Why would he waste the time?
“The same reason I’m not letting you walk into a nest of vampires without guard,” he answers as he fastens the buckle.
?????????????
The letter served as a warning.
One I foolishly didn’t realize.
The overwhelming scent of blood assaults my nose the second we ferry into Ashemere. It smothers me—fills my nose, floods my lungs, sinks into my stomach and leaves me nauseated. Even the artificial icy-sweet scent of vampires doesn’t stand against it.
Resisting the urge to raise my cowl and hide my nose away, I clench my jaw. Ryc and I trail behind the fae vampire messenger Sabien sent to Ollora, and Eve and Cyran keep close behind us.
Our pace is more leisurely than I’d like and our female guide peers over her shoulder more often than she should. Each time she does, her eyes linger upon Ryc as if she’s waiting for him to say something—as if she expects him to recognize her.
If he does, he doesn’t show it.
And I admit, there’s something familiar in the shape of her face and chestnut curls. Something I can’t quite name, can’t quite place. One thing is for certain, if she doesn’t quell her curiosity, I’ll start my own collection of eyes.
Unfortunately, hers are not the only staring pair.
Slews of vampires sit in the shadows, their glowing red eyes following our every step. They line the walls, cowering over the degrading meal running beneath them.
Rivulets carved or perhaps worn into the stone floor flow with crimson through the hall. Many drink, their faces lowered or from cupped hands, all dignity aside—anything to stave off withering for another night.
By the time the seeping crimson reaches these creatures in the halls, it’s long-cold. And cold, congealing blood is the furthestthing from a vampire’s preferred meal. It’s designed to be a slight. To remind these creatures they’re indebted to have their new “life.”
Cold blood is all they’ll have until they prove themselves worthy of the privilege of feasting in the same room as Indui’s Blessed. Just as I used to struggle with understanding why mortals would sign away their souls to Netharis, I fail to understand how such a “life” in the dark could ever be appealing.
“Sabien will be receiving you during breakfast,” our vampire guide says as we pass beneath another golden brazier overhead. The dim glow casts her face in racing shadows. “He’s interested in hearing from Netharis’ spawn.”
I remain silent.
If she’s trying to rile me, she’s going to have to try harder. She’s not the first to refer to me asNetharis’ spawn, nor will she be the last.
“Address her asspawnagain,” Ryc warns, his voice a low rumble.
A tiny smirk curls my lips.
Apparently, though, it’s enough to rile Ryc.
A coy grin appears on her face. “You always were the territorial kind of fae.” She swings her face over her other shoulder, to me. “When you inevitably grow bored as all demons do, send him my way.”
“Consult Sabien to discuss what happens when you lust after what’s mine,” I counter calmly in Malbolge.
Her brow quirks and she turns her face forward.
“I believe I recognize her,”Ryc’s voice ripples through my mind.“But her scent, her eyes… they’re different. I’m not sure I’m right.”
“Tell your friend to keep her eyes forward,”I reply and he chuckles.
“She is no friend,”Ryc says, placing a hand over mine as it rests in the nook of his arm.“Especially now. If she’s who I think… it… could complicate things.”
As if things aren’t complicated enough.
Ahead, dark doors swing open, revealing more darkness beyond and unleashing a bitter wind. As the cold strikes against my skin, the sickeningly sweet scent slams into me, robbing me of any reprieve from the scent of blood.
Like the hall, the room we walk into is a poorly lit space, thesame barely glowing braziers hanging above. But unlike the hall, as unnerving a scene as that had been, this room is worse.
