Dawn Slayer by Clara Coulson

Author:Clara Coulson [Coulson, Clara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knite and Day Publishing
Published: 2019-05-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

I wake up in the state of perfect softness and warmth—cocooned in silken sheets, head resting on a fluffy pillow—that makes all people want to double down and sleep the rest of the day away. I almost do that too, but right as my half-lidded eyes begin to close again, my brain dumps an entire garbage can of memories into the middle of my consciousness. A highlight reel of every terrible thing that happened after I landed at Sheremetyevo starts to scroll through my head at high speed.

Disturbed, I open my eyes and scan the vaguely familiar room whose bed I’m occupying. After a moment, I remember where I am—at the Hyatt suite, in Foley’s master bedroom. Judging by the faint light drifting through the curtains, it’s early morning. Which means I spent an entire night hogging Lord Tepes’ bed while he crashed on a couch, or the bed in the “armory” room surrounded by dangerous weapons. And while I don’t think I was undeserving of a good night’s sleep in a comfy bed, after everything that happened yesterday, I groan at the thought of all the salacious gossip the other vampires are going to dish out.

Foley is throwing a great deal of nepotism at me, and it’s noticeable.

Sitting up, I stretch each of my limbs and test them for dexterity. There’s a lot of lingering soreness from yesterday’s injuries and overexertion. But I managed to stuff enough food down my throat last night to make up for most of the energy I expended, and have avoided what I call a “healing hangover.”

I peel back the sheets and comforter, swing my legs around, and slowly stand up, just to make sure I don’t have another fainting spell. All seems well, so I scoot past the table Foley left beside the bed, grab a fresh water bottle from the six-pack sitting next to the empty pizza boxes, and make my way over to the window.

It’s another overcast day in Moscow. More snow fell overnight, and the handful of vehicles on the street are braving thick sheets of half-melted ice and white drifts that have piled up in the lanes. The clock on the nightstand claims it’s almost seven. The city should be wide awake, but there’s hardly any traffic, hardly any noise. After all the explosions that rocked the city yesterday, people are reluctant to leave their homes. They’re scared.

They should be, with the Children of Enoch prowling around.

I drain half the water bottle, then turn to look for the remains of my clothing. I shed my shoes, socks, shirt, and pants, all of them ruined, before I nodded off. But they’re not on the floor where I left them. Instead, there’s a set of brand-new clothes, tags still attached, folded neatly on the cushion of a plush chair in the corner.

I snort at the thought Foley had someone go buy me expensive designer clothes, when all my regular clothing is sitting untouched in the bags I left back at the Marriott.

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