CHAPTER 23
Darion was seated in the shadows of his cell, resting his back against the cool stone wall when the heavy door swung open, and a pair of palace guards stepped inside.
The larger of the two, whom Selene had called Yurec the night of his arrival, gruffly gestured for him to get up. “The queen demands your presence.”
He stood, glad for the break in his endless boredom if nothing else. “She missed me already, eh?”
The quip earned him a hard jab in the back as the two Atlantean soldiers all but shoved him out of the room. As they marched him down the spiraling steps, he studied every inch of the palace, cataloging unsecured chambers and open passageways with an eye toward his eventual escape.
He didn’t expect he’d be allowed to live for much longer if Selene didn’t get what she wanted. Then again, if he didn’t find some way to slake his blood hunger soon, it wouldn’t matter what she wanted. He had no wish to die, but he’d be damned before he tried to appeal to her mercy.
Yurec walked him into the opened doors to the massive throne room. Selene waited inside again, but not alone.
Two more guards held an aged, portly human male. His graying hair was matted from salt air and sea spray. His simple clothing reeked of sweat and fish. He squirmed and struggled between his captors, eyes wide with fear as he spoke rapidly in a language that sounded to Darion like Greek.
“What’s going on, Selene?”
“I brought you something from outside the veil.”
The old man jerked around at the sound of Darion’s voice and began pleading incoherently to him.
Darion could smell the human’s terror and uncertainty. As much as he disapproved of what he was seeing he smirked up at Selene, seated calmly on her throne at the top of the dais.
“A present for me? I didn’t realize you cared.”
Her pretty mouth flattened. “I imagine the Order will be less willing to trade the crystal for you if you’re shriveled up and dead of hunger.”
He couldn’t deny his surprise. Or his bone-deep relief at the thought of easing some of the fierce gnawing of his thirst. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not usually one for public feedings. Why didn’t you bring this little gift of yours up to my cell?”
“I never step foot in the east tower.” Her reply was sharp and immediate--almost an unwilling reflex.
She kept her expression schooled, but there was no taking back her knee-jerk response. Unless he missed his guess, Darion would have sworn he noted a flicker of emotional pain in her glacial blue eyes.
Selene gestured to Yurec to bring Darion forward. The old fisherman struggled some more, whining now as one of the guards holding him grabbed his head and bent it to the side, exposing his neck to Darion.
Hunger spurred him, his gaze burning amber at the sight of the pounding carotid that raced under the tanned, grizzled skin.
He forced his gaze back up to Selene, turning the heat of his sparking irises on her instead of the blubbering human.
“This isn’t my usual fare,” he said, his voice a deep growl. “For future reference, I prefer female necks. They’re softer under my fangs, sweeter on my tongue.”
Selene’s fingers tightened on the arms of her jeweled, gilded throne. “I’m not interested in your preferences. This isn’t about satisfying anything but your basest needs.”
“And how would you know what those might be, Your Grace?”
She swallowed visibly, looking uncomfortable. “Just get it over with.”
“That’s something I’m not used to hearing.”
He smiled, giving her a good long look at his fangs. After all, this spectacle was taking place on her command. He wasn’t about to let her off easy. And for some twisted reason, he enjoyed seeing the haughty female squirm.
He had the strong urge to make her do a lot more than that.
She glowered at him, pulling her shoulders back and sitting ramrod straight.
“Enough.” She lashed out with her light, using it to push the old man out of the guard’s grasp and toward Darion. “I want this over with. Now.”
The human stared up into his transformed face and screamed. Darion’s pulse sped, banging so hard it was all Darion could hear. His eyes burned, filling his vision with bright amber. He couldn’t see hisdermaglyphs, but he knew the Breed skin markings were certain to be a riot of seething, dark colors under the loosely laced collar of his linen tunic.
