The dagger was sheathed, but her hand wasn't empty. Clutched in her fingers was the severed head of the vampire that had been talking to her. His black hair dangled as she held the head like a grim trophy.
The headless body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling around it.
The silence that followed was deafening, the kind of silence that only accompanies sheer, bone-chilling fear. It was as if the air around them froze. The other vampires stood frozen, their red eyes wide with shock, their pale faces devoid of any expression but fear. The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind and the drip of blood from the lifeless body.
"Now," Nyxoria said, her voice cold and commanding as she held the severed head up, "can I pass?"
One of the remaining vampires snapped out of his trance and scrambled toward the gate. He moved with such speed and desperation that it made Nyxoria chuckle darkly.
