The Last Vampire: Book Five (PAPERBACK)

Your book will be packaged and shipped by our printing partner, BookVault.

ONE

“I HAVE ONLY two words for you, Nigellus. Blood. Wine.”

Ransley Thorpe’s vampiric aura filled the room like a storm cloud; anger rolling off him in waves as the moment of confrontation with his long-time mentor finally arrived. I tensed as I stood at his right shoulder, the pair of us forming a flimsy blockade between the powerful demon of fate before us, and the unconscious form of Rans’ closest friend on the bed behind us.

Guthrie lay insensible, recovering from his transformation into a vampire—only the second one currently in existence, and the first to be turned since a Fae weapon nearly destroyed the species during the last great war between the realms. Rans had only agreed to turn Guthrie because the alternative would have been certain death for a man we both cared about. Now, we’d ensured that while he might have a chance at survival in the near-term, he would become a pawn in a millennia-old struggle for the rest of his days.

Rans had known and trusted Nigellus for centuries. Only recently had I discovered that for much of that time, Nigellus had been manipulating him—draining his blood for use as part of a self-serving plot to raise a new army of demon-bound vampires in Hell. The vampires would, he hoped, be impervious to the magical Fae weapon that had ended the war and ushered in an uneasy peace. Even worse, Nigellus had been controlling Rans’ mind, excising the memory of each violation after it happened.

The last few days had been an exercise in frustration, for me at least. Despite this ground-shaking revelation of his betrayal, Nigellus had been all that stood between us and capture or death at the hands of our many enemies. Whatever else could be said about him, his need for Rans’ blood meant that the demon was highly motivated to ensure our physical safety.

Rans had insisted, quite correctly, that it was in our interests to keep our knowledge of Nigellus’ actions to ourselves. That had changed, however, the moment the demon gained a potential new source of vampire blood in the form of Guthrie. It hadn’t taken Nigellus long to suggest that Guthrie would be safer with him in Hell. The worst part was, he was probably right about that—from a certain perspective, at least.

Being in Hell would protect Guthrie from the Fae weapon, should the demons’ old enemies realize that a new vampire had just come into existence. Rans’ continued survival had been included as a clause in the peace agreement that formally ended the war. Guthrie’s continued survival decidedly hadn’t been part of that treaty.

I knew, though, that Guthrie would rather die than be taken to Hell. His soul was already bound to a different demon—one who wanted all of us dead. That particular demon had very nearly succeeded in killing Guthrie and reaping his soul, before Rans had intervened to save him by turning him. If Guthrie went to Hell, he’d be trapped there forever, unless the demon to whom he was bound deigned to transport him back through the gate between realms.

To say that Guthrie wasn’t a huge fan of demons was putting it mildly.

I also got the distinct impression that there was some quasi-paternal protectiveness going on right now with Rans. If my mental library of trashy vampire novels and movies was to be believed, siring a new vampire involved the creation of a bond that was basically familial in nature. Which was ironic, really, since I’d recently learned that Guthrie’s DNA had been used without his knowledge decades ago. That theft of genetic material had allowed the succubus who’d bound his soul to get a human woman pregnant with a half-human, half-demon child—something no demon could do on its own.

That child… had been my mother.

I’d only met Guthrie a few weeks ago. But as far as I was concerned, he already had a better claim to being my grandfather than the demon asshole who’d screwed over my family. Not that I had any idea whether Guthrie would even want the title of grandparent. I supposed we’d have to figure that part out once we’d successfully survived the next few minutes.

Or not.

Nigellus rose from his chair, drawing himself up to his full—and rather impressive—height. His features smoothed into a cool mask.

“Ah,” said the demon. “I had rather wondered how long it would take you to realize. I assume I have Ms. Bright to blame for this… wrinkle?”