White splashed with blood.
I frown, dropping my gaze to the vampire’s shirt. He’s sitting to Tiernon’s left, glancing down at the floor as he tugs at something.
I stare, and it takes me a moment to understand what I’m seeing.
A mundane sits at his feet, eyes glazed, blood covering his neck. A leather collar encircles his throat, attached to the leash in the vampire’s hand. At the vampire’s signal, he rises, sitting carefully on the vampire’s lap, as he bares his throat.
The vampire strikes like a snake, laughing softly against the man’s neck as the man cries out. I’m not sure if the sound is one of pleasure or pain, but it makes my head swim.
I’ve been careful to keep my gaze away from the Primus, but I catch the moment Rorrik glances at him, and then slowly turns his head, his gaze unerringly finding me.
His eyes fire with manic delight.
The vampire finishes feeding, dumping his human victim on the ground before picking up his leash and giving it a tug.
“Please,” the man hisses, and the vampire’s lips curl up.
The blood addictcrawlsacross the ground, staring avidly up at the vampire.
Repulsion overwhelms me. These people have families. Families who miss them. Who long for them to return home.
My hands shake, and I’m suddenly ten years old again, a baby in each arm as my mother disappears out the door to find glister.
When you love an addict, you know their addiction isn’t their fault, even as you resent everything about them that made them fall prey to it.
And you live with the guilt. The pain of knowing that you didn’t do enough. The knowledge that if they loved you just that little bit more, they would have overcome that addiction. They would have gotten better. For you.
The man moans again, and I force myself into the present.
I’ve heard that for a subset of sigilmarked and mundanes, vampire blood is a thousand times more addictive than glister.
And for an unlucky percentage, the vampirebiteis even more addictive than their blood.
Those people never live long.
I can feel Tiernon’s concerned gaze on me as I position myself against the wall behind the emperor, and I will him to look away before his father takes notice. Thankfully, Vallius has continued his monologue, and he claps Tiernon on the shoulder. “And of course, my youngest son. Many thought I was too harsh at first, forcing him to become Primus. But he has truly excelled in his role.”
“What are you up to, little rabbit?”Rorrik’s voice is filled with dark amusement.
I scowl, thankful no one can see my expression beneath my helmet. How did he build that wall between us when he killed Lucius? When I begged him to stop?
Closing my eyes, I visualize a thick, stone tower encasing my mind.
Rorrik’s low laugh echoes in my head.“A valiant effort. But not enough, I’m afraid. If you had let me teach you, you’d be able to block me by now.”
I open my eyes to see him reaching for one of the mundane women kneeling next to him. She blooms under his attention, her eyes wide as she eagerly thrusts her wrist at him.
I can’t seem to rip my gaze away. Rorrik takes her wrist, his hand surprisingly gentle as he guides her up to her feet. She attempts to sit on his lap, and he slowly shakes his head, ignoring her obvious disappointment.
Lowering his head, he bares his teeth, sinking fangs into her wrist. I draw in a sharp breath, and despite my hidden face, it feels as if Rorrik can see my every reaction. His eyes have darkened, hispupils expanding as the woman lets out a low moan. The muscles at his throat work as he swallows, his hot gaze knifing into me.
The emperor finishes his little speech, and every vampire at the table raises their glass. Rorrik slides his tongue across the woman’s wrist, and she sinks back to the ground, her eyes glazed with dazed pleasure.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. My skin feels too tight, my body overheating.
Lifting his glass, Rorrik joins the others in a toast to his father.
To my left, a mundane sits next to a female vampire, his face pale as his fangs stab into his own lip.
