The haze clung to her skin like damp blanket — each breath felt borrowed. The breeze — copper-scented, tasted wrong, making her tongue go dry. A cracked bell rang somewhere in the depths of the city, its note a warped echo bouncing off the stone facades around her.
Fear, sparked under her ribs, a wild, frantic pounding.
One thought echoed through her mind,Run and don't look back.
But where was there to go? At her back the gates of Eryndor's city square were locked tight at sundown, and to wonder an uncharted path home would surely lead to more trouble. So she forced herself to walk on, down her usual path to her apartment. Her steps echoed on the warped cobblestones down the crooked alley where rainwater dripped from broken gutters and half starved stray cats slunk through garbage piles. As her steps quickened, her feet tangled in the torn hem of her blue skirt, its frayed fabric a worthless excuse of linen that she’d patched countless times to no avail.
At the far end of the lane, half-swallowed in mist that shone like spilled moonlight, stood a figure.
Tall. Unmoving. Watching.
Maris’s heart surged, slamming against her chest begging to be acknowledged.
She smelled him before she properly saw him, crushed roses and pine under frost, edged with iron.
Torchlight wavered, picking out details: the high-collared black brocade coat stitched with thin threads of silver, a red stone at the throat gleaming like a fresh wound. His hair darker than a raven’s wing falling in sleek waves to his shoulders framed a pale perfectly sculpted face — rough stubble lining his jaw. And as he smirked she caught sight of his too sharp canines.
Too beautiful. Too still. Inhuman.
He stepped forward.
A nightbound male, clearly more vampire than fae. She had heard the tells of them whisking mortal women away when hunger called. But she had never caught word of one this far into the reaches of Eryndor, only along the borderlands.
She tried to back away, but her feet felt like stone. She cursed herself for her mortal reaction an utter death wish.
His voice cut the silence, deep and steady, as if carried on a shadows edge.
“You.” His eyes sparked in recognition as he cokced his head.
She swallowed hard, trying to find words, but her voice trembled.
“What do you want?”
His silver eyes did not soften, only studied her like an object of rare curiosity. A faint, unreadable pull touched the corners of his mouth, not quite a smile, something darker.
“You,” he repeated as an answer.
The word slammed through her like a hammer.
Maris stumbled back, breath ragged, but before she could run, he closed the distance between them, his hand closed around her wrist. Cold. Strong. Unyielding.
In a blink, the alley vanished.
There was only darkness, rushing wind, the dizzying scent of roses and rain, an impossible pull in her gut as if the world were spinning off its axis.
When she could see again, she almost collapsed.
They stood beneath a shadowed archway, so polished it reflected the moonlight like a black mirror. Beyond rose a castle of obsidian, spires twisted like claws, thorns of crimson roses climbing every archway, their petals so deep they appeared to bleed.
Lanterns burned with silvery flame, throwing strange shadows against walls carved with symbols she did not recognize.
Wind tore at her hair, whipping coldly against her cheek
The nightbound male turned toward her, moonlight catching the glint of fangs as he spoke, voice velvety and cruel.
“Welcome to Calyrix Castle,” he said, and for the first time a note of almost regret crossed his perfect features. “I am King Kael of Nythra. And you belong to me now.”
Maris felt her knees wobble under the dizzying weight of his words.
