And wasn’t as if Isabel had never heard of honor, it just wasn’t applicable between enemy factions, vampire to vampire.

Throat by throat she cut, listening to the promised syllables as they rattled from blood frothed mouths: Throgmar.

So this was the villain war-lord in charge of the vampire hoard.

She mulled over her wine in the back of the Three Swallows dive in the Pirates Den, back in the thick shadows where

the lantern light never gleamed. She had a name, but she did not have a location…yet. That would come in time, and if

it did not, well then, all the more blood she would spill until the lord and master woke up from their blood induced

coma.

The axe at her side gleamed hot silver in the twilight of the tavern. She’d picked it up from a fallen enemy, and it was

intended to be used to…