Page 27 of The Vampire's Lament
“Damn,” I breathed.
“We’ll be getting you out of here, Paris. There’s a plan in place to attack the palace within the next week,”Sarah had said.
And then I remembered her telling me the king’s death wasn’t their priority, but bringing down the eight vampire palaces was.
Oh. Shit. Were there multiple attacks taking place right now?
I went to say this, only for Medusa to vanish through the portal, leaving me behind.
I guess I’d made my choice.
Staggering backward, I fell onto my arse, the concrete path hell on my booty.
“By Aidan—no!” I roared. “Stop saying that fucking name!”
The wind howled in response, and I howled right back. My scream a painful expulsion of frustration, tears breaking free instantly.
“I can’t do this,” I wailed. “I can’t do this.”
I pulled my knees up, sobbing into my jeans. I was overwhelmed, my stomach performing a series of backflips.
What now? What happened to Silvanus? Would he be taken prisoner? Ransomed? Tortured until he begged for death?
I pressed my face harder into the denim, eyes clamped tightly shut.
“I don’t want this,” I whispered, tears and snot pouring out of me. “I don’t want this.”
If I stayed scrunched up against reality like this, maybe things would stop spinning so much and sort themselves out.
It’d be great to have zero burdens pressing down on me.
“Delusional prick,” I scolded myself, lifting my head.
They called that burying one’s head in the sand.
“Guilty,” I said, resting my left cheek on my knees.
Check me out being all weak. How pathetic was I? But my head in the sand felt like the best course of action. Not picking a side meant keeping shit at bay. Totally childish, totally irresponsible, and comforting as hell.
Now, how did I get off this island? There were no boats, the pier was out of action anyway, and I didn’t fancy a swim in those waters.
Hmmm.
I got to my feet, wiping my eyes and nose on my T-shirt before taking some deep breaths, letting the cold night refresh me.
Think, elfy. There’s always a way out of this stuff.
Once I had my determined head on, I hurried down the garden path, stepping over the low metal gate before stopping to assess my options.
The path continued in a zig-zaggy descent, cutting through the grassy slopes of the hill down to a muddy beach and the ruins of the collapsed pier.
Maybe not that way.
I scouted the perimeter of the hilltop, finding no sign of anything useful.
“Bollocks.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets, rocking on my heels while I drew on the energy of the island flora.
What about using the wood of the pier to build a raft?
