, yes?”

Nye looked the guy up and down and could smell his fear mixed with the delightful scent wafting out the door. Patting him on the shoulder, he smiled condescendingly. “There’s a good boy,” he said. “Keep your mouth shut, and you’ll get a good show tonight.”

He nodded, his head bobbing up and down eagerly. “Yes, sir.”

“See, Tristan?” Nye said as they walked into the warehouse. “Fear is a wonderful tool when death is a normal part of everyday life. We may live a long time, but it means little when it can be taken away with a flick of the wrist.”

“Much like a human life,” the knight replied.

Nye snorted. “Enough philosophy. I want to see what this fighter is preaching to these imbeciles.”

Keeping to the darkness, Nye averted his face as they moved among the crowd of vampires assembled to watch the fights that would be taking place tonight. Right now, he was the most recognizable member of the London underworld with his roguish good looks. His face was certainly a sight to behold.

Before things went tits up after he’d sided with Zac, the one-time member of the Six Maddox had fought here. Nye’s lip curled as memories of Zac punching on with the vampire came to mind. Beating them at their own game was the only way to win allegiance with men like these.

“There,” Tristan murmured, nodding across the room.

Nye followed the knight’s gaze, finding a group of men huddled around a makeshift table that had been assembled out of wooden pallets and crates. Bottles of alcohol in various stages of completion littered the surface as their voices carried through the other groups of vampires present.

One man was becoming more passionate as their conversation progressed, his eyes wild with passion.

“He will drive us to ruin,” he was saying. “Siding with witches and allowing them into Regulus’s home. Taking advice from them.” Regulus had fallen in love with the witch he was so against, but he wasn’t to know that. “What has he done for us? Nothing. Our kind has splintered and started forming their own gangs, running riot in the streets. They threaten the balance with the humans. Soon, our secret will be out, and we will become the hunted. We need to hunt them. The humans, the witches, the werewolves. We are top of the food chain. Not them. We need to take it back.”

Nye and Tristan lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold before them.

“Diggory,” Nye said, recognizing the fighter.

“He’s arrogant,” the knight added beside him. “But his following is gaining momentum fast.”

“He couldn’t lead his way out of a one-way street.”

“That’s not the point,” Tristan said. “He could unseat you and be in power for a few days before someone else tried their luck. Then we’d be back at square one in an endless loop. Chaos.”

Nye’s lip curled. A great deal of what the fighter was saying had a lot of truth in it. The vampires of London needed to be brought back into line and fast.

The werewolves never came into the city, and when they did, it wasn’t for long. They returned to their forests and abandoned castles before their compulsory change with the moon became a problem.

The witches had always been a part of the city—from its creation a thousand years before and since the Celestines created them. They were never going away. The only way Nye could see things moving forward with them was by creating an alliance. That was why Gabby was so important, not just because they were friends but because they all wanted the same thing. To continue existing.

But the vampires were the most troublesome of the lot. Natural predators, they were prone to bouts of unprovoked violence. Nye knew this better than anyone.

It was a full-time battle keeping the human world unaware of the thriving supernatural community that lived among them. If all hell broke loose and the fighting spilled onto the streets in broad daylight, it would be bad. Real bad.

“I need to send them a message,” he said, keeping his voice low so only Tristan could hear.

The knight nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

Nye’s lip curled as a devious thought came to mind. He watched the way the vampires crowded around the cage, howling for blood and filling their veins with alcohol to stop their own blood lust from rising too far. They had come here for a spectacle, so he would give them exactly what they wanted. It was the only decent thing to do, after all.

“How are we going to take them on?” a different male vampire asked.

“We need to show them who has the most power,” Diggory replied. “We need to lead ourselves out of the darkness and into the light in a shower of blood. We will rip them apart if we have to, but they will obey in the end.”

“That’s a fine proposal,” Nye declared, stepping out of the shadows.

The crowd fell into an abrupt and shocked silence, and a few voices murmured softly in the background as all eyes focused on their leader’s impromptu appearance.

“Who do you suggest leads this rebellion?” he went on when Diggory didn’t bite. “You?” He looked the fighter up and down and sneered.

“What happened to you, Nye?” Diggory asked. “You were the one-time leader of the Six, feared and respected…and what are you now? A witch lover.”

Nye didn’t react even though Diggory’s words had a grain of truth to them. Before Regulus had recruited him, he had loved a witch. Eleanor.

“I can see you have a rather large axe to grind,” Nye said. “So let’s fight.”

“You want to fight me?” Diggory’s eyes widened slightly, giving away his fear even though his voice remained steady.

“Yes,” Nye said. “Or are you all bark and no bite?”

Diggory snarled and shoved the bottle of beer in his hand at the man standing next to him. “Fine. We’ll fight. To the death.”

The vampires who had crowded around watching the scene unfold, began to talk heatedly among each other. A fight to the death? Nye didn’t expect anything less from a bottom dweller who thought he had the chops to take the crown for his own. It was exactly what he wanted the fighter to do. When he ripped Diggory’s head off and made his royal decree, it would send a message that would never be forgotten.

“Now,” he commanded, his eyes beginning to swirl to black at the promise of blood.

Shucking off his overcoat, he handed it to Tristan as Diggory moved toward the cage in the center of the warehouse followed by his hangers-on.

“This was exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it?” the knight asked.

“Let him think he can take the city from me,” Nye replied. “Let him think he has a chance in this moment. When I take his head, the rest will fall in line. Fear and violence, Tristan. It’s the only thing they listen to.”

“You’ve got guts.”

Nye winked as he began walking away and held his hands open wide. “Consider this my coronation.”

Standing in the middle of the cage, he ignored the catcalls from the assembled vampires and began unbuttoning his shirt. Diggory watched him intently, his chest heaving. Nye didn’t need to play up to the theatrics of this place by pacing and growling like an animal. What he was about to do would be spectacle enough.

Casting the material aside, his boots followed, and the two vampires faced off.

“I’ll enjoy this,” Diggory said, his eyes black as he allowed his fangs to grow in. What was Nye thinking about theatrics earlier?

“No more talking, Diggory,” he said. “Not unless you’re spoken to.”

His barb hit home, and Diggory snarled. The fighter lashed out, his fist sailing through the air…right toward Nye’s face.

As he dodged the blow, Nye wondered if he should’ve asked Tristan if he knew the fighter’s age. He was four hundred and twenty-one himself, which made him quite formidable paired with his long years of servitude. Just as a fine wine aged over time, so did a vampire’s strength. It was too late to contemplate these things about his opponent now.

Ignoring the catcalls from the crowd, he shoved his shoulder into Diggory’s gut, using the momentum to lift the vampire from the ground and hurl him backward. The entire cage rattled as his body collided with the chain-link, and before he had a chance to recover, Nye was on him, striking his face with a well-aimed punch.

Blood erupted from Diggory’s nose, and he howled with rage, struggling against the hold Nye had on him.

“C’mon, Dig,” he taunted. “You’re making this too easy. I thought you were meant to be a prize fighter?”

Standing, Nye urged him to get up off his ass and have another shot.

Flying forward, Diggory attacked aggressively, punching and kicking with as much grace as a pile of shit. Nye moved around each attempt with ease, landing a blow in return for each missed attempt. The sound of Diggory’s ribs cracking under the weight of his fists was like music to his ears.

Making a last ditch attempt, Diggory punched with his right and then came back quickly with his left as Nye dodged. Seeing the trap the fighter had made for him, he ducked, the fist meant for his eye sailing right over his head.

Nye had given the fighter a chance to land a punch or two and had remained untouched. There was no way in hell this guy could lead the London underworld. No way in hell. Truthfully, Nye was disappointed with the lack of challenge tonight had presented. Diggory was all talk and no spine.

His patience had run thin, and Nye knew he’d drawn this out long enough. Time to put an end to the fighter’s miserable little existence and make him the example he needed him to be.

Launching himself onto the fighter, he sank his fangs into his neck and tore into his flesh like it was butter. Diggory stumbled and fell to his knees with an agonized wail, but still, Nye didn’t let go. Fisting his right hand into the vampire’s hair and shoving his shoulder with his left, Nye tore with all his strength.

Flesh and bone ripped apart, blood splattering across the concrete floor and coating the vampires who stood closest to the side of the cage as Diggory’s head detached from his body.

Pushing to his feet, Nye felt the vampire’s blood run from his lips and down his chest, hot and sticky, the scent rancid with the hatred the fighter had felt toward him. Raising his hand, he thrust the severed head into the air.

“I am your king!” he roared at the crowd, his fangs throbbing. “If any of you miscreants want to challenge me, now is your chance.”

The silence was deafening as he turned around, his gaze burning into every single vampire that was assembled. They stared at him with unmasked fear, not a single soul game enough to step forward and claim the crown.

“This is my city now,” he proclaimed, holding up Diggory’s head. “You can live in it under my rule, or you can die alone in it. The choice is yours.”

Nobody uttered a word. Not after he’d ripped apart his challenger like he was made from soft butter.

Nye’s lip curled in satisfaction, and he let Diggory’s head fall to the floor. The lump of flesh and bone collided with the concrete, a dull thud echoing through the room.

Long live the king.