I Tamed the Demon Girl Who Killed Me

Chapter 7

THE VAMPIRE GIRL WITH A SECRET

“Don’t move,” Adrian said. “I’ve got you.”

“Thank you,” the girl said, in a voice so calm it almost sounded bored. “I would prefer not to be crushed.”

It took the two of them to lift the carriage. Adrian braced his shoulder against the splintered wood, and Nyra, who had arrived with a scowl and a smear of monster ichor on her cheek, simply grabbed the other side and heaved. The whole thing rose a foot and came down on its side with a crash. The girl slid out, coughed, and sat up in the dirt.

For a moment, she simply looked at them.

She was beautiful, but not in the sharp, burning way Nyra was. Seraphine’s beauty was quiet. It was a still lake at night. Her hair fell to her waist in a sheet of silver, her skin was pale as milk, and her eyes were a deep and steady red. She wore a travelling gown that was torn at the sleeve and stained with soot, and she carried it as if it were the finest silk.

“I am Seraphine,” she said. “I owe you both a debt.”

“Adrian.” He offered a hand. She took it with a delicate, polite grip. “And that’s Nyra.”

“I’m aware,” Nyra said coldly.

Something in the way she said it made Adrian glance at her. Nyra’s arms were folded. Her feet were planted. Her entire body had gone rigid, like a cat that had caught a scent. She was staring at Seraphine with an expression of pure, undiluted dislike.

“You know her?” Adrian said quietly.

“I know what she is.” Nyra didn’t lower her voice. “She’s not just a vampire. Look at her. She’s old blood. Pure line. One of the Veyr.”

“Is that bad?”

“Our people have been at war for three hundred years.”

“Oh.”

“They steal. They scheme. They bleed their enemies slowly and call it politics.”

“That’s a generous summary,” Seraphine said mildly. “But I take your meaning. The Veyr and the Ashen Court have a long history. I would like to assure you that I have no interest in continuing it today.”

“I don’t care what you’d like,” Nyra said.

“I imagine not.” Seraphine got to her feet. She was slightly taller than Adrian had expected, and she moved with an unhurried grace that made him realize her injuries were already healing. The torn sleeve revealed unblemished skin beneath. “But I would still like to thank the man who saved me. Even if his companion would prefer I were dead.”

“I’d prefer you were elsewhere.”

“Nyra,” Adrian said.

“What?”

“She’s bleeding. She’s been crushed under a wagon. Let her breathe.”

Nyra snorted but stepped back, though she kept one hand on her dagger.

Seraphine gave him a small, grateful nod. Then she looked around at the wreckage, and her face changed. The calm stayed, but something behind it cooled.

“My caravan,” she said. “Is anyone left?”

They found four survivors. Two merchants, a driver, and a child who had hidden inside a barrel and came out blinking and unharmed. Seraphine spoke to each of them quietly, pressing coins into their hands from a purse she retrieved from the wreckage. They thanked her. One of them kissed her fingers. She bore it with the same gentle composure and watched them go.

She’s a noble, Adrian realized. Or something near it. She treats them like people she’s responsible for.

When they were alone, Seraphine turned to him.

“I was transporting something,” she said. “An artifact. A small one. It was in a locked case in the third wagon. Do you see it?”

Adrian used Demonic Sight and swept the ruined wagons. Nothing glowed. No traces of magic.

“It’s gone,” he said.

“I thought so.” Her expression didn’t change, but he noticed her fingers curling slightly at her sides. “The monsters did not take it. They were a distraction. Gloomhounds and ash crawlers do not break into locked cases. Something intelligent opened it, and carried it away before I could wake.”

“Wake?”

“I was resting. It is how we recover.” She smiled thinly. “I do not recommend it.”

“Who knew you had it?”

“Four people. Three are dead.” She looked away. “One is not.”

“Are you going to tell me who?”

“Not yet.”

Adrian took a breath. He thought of the two choices in front of him. Walk away, with a half-healed demoness and zero money, or help.

“We’re heading to the nearest town,” he said. “I need information. I need coin. I’m happy to help you look into this if you’re willing to share what you know.”

“Adrian,” Nyra said sharply.

“We need allies.”

“We do not need her.”

“Do we have any others?”

Silence.

“I thought so.”

Seraphine watched this exchange with open interest, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You are an unusual pair.”

“We’re a business arrangement,” Nyra said.

“Of course you are.” Seraphine’s gaze dropped to Nyra’s wrist, to the pale gold ring-mark that glimmered there in the last of the daylight. And her whole body went still.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

Nyra covered the mark with her other hand. “That’s none of your concern.”

“It is a covenant seal.”

“It is a scar.”

“It is a covenant seal,” Seraphine said slowly, “and it should not exist. Not in this world. Not in this age.” Her gaze lifted to Adrian’s face, and there was something there he hadn’t seen before. Not fear. Not quite. Recognition. “Who are you?”

“I’m just a guy,” Adrian said.

“No,” Seraphine said. “You are not.”

The wind changed.

Adrian felt it in the Demonic Sight first, a cluster of warm dots moving fast along the road to the west. Hooves. He turned, and Nyra was already turning with him, her hand on her blade.

“Riders,” she muttered. “Six. Maybe seven.”

“Wonderful.”

They came over the hill at full gallop, in good armour, bearing the royal blue of the crown. A banner snapped above them, white lion on blue. Their leader reined up a dozen paces away, a lean, hard-faced man with a pale scar across his jaw, and swept his eyes over the three of them with cold efficiency.

“Royal investigators,” he announced. “By authority of the crown, we are seeking a dangerous demoness and her human accomplice.”

Nyra’s lips peeled back from her teeth. “Accomplice.”

“Quiet,” Adrian murmured.

The leader’s gaze moved along them one by one. Seraphine. Nyra. And then, with a cold little jolt of recognition, Adrian.

“That one,” he said.

Seven swords rasped from seven sheaths.

“He fits the description,” the leader said. “Hair. Height. The crest on the coat.” He raised a gloved finger, and pointed straight at Adrian’s chest. “Adrian Vale, son of House Vale. You are charged with the murder of a noble heir. Surrender yourself to the crown’s justice.”

“I’m the heir,” Adrian said. “I can’t have murdered myself.”

“You murdered your brother.”

The word hit him like a slap.

Brother. There was a flicker in the borrowed memories. A boy with dark hair and a thin smile. Younger. Smarter. Everybody’s favourite.

I have a brother. Had one.

“I didn’t,” Adrian said, and his voice was steady only because he was holding it steady. “Whatever you’ve been told—”

“There is a bounty,” the leader said, ignoring him. “Ten thousand gold coins, to be paid on delivery. Alive, preferably.” His cold gaze moved to Nyra. “And the demon, dead or alive, will earn a knighthood.”

Nyra smiled at him, slow and terrible.

“Ten thousand,” Adrian said faintly.

“That’s rather a lot,” Seraphine observed.

“It’s a very bad day,” Adrian agreed.