“That’s just stupid,” she snapped. “Weres are animals at heart. We possess an instinctive need for a pack and an alpha.”
A low growl rumbled in his throat, but he was too smart to try to convince her that wolves could suddenly become loners.
“Salvatore is too concerned with the politics of vampires and fey and every other demon,” he said in snarled. “Not to mention his pack of squalling whelps. He hasn’t bothered to care about his people for a very long time.”
Brigette ignored the male’s petty complaints. Instead, she sniffed the air. Roban’s true reason for trying to kill Salvatore was laced in his scent.
“You’re jealous.”
He jerked, trying to pretend confusion at her accusation. “What?”
“You want to be Salvatore.”
“Bullshit.”
“There are very few things I can claim to be an expert on,” Brigette said, in dry tones. “Jealousy is one of them. I smell it on you.”
Roban leaned back, the frustrated animal inside him glowing in his eyes. “You can’t smell shit. Your wolf is dead.”
She ignored his attempt to rattle her. There was nothing he could say that would make the loss of her wolf any worse than she had already endured.
“Does Maryam believe that you’re doing this to free your poor oppressed people?” she asked. He glanced away, and Brigette’s lips twisted. “No, she’s not that gullible. You tried to convince her that you’re doing it for her, didn’t you?”
“I am.”
Brigette shook her head, a queasiness rolling through the pit of her stomach. This male was self-absorbed, greedy, and willing to sacrifice anyone to get what he wanted. Just like she used to be.
“You’re doing it for yourself,” she insisted. “You think if you kill Salvatore, then you can take his place as king.”
His lips parted. Was he going to deny her accusation? Then he shrugged, obviously realizing he couldn’t fool her.
Not when she’d been the ultimate queen of treachery.
“Why not me?” He tilted his chin, his expression arrogant. “I’d be better than that selfish bastard who forgot who helped put him in power.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I was in Italy when he first claimed the crown. I could have sided with the numerous Weres who wanted to challenge him, but I stood with Salvatore.” His features tightened with a blatant craving for power. “A mistake.”
“This isn’t about Salvatore’s ability to govern. Or what you did in the past.”
His hands clenched, as if willing his claws to emerge so he could slice open her throat.
“You know nothing about it.”
“I know that if you truly thought Salvatore was a bad king, you’d face him in a one-on-one battle. That’s the way a true leader is chosen.” She glanced around the empty basement. “Instead, you’re sneaking through hidden tunnels like a coward to stick a knife in his back.”
“I don’t have a knife.” He reached beneath his jacket, and Brigette snarled in warning. “Easy,” he murmured, pulling out a small object that was shaped like an oval. “I have this.”
Brigette leaned forward, studying the object. It looked like a miniature pineapple and smelled…nasty. She wrinkled her nose. There was a harsh chemical stench that caused the hair on the nape of her neck to rise. Thankfully, she couldn’t detect any magic. Which meant it wasn’t cursed.
“What is it?” she asked.
“An experimental human invention.”
She sniffed again. There was a tang of metal power, but no C-4. “A bomb?”
“An incendiary explosive,” he corrected.
“What does it do?”
“It combusts to spread sheets of flames that are impossible to put out.” An unmistakable anticipation tightened his features. “It doesn’t have the capacity to kill large numbers, like our cursed bombs, but it is lethal in small spaces, and there is no way to defuse it. Not even with magic.”
Brigette slowly smiled. She had the information she needed. Now it was time to put an end to this male.
“Clever, but, thankfully, useless once you’re dead.”
Roban lifted his hand, as if preparing to toss the device in her direction. “Put down the crossbow, or we’ll both be sorry.”
“I’m not afraid to die.” Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Are you?”
His eyes glowed. “No. I lied.”
“Lied about what?”
With a speed that shocked her, Roban was surging to his feet, knocking the crossbow from her hand. Shit. She’d allowed herself to be lulled by the assumption that the silver was draining his powers. Obviously, he’d been exaggerating the extent of his injuries.
Damn drama queen.
Leaping forward, he lifted his hand over his head before slashing it downward. “I do have a knife.”
Brigette saw a glint of silver, and she jerked to the side. It wasn’t enough to prevent the blade from stabbing deep into her chest, but it prevented the killing blow.
Not that she was going to let Roban realize he hadn’t succeeded in his effort to destroy her.
Collapsing on the ground, Brigette rolled to the side. She didn’t have to pretend she was mortally wounded. She could feel the warm blood pouring out of the wound to pool on the cement and the shocking pain as the silver began to spread its poison through her body. If she didn’t remove the blade, it would soon kill her.
But angling her arm to hide the hilt of the knife, she kept Roban from seeing that he’d missed her heart.
“Die, bitch.” He spit on her face and grabbed the crossbow before heading toward the nearby stairs.
Brigette kept her eyes closed as he left the basement, but she didn’t miss the sound of his occasional stumble and the loud rasp of his breath. He was injured badly enough to slow him down.
Which meant she still had a chance to stop him.
Clinging to that hope, she reached up to yank the knife from her chest.
* * * *
Maryam didn’t bother with a car as she left the motel and headed south. She had the speed and the stamina of a vampire, plus it was faster to cut straight through the empty fields than to use the highway.
Avoiding the farmhouses that were always home to yapping dogs, she flowed through the darkness with powerful ease. It felt good to be out of the tunnels and to run beneath the moonlight. And if she was honest, it felt good to be away from Roban.