Excerpt: Epoch

The first to break the silence, one of the demis behind her spoke. "This is the poser the puppet brought home," he said, giving Huxley the highly uncomfortable impression that he had once been a schoolmate of hers. "We secured her for you, because she thought she could put up a little fight." He laughed, grabbing the back of the chair, and shook it to demonstrate how secured she was.

"Enough," the woman commanded sharply, and instantly the back legs of the chair dropped to the floor with a bone-jarring thud.

"We took this from her," another voice from her side offered, though much more obsequious in tone. The demi stepped forward, holding out Huxley's sword to the vampires.

The taller male took it, hardly noticing the scraping demi-vampire. He grasped the sheath and pulled the blade out half-way, inspecting it in the torchlight. "Silver-treated steel of high quality," he announced, snapping it back into the case, "Iosif will be happy to add it to his collection."

Regardless of the hopelessness of her situation, Huxley's blood boiled at the thought of a vampire taking her father's sword as his own. She leaned forward and spat on the floor, looking back up and brazenly making eye contact with the one who held her weapon.

The shorter male sniggered. "Iosif might not get to see it, if this girl burns us all with the fire in her eyes."

The taller regarded Huxley coldly, keeping a firm grip around the hilt of the sword. "It causes her great disgust, to see filth such as myself handle an item she holds in such regard. Loves it more than her own life, no doubt."

"Here, let me defile it as well," the other chortled, holding out a pudgy hand for the sword.

The first was about to hand it over when the woman reached over and plucked it from him. "We will cause enough pain to this child," she said firmly, "one must not skip to dessert when the meal lies uneaten."

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He hunched in the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car while she gave him an apologetic look and stayed outside to make her call.

Home, he thought with a sick jerk in his stomach. She had a home and was calling it. Calling the people there to let them know she was okay, that the evil traitor Bentley hadn't killed her, that instead she was going to bring him back with her. Bring him home.

He watched her with growing uncertainty as she paced back and forth in front of the hood, waiting for the other end to pick up. She may have let him off the hook, but it was impossible that the others would let him live. And now that his assisted suicide had derailed, he was aware of a gnawing ache hidden deep inside, a whispering voice that said he wanted to live, wanted things he didn't deserve.

He also wanted to sleep, the effort of producing so much magical fireworks starting to take its deadly toll. It was more than he'd used in a long time, and he imagined he could feel the fibers of his body dissolving, nudging him that much closer to death's door. A very real fatigue draped itself on his limbs, pressed against his eyes, and he let himself give in to it for the moment.