He gestured weakly toward the steaming basin with a grimace of disgust.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Holding my breath, I rushed to the kitchen, shoved open the back door, and flung the basin—with its foul contents—into thedusty street. The sound of it splattering on the ground made my stomach twist, but at least it was out of my sight.
When I returned, I carried a glass of water, condensation beading along its rim. Balthazar took it and drained it in a single, greedy gulp. He handed it back to me, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs as his head hung low.
“Who was that man who brought you here?” I asked softly, settling beside him. “And how did he know my name?”
“His name is Malik,” Balthazar muttered. “A friend of mine.”
He groaned and dropped back against the settee, letting his head loll onto the cushion. “God. What a fucking mistake I made earlier. Sometimes I hate being the darkness. I always have to kill to keep going.” His voice turned bitter. “I wish I could kill when Iwantedto—not because Ihaveto.”
Then, with a grunt, he waved a hand. “Fetch me a cloth. I stink.”
I bit my tongue before the protest could slip out.Another order,I thought. But I obeyed.
When I returned, his eyes were closed, and sweat still coated his face. I knelt beside him and dabbed his brow, cheeks, jaw, and neck, wrinkling my nose at the pungent scent rising from his skin.
“Perhaps a bath would be soothing,” I murmured.
“Perhaps,” he mumbled. “But everything feels like so much effort. It’s exhausting—having to kill, always.”
I folded the cloth and set it aside. “How did this happen?” I asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
His eyes fluttered open. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, as if every movement cost him.
“Malik and I were hunting,” he said.
My jaw clenched.
So, they hunt together.
I pressed my lips into a thin line, saying nothing. But questions crowded my mind—How close are they? How long has this gone on? And why had Malik been the one to bring him home—gently, like a lover might?
“We came upon a man covered in boils,” Balthazar said, his voice hoarse and low. “He was groaning, writhing in pain. I was famished… not thinking clearly. I thought I was doing him a mercy—ending his suffering, silencing those pathetic wails… and restoring myself.”
He dragged a hand through his damp hair.
“I was wrong. When I took in his essence, I absorbed his sickness.”
With a soft groan, he slumped sideways, resting his head in my lap.
I stiffened at the sudden weight, startled by the heat radiating from him. Still, I stroked his clammy cheek, pushing damp hair strands from his face. The sticky warmth of his fevered skin made my stomach churn, part pity, part revulsion.
“How do you know this… Malik?” I asked, my tone carefully casual.
“I raised him,” Balthazar murmured, eyes still shut. “Taught him everything he knows. He’s like a son to me.”
Something cold twisted in my gut.
Like a son,and yet… I’d never heard his name until today.
“I see,” I replied quietly, forcing the words through gritted teeth. I didn’t want to start a fight—not now, not when he was weak—but the jealousy burned like acid in my throat.
“Is there a way,” I asked, brushing a curl from his temple, “to kill just for… pleasure?”
“It’s funny you should say that,” Balthazar whispered. “Malik and I were just talking about that, right before I made that mistake. We wondered if there’s a way to feed on sufferingwithoutconsequence.”
