Blood Trial Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #1) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,148

Kyros said, drawing the attention of the smirking triplets. He ran his hands up the metal columns, his fingers not quite able to wrap around the thick bars.

A triplet sneered at him. “It is for the imposter, Julius.”

“King Julius, my father,” Kyros replied.

“Brainwashed,” another triplet said. “You’re our brother.”

And they were about to kill the man they claimed as brother? Then again, though appearing furious at me killing their brother, they’d hardly sobbed over his corpse.

Dang.

This floor was feeling increasingly comfortable. Comfortable concrete was probably a cause for alarm. I took several full breaths and returned a hand to my wound—not that I had any blood left inside.

I kept my eyes on the vampires, curling my knees toward my stomach.

Gina cocked her head to the ceiling. “They’ve broken through the outer defences. They’re about to reach the house. Girls, with me.”

Who was they? Was it Laurel and the others?

I froze as a stream of vampires blurred past.

Four were left.

The males.

Better odds. For Kyros.

Who was in a vampire cage.

If I stopped moving, it was over. This was my last chance. I managed to get my elbow under my shoulder and focused on staying upright when I made it to my haunches.

Fuck. I was going to be sick.

“Petrol, boys,” one of the psychotic trio called.

The fourth vampire—not one of the triplets—hesitated. “Gina isn’t here.”

“She doesn’t need to be,” the middle triplet snapped. “The plan is set.”

I choked on horror as the other two picked up the cans and splashed the reeking liquid through the gaps of the cage.

Kyros gripped two of the thick metal columns, unmoving as they doused his body with petrol. He held my gaze, and while the triplets worked around the back of his cage, he mouthed, “Turn away, Basilia.”

No. Not from this.

I leaned onto my hands and knees and began to crawl to him, gasping as my body demanded I lay down and submit to unknowing bliss.

Someone snorted. “Look who it is. The human is coming to kill us, boys.”

“She killed Callum,” said the fourth male.

Silence met his words, and I continued my sluggish crawl to the cage. A simmering heat filled me. I was getting closer. The thrall was warming me again.

The heat mounted.

Kyros had to feel it too.

His quiet calm turned to a menacing snarl.

I glanced up, but shoes appeared before me, halting my crawl. I swayed back and forward on my hands and knees, staring at the combat boots.

“She isn’t leaving here,” the owner of the shoes stated.

Kyros’s snarl filled the basement. “You’d break your eldest sibling’s word?”

“Accidents happen,” the male replied.

Another set of shoes, casual sneakers, joined his. “We set him on fire. She crawled to him and caught on fire too. Oops.”

Laughter swept under Kyros’s furious snapping.

The combat boots and casual sneakers parted ways for me.

What?

They expected me to keep moving after that? I wasn’t a dumbass.

“Crawl. Or I’ll cut your fucking throat before setting you alight.”

That changed things.

I resumed my crawl, and the heat deep in my stomach swelled. Crackling. Soaring.

Kyros’s growl, his call, reached inside me.

My eyelids hooded, and the swaying of my crawl felt languid instead of bone-wearied. I bit my lip and peered at Kyros, my gaze raking him. The fire in me was an inferno. For him too.

Kyros was trying to rip the cage apart.

The swing of my hips was designed to entice. The extra arch in my back meant to drive him to insanity.

For me.

I held him captive as he attacked the metal confines. Releasing my lip, I licked the small wound I’d created.

Kyros was crouched and waiting when I reached the cage. I placed my hands on two metal columns, gasping in pleasure as he reached through and yanked me upright.

Fire consumed me as his fingers roamed my skin.

I let out my own snarl as I grabbed for him only to encounter thin air.

“Kyros?” Where did he—?

My leather jacket was ripped apart and my black tank rolled up. The flat of a hot tongue moved over my stomach, lapping with gentle, careful strokes.

Peering down, I studied Kyros as he licked the gushing wound there.

Enough of the gentle shit! I needed him now.

My tugging hands were encased in his before I could blink. Abandoning that, I tried to squeeze into the cage, my breath coming in desperate, frantic gasps.

Why wasn’t he kissing me? Why wasn’t he touching me?

I didn’t care about the damn wound.

“I don’t want your tongue there,” I snapped at him.

His lips curved against my bloodied skin, but he didn’t stop lapping. I groaned as