Over his shoulder, Lukain snarls at Vallan and Garroway. “You two need to keep me apprised of what’s happening. We know Skartovius won’t, the stubborn bastard.”
“Your brother, you mean?” Vallan says.
“And aren’tyouthe bastard, if you want to get technical?” Garro chirps.
Lukain scoffs. He still doesn’t like hearing the word “brother” and the name Skartovius Ashfen in the same sentence. I don’t blame him, because I’m angry at Skar, too. Lukain just doesn’t know it.
If Skar isn’t going to tell Lukain of the lies he wrote, then I will have to,I muse as we move from one room to another in Skar’s wake.But I have to give Skar more than a single day to have out with it. I owe him that, at least. I suppose.
I’m certainly not looking forward to what transpires between the half-brothers once the truthdoescome out, so maybe putting it off is in everyone’s best interest. Clearly we have more pressing matters at the moment.
“Assassins in Sephania’s room,” Vallan mutters.
Lukain lets out an exasperated sound. He looks Vall up and down, noticing his limp and the arrows sticking from his shoulder and leg. “Looks like you took the brunt of it.”
“He tookallof it,” I say. “If not for Vallan, I’d likely be dead. So I won’t hear any badmouthing—”
“I’m not going to badmouth your companions, little grimmer—”
“Mates.”
“—I just want to know how everyone got there faster than me.”
“Shadowwalking,” Garroway points out. “Same thing your mother could do after drinking Sephania’s Loreblood. It’s a bloodline ability of Master Skar’s, awoken by Sephania, which we utilize to hop around. You should have it as well, in fact . . .”He trails off, and we peer at Lukain as Garro’s words ring heavily in the air.
Garroway is right. If Alacine Mortis could shadowwalk like her firstborn son Skartovius, then logic tells me her secondborn son should also gain the ability after drinking from me.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a flushed tint to Lukain’s pale cheeks. He averts his gaze to a wall, clearing his throat. “I suppose not every hereditary ability passes down.”
Arching my eyebrows sadly, I gently take his hand in mind and give it a light squeeze. There’s no doubting the shame on his face, and it hurts to see.Why can’t Lukain shadowwalk like his mother and brother?
Garroway, who has no reservations about speaking his mind even if someone is ashamed and angry, lets out a hum. “Perhaps it’s because you’re a half-blood.”
Vallan, equally as unhelpful, says, “You’re a dhampir too, cub. And you have your beast-charming ability.”
Garroway nods, pouting. “True. I don’t know then.”
I shoulder him to get him to shut up. He furrows his brow at me. Lukain doesn’t answer, and a crashing sound up ahead makes us all shut up.
Down the hall, Skar’s foot is lifted in the air, having just finished kicking in the door of a room. The rest of us get to him and pile in behind him.
It’s a separate chamber from where I saw Tymon, Aelin, and Palacia having their exhibitionism, further across the castle from my room, yet they’re all in here.
The ornate room is clearly the master bedroom, and I wonder how Skartovius knew how to find it.
Demilord Tymon Aldion stands at the side of the bed, near the headboard. Behind him, moonlight washes into the room through a closed window, casting dancing shadows across the floor and walls.
Tymon has one hand on Palacia’s diminutive frame in front of him, gripping a bony shoulder tight. His other hand holds a dagger across Pala’s throat, instantly enraging me with the sight of it.
It’s strange, because Palacia doesn’t look worried in the least about the dagger across her thin neck. If anything, her undead pallor makes her pretty face seem . . . well, dead. Unbothered. She’s dressed now, adorned in a lacy gown similar to the nightgown I’m wearing. She fills out the dress in ways much different than I do.
On the other side of the bed, Aelin stands, a hand on her bloated belly. Unlike Tymon and Palacia, sheisnaked, and I wonder if they were continuing their kinky shenanigans up here before Skar ruined it.
My eyes whisk across the tall woman’s enviable frame, though I notice none of my men offer her even the smallest glance. Everyone’s eyes are on Tymon and his hostage, my friend.
“Let Palacia go,” I command, pushing past my mates to stand alongside Skartovius.
They’re across the bedroom, fifteen feet away.
