The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [22]
Despite my hatred, if I fight him I will lose. This is a lesson I learned well years ago. Aubrey is older, stronger, and much crueler.
For now, though, he lounges against the wall, throwing his knife into the air and catching it. Throwing, catching. Up, down. The faint light glints on the silver blade, and I have a sudden picture in my mind of Aubrey missing the knife, and of it slicing across his wrist.
He has modernized his style since the 1700s: he wears black jeans tucked into black boots, a tight red shirt that shows off the muscles of his chest, and a metal-studded dog collar. The green viper has been replaced by the world serpent from Norse mythology, which played a part in the destruction of the world. On his upper arm is the Greek Echidna, mother of all monsters, and on his right wrist is the Norse monster Fenris, the giant wolf who swallowed the sun.
I wonder what Aubrey will do when he becomes bored with these designs. Maybe cut them off with an ordinary knife. His flesh would heal in a matter of seconds. Maybe I could volunteer to help…. No one would mind if I “accidentally” cut his heart out in the process.
“Why are you here, Aubrey?” I finally ask, not willing to wait for him to speak.
“I just came to offer my condolences for the death of your poor, fragile kitten.”
My body freezes with rage. Aubrey knows how to hurt me, and how to make me lose my temper. He has done so before.
I start to move toward him — to hit him, to make him hurt as much as I do.
“Careful, Risika,” he says. Just two words, but I stop. “Remember what happened last time you challenged me.”
“I remember,” I growl. My voice is heavy with pain and rage. I do remember — I remember very well.
“You still wear the scar, Risika. I can see it even from here.”
“I have not forgotten, Aubrey,” I answer him. He wears the same face he had then: cold, aloof, slightly amused, slightly mocking. He knows what Tora meant to me, and I know that he has visited me to try to bait me into attacking him again.
I wonder what kind of life made Aubrey the way he is. A psychologist would love analyzing him. Aubrey knows exactly what to say and do to make those around him weep, laugh, beg, hate, love, fear, or anything else he wishes. I have seen brave men run in fear, humans wage wars, and vampire hunters turn on their own, all because of Aubrey.
He is far stronger than Ather, physically mentally, and emotionally As I have said, Ather’s largest flaw is that she changes people who are strong — people who will be stronger than she is. She does this because, though others of our kind might challenge her alone, they assume that her fledglings would avenge the attack.
I may never understand why Ather decided that Rachel was a human who demanded her attention, but I do not hate my blood mother. She was the one who tore me from my human life, but she was also the one who forced me to look upon the darkness of humanity. Had it not been for her, I would have lived and died as prey and nothing else.
Though I would not lift a finger to defend my blood mother, I do not go out of my way to attack her.
Aubrey, on the other hand … Three hundred long years ago I knew that Aubrey was stronger than I, and indeed, I fought him and lost. I fear what will happen if we fight again. He eggs me on every time we meet, knowing well that I fear him. I hate him all the more because of that fear, and he knows this as well.
He is still waiting for my response to his taunt.
“Considering you killed Tora, your condolences aren’t worth much,” I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
“Don’t look like that. I could feel your aura there, and even now I can smell her blood on you.”
Aubrey just laughs.
“Get out of my house, Aubrey,” I growl. I have no wish to fight him. I only want him to be gone.
“You don’t seem in the mood for company,” he comments. “I’ll stop by again later, Risika.”
I hear the implied threat but have