Light overwhelms my vision, causing a blur. “Why are we here?” Blinking helps me see clearly.
Tristen throws open the library doors with the force of a warrior. “Because no one would expect us to be here. It’s a fail-safe. If Adrian fails, Galen will look for you in your chambers. They won’t look in the library.”
He pulls me inside. The slamming of the door launches the air out of my lungs. No one sees us; breakfast hasn’t been served yet; the librarians are likely still in bed.
“We’re going to find Old Crusty and make him talk,” Tristen announces. He walks, and a hand clenches around mine as he continues to drag me. I know he’s as hurt as I am, so I don’t snap, but I do yank my arm free. His eyes find the red handprint on my wrist. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“You’re just trying to keep me safe. It’s fine,” I reply.
“Heads up, he’s so old, we might discover a dead body.” Tristen speed-walks through the rows of books until we reach a door. He kicks it open and races down the stairs.
The steps are so narrow that I have to pivot my feet to find balance. The light from upstairs barely reaches the bottom, but Tristen is used to seeing in the dark. Flesh hitting stone echoes up the stairs. He continues to pound the stone wall.
“Grumps! Crusty old goat! Open up. Come on. Rise and shine.” He begins to kick the wall.
“Tristen.” I step forward. Has he gone mad?
“Open! Up!” He slams the wall so hard I know he’s injured his wrist.
“Stop!” I grab his hand and pour some of my healing magic into it. He pulls his hand back. “I can heal myself. You need to save your magic. You barely slept.”
“I’m fine.” Do I need more sleep? Yeah, but I’m not useless.
Tristen kicks the wall again. Nothing happens. He flattens his palms and presses his forehead to it. “Please,” he sighs.
Creek!A door emerges and opens as magic illuminates a fissure in the stone.
“See?” an old voice grunts. “All you needed were some manners. Please and thank you.”
The scent of mold and wet stone invades my nose. The old man on the side of the door opens his arms in welcome, but his worn robes rain dust in the stale air.
Shit. Tristen wasn’t exaggerating. I’ve never seen a vampire older than this one. His hair is so white it appears almost transparent. His lids are so sagged it’s hard to see the shape or color of his eyes.
“I brought a guest.” Tristen steps into the small room. I press a firm footstep inside, feeling the old man look me up and down.
“Seems you brought a queen.” He steps to the side. “Make yourself at home. I swept the floor.”
I ignore his barbed reply. Tristen sits on the edge of the bed. The old man rolls his eyes and walks to the only chair in the room. I stand firm as he studies me.
“What did you need?” His spine bends like soft wood. His belongings are as worn as the books on the shelves up stairs, passed down and reused. And his fingers… I curl my own to ensure I still can. His knuckles are swollen with the suffering of aging.
“Answers,” Tristen barks. Can he try to ask politely?
“I gave you many already.”
I continue to look at the man’s aging face. My lips part to ask him about his time with Everett, but wait, what is that? “I’m sorry—” I interrupt them and look at Tristen, confused. “This is the man who told you about Caldara?”
“I told him a lot more than that,” the old man huffs bitterly.
“Yeah,” Tristen deadpans. “Old? Check. Grumpy? Check. Terrible manners? Double check.”
The old man mumbles as he rubs his temples.
“Tristen…” Dryness stings my eyes from how wide they are pulled. “You said he was a vampire.”
Tristen looks at me, confused. “He is. I know we look sexy now, but we do age, Selene. So enjoy Titus when he’s hard and smooth because one day,” Tristen grimaces, “he and I will be raisins. No offense.”
“Much taken.” A raspy sigh bursts from the man’s thin lips.
