Silas clearly didn’t understand any of it—not the looming threat and certainly not Raphael’s role in deciding who would rule. And she just as clearly had deluded herself into believing she could win. Whether it was because Klemens had favored her, letting her believe it was her own power rather than his that fed her rise in his ranks, or if she was simply that stupid, Aden didn’t know. But he did know that one of the reasons she’d remained loyal to Klemens was because he’d let her play her cruel little games, permitted her to take weaker vampires and torment them, to kill humans for the fun of it. Never mind that Klemens was sworn to protect the very vampires Silas had tormented, or that he bred instability by permitting her to prey on humans. The now-dead vampire lord had probably found her games amusing. It wasn’t uncommon for a vampire’s children to be reflections of himself. And Klemens had been one sick fucker of a vampire.

Regardless of why Silas was the way she was, it was too late for her. If she’d come to Aden at the beginning, if she’d stepped aside in recognition of his greater strength and pledged her fealty, he would have rewarded her, even given her a city of her own. Not a major city, but something suitably profitable.

But after everything that had happened, he wouldn’t trust her out of his sight, and he didn’t like her well enough to keep her in his sight. If she walked out that door right now and came to him on bended knee, it would only make it more convenient when he chopped off her head.

Aden did a final check of his vampires, receiving a quick nod from Bastien. Gathering his strength, he sent out a wave of power, searching the warehouse, wanting to know exactly what waited for them inside. True to form, Silas had brought so many of her minions that it was difficult to get an accurate count. He didn’t bother trying. It wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy.

“She’s brought more than I can easily count, so stick close and expect trickery,” Aden told his vampires, then glanced over at Freddy, who stood closest to the entrance, and nodded.

The big vampire pulled back the heavy door on its sliding track, entering first when Aden would have done so. Aden had to smile at that. It was vampire instinct to protect one’s master. He would have done the same thing for Lucas.

Aden entered the warehouse and immediately stepped to one side, clearing the entrance for the rest of his vampires. There were no lights inside. The only illumination came from moonlight through the dirty windows, but darkness was hardly an impediment for a vampire.

Silas’s people waited for him, spread out across the back of the warehouse in disorganized rows, their aggression palpable, raising whatever power they had in preparation for the fight to come. For the most part, their eyes gleamed red, betraying their lack of significant power. Silas stood in the very last row, surrounded by the buffer of her minions. She was a petite woman, so short that he only knew she was there because of the dirty-penny shine of her eyes in the dark warehouse.

“This is your party, Silas,” he called out to her. “You and your pretentious invitation. We haven’t used human blood for such things in a century or more,” he added derisively, pricking her temper and reminding her that he was far older and more experienced than she was. He raked the assembled vampires with a sneering glance, ending with his gaze directly on Silas. “But all I see are underlings. Are you refusing to fight? Again?”

“At least I have minions,” Silas responded, her soprano voice echoing in an odd way that told him she was enhancing it somehow. Probably making it louder, and what a waste of energy that was. “Unlike your pathetic four,” she continued. “If they do nothing else, my many children prove my fitness to rule.”

“Silas, Silas,” Aden chided. “They do no such thing. Your need for them, and a sorry lot they are, proves nothing but your weakness.”

Silas snarled angrily. “Kill him!” she ordered shrilly. “Kill them all!”

Aden engaged Silas’s vampires without mercy, disgusted by the nature of the battle. He despised having to kill so many vampires, but he was in this battle to win, and so he fought with everything he had.

He and his four attacked as a team, his vampires feeding him their energy, while at the same time drawing strength from his staunch defense, from his willingness to die for them.

The attacking vamps swarmed Aden, trying to isolate him from his people, thinking to take him down by sheer strength of numbers. They were like yappy dogs nipping at a lion, but even dogs can do damage if there are enough of them. None of Silas’s minions were powerful enough by themselves to kill him, but as Aden fought them off, as they managed to strike the rare lucky blow that left him bleeding, he knew her true objective was for them to weaken him for her. She didn’t want them to kill Aden, she needed to do that herself, needed that notch on her belt if she was going to come out of the challenge with any honor. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have her minions diminish him, leave him injured and bleeding, unable or unwilling to use his dwindling energy to heal himself.

That was how Silas saw the situation. Aden had other plans.

Aden let Silas’s people wound him, let them draw blood thinking they’d beat him. He heard her victorious howl, felt the sudden surge of power that told him she believed her triumph was at hand. And still he waited. Until they were gathered around him like rats, their eyes ruby sparks in the darkness, their defenses lowered, confident he was bested. And then he killed them, mowing them down like a scythe through wheat, his power a sharp-edged blade that cut through their bodies with ease.

And deep within Aden, the dark half of his vampire gift stirred, roused by the blood soaking the ash-covered floor, by the scent of the air which had become a red-tinted miasma of death. But this time, Aden didn’t fight it. This time he opened his arms and let it come.

He laughed with joy as the bindings broke, unleashing this darkest aspect of his power. It was an erotic rush, as if he’d been the one imprisoned, as if he was finally freed. Black flame raged through his muscles and blood, expanding his power, reaching outward, seeking victims, seeking . . . food. He roared his pleasure as the gruesome power which was so much a part of him sought out and drank the energy of the dying, sucking up their life force, growing stronger with every death, not caring whether the vampire died beneath his hand or another’s.

Silas’s minions gazed upon him with horror, no longer struggling to be the first to attack him, but shoving to escape instead. They trampled each other in their panic, ignoring the shrieked demands of their mistress ordering them to attack, far more willing to face her anger than the hunger of this monster who had suddenly manifested among them.

But none escaped. Aden wouldn’t permit it. His loyal four wouldn’t permit it. As the last of his attackers died, as the screams of disbelief still echoed off the brick walls, Aden reined in his most deadly power. It went willingly, like a satiated child, weary from its efforts and too full to protest. Aden closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and took stock. He glanced left and right, drinking in the sight of his four vampire children, bloodied but still standing staunchly by his side.

He caught movement in the dim recesses of the warehouse. There was a door in the back, and a sliver of faint light flashing as Silas tried to worm away once more.

Aden raised his power and slammed the door shut before it could open more than an inch or two. Silas spun to stare at him, her eyes going wide with fear and surprise.

“Not this time, Silas,” Aden growled.

He stalked across the wide open space, taking his time, taunting her with his confident swagger. “A smart warrior knows his enemy,” he lectured deliberately. “You didn’t even bother to discover the true nature of my power. Klemens knew. Why do you think he refused to take the field if I was there?”

He came within five feet of her and stopped, the blue gleam of his eyes casting her in foggy color. “You thought your slavish minions would guarantee my defeat, but the only defeat tonight will be yours.”

Her eyes narrowed in rage, their copper-penny glow making her look sallow and sickly. But for all her glare of defiance, she was afraid of him. She kept rubbing her arms, as if trying to scrape away the clinging webs of his power, kept reaching with her mind for her dead minions, becoming frantic all over again when she discovered they were gone.

She didn’t even try to surrender, seemed to understand at last that she had come too far, had caused too much bloodshed for him to accept her submission.

But she was still a vampire, still driven by the power of her blood. She made a final, desperate bid for survival, marshaling all of her remaining strength into a single knife-blade of energy. With a gesture far more disciplined that Aden would have credited her with, she thrust it at Aden, a killing blow aimed at his heart.

Aden was not so easily taken in. He’d been fighting vampire challenges a century before Silas had even been born. He’d sensed her desperation, felt her gathering power. When she launched her surprise attack, he was ready for her. With a gesture, he deflected her conjured knife blade, turning all of that energy back on her and blasting her across the floor to slam against the far wall while she wailed in both anger and pain.

Aden was silent as he crossed the few feet to where Silas lay choking on her own blood, her power drained, her body damaged beyond her current ability to heal. Had Aden been willing, he could have saved her.

But he wasn’t willing. Silas needed to die. The only question was how much pain she would endure first.

Sinking to one knee, he studied her dispassionately. She’d known the risk she was taking and had taken it freely. She wasn’t the first vampire to die this way, and she wouldn’t be the last. It was the lot of those who were made Vampire, especially those who were driven to climb the ladder of power.

Reaching down almost idly, he stroked his fingers over her chest where her heart still beat frantically. In another context, the gesture could have been sexual. But there was nothing sexual about this.

“One way or another, Silas,” he murmured, “you’re going to die tonight.” He shrugged. “I can make it easy, or—” He bent his fingers slightly, and his power squeezed her heart. Silas cried out, her eyes going wide with shock at the intense pain“—I can make it very painful,” he finished.