“Overlady Alacine will keep coming for you in secret, though I suspect with more force, frequency, and urgency than before. We have some time because she will need to figure out what went wrong that allowed your escape. She will have to answer to Overlord Aramastun for the damage to his property; to Overlord Barnabac for the death of his soldiers when we rescued Jinneth.”
“Do you think she will enlist the aid of the other four Ministries to snuff us out?”
“No.” His answer is quick, baffling.
“Why?”
Skar’s smirk turns into a cruel, knowing smile. “Self-preservation, power, and ambition, love. For now, they’re working in our favor. Alacine Mortis wants you all to herself.”
Chapter 4
Lukain
How long have I been sitting here?
I’ve lost track of time. The human side of me feels forlorn and adrift. I’ve been sitting against the wall, knees drawn up to my chest, staring out at the great hole in the circular window across the room.
It’s been hours. I only know that because the gray sky is now pink with a rising sun. In the distance, past the peaks, the horizon grows brighter, and I squint against it.
If I’m not careful, I’ll make direct eye contact with the sun soon and blind myself.Maybe it’s for the best. Perhaps I just sit here and let the sun swallow me whole. Turn me into embers.
The wind blows righteously up here in Sutlis Spire, over a hundred feet in the sky. It whips ash and smoldering parchment from the stone floor, many pages fluttering out the window.
Ever since watching Skartovius Ashfen and Sephania disappear into nothingness, I’ve felt lost. For one, I have no idea what I fucking witnessed. Ashfen didn’t drag Sephania out the open window to plummet ten stories to her death. I rushed to the window to make sure.
No, they had vanished into . . . ashadow. My little grimmer’s shadow, if I’m not mistaken.
The loss of her—when she had been so close to me, nearly within arm’s reach—is sweeping and debilitating. The slave I had raised from girlhood into womanhood. The perfect, infuriating,resilient girl who tried me at every turn. The girl whose surname I was responsible for.
Sephania Lock. My heart is still locked with hers, even if she doesn’t believe it.
I never wanted to let her go. Even years ago, when I was running the Grimsons outfit underground in Nuhav.
Earlier this evening, I rushed up these stairs and it still wasn’t fast enough. I had prior business beforehand, but now I wish I’d arrived sooner, if only so I could have gazed upon Sephania’s perfect face for a few moments longer before she was taken from me again.
She looks different now. Even more flawless than before. Her transformation into a woman is nothing short of astonishing. No longer is she the skinny, defiant youth I bought from Dimmon Plank when she’d only seen thirteen summers at most.
Her body has filled out. Her hips, her curves, her face—they’ve grown more luscious and bountiful. There was hate in her eyes for me, and that’s the worst part of all. It pained me to witness. Now it’s hurting even more with her gone, making me wince.
No, wait, that pain is something else.
I glance down, noticing the hard protrusion throbbing against my slacks.Is it her hate and defiance that arouses me, or simply the fact I let her get away again?
Sighing, I shake my head. It’s been like this for hours, with my cock remembering Sephania even better than my memory does. Though it was only one time with her, at the height of our lust, it was enough to change everything.
I wish I could say it changed everything for the better. We made love, despite her injuries from her shadowgala defeat. We drank each other’s blood, heightening the sensations as I plunged into her and she wrapped her limbs around me. Thenwe weren’t making love anymore—we were fucking like feral animals.
Chewing my cheek, I push the back of my skull against the wall and stare up at the rough ceiling. Next to me lies a pile of bleached bone—Bregsitch, his name was—where Skartovius stabbed the thrall with his silver saber and torched the poor brute. Not far from him is some pale human, sickly green in pallor from having his blood drained by my bloodthrall, Kleora.
Kleora herself, well . . . my eyes move to the window. I recall how Sephania thrust her silver shackles against Kleora’s neck, lighting the chronicler’s head on fire. She ran around haplessly for a few moments before pitching out the window to her doom.
It’s strange, but I feel nothing for Kleora’s death, even with the sudden quiet of our bond in my mind. It’s almost a relief, admittedly, not feeling her. Even though she’s been part of me ever since my miraculous “resurrection” and transformation into Overseer Verant, I simply can’t bring myself to feel any emotion at her loss and the severance of our connection.
It was Kleora’s blood I drank to claw my way back to life after Skartovius defeated me following my assassination attempt on him. It was Kleora’s neck I sucked on and swapped blood with to turn the woman into a vampire. She has been with me for years.
Now she’s gone. Killed by Sephania, while the woman Itrulypined after stared at me the whole time, trying to hurt me like I hurt her.
If I could take it all back and never betray my little grimmer, I would. It was foolish of me to let her go. I was a coward, frightened of what she had done to my mind to make me obsess over her after one simple bloodletting.
