VEYKA
I was silent.
Behind the heavy curtains and thick-paned windows, the winds of a winter storm howled.
My feet did not make a sound. Neither did my dagger.
A fire roared in the hearth. Crackling, popping. A hiss, almost serpentine.
But no lithe, scaled body appeared.
A pity.
“Awaken, Palomides.”
He bolted awake—the reaction of a male who knew his days were haunted. I almost regretted dropping the succubus at his feet, revealing that we’d discovered his secret. It made this just a little less fun. The amorite he wore did not protect him from attack, only from possession. But he’d managed to get away, and I’d dispatched Lyrena with one of my amorite blades to kill the succubus.
Palomides hands dug into the bedsheets, one slithering beneath the pillow.
“You shouldn’t bother with weapons,” I said, stroking my fingertips lovingly over the hilt of my own dagger. Other than that, I did not move, remaining near the warmth of the fire.
Palomides moved quickly for his age.
But no one was faster than me.
He whipped the knife from under his pillow, flinging it forward with considerable strength and decent aim.
I stepped into the void, reappeared behind him, and caught his wrist as it swung backward.
The knife hit the black stone carved mantle and clattered to the floor.
“How—” his cry of rage died against the swirled steel and amorite of my blade, pressed to his throat.
I chuckled, low and harsh. “What was that,LordPalomides?”
He grunted, testing my hold on his wrist. Fool. Stupid, arrogant fool.
I drew blood. Not with my dagger—with my nails. I punctured the vein at the base of his wrist. He hissed, but did not move. If he did, my nail would dislodge and his blood would begin spurting.
“You cannot use your cursed power here. I have warded this room against you,” he ground out.
I threw back my head and laughed. Fully, deeply. Slightly unhinged.
“How did you know about the King’s injury?”
When he did not answer, I thrust my thumb nail deep into his wound, savoring his below of pain, tasting it on my tongue.
“Informants,” Palomides grunted. “In Eilean Gayl.”
“Names?”
“I do not know their names.”
His answer remained unchanged after several thrusts of my thumb into his wound. I did it once more for good measurebefore hurling myself into the void. When I reappeared, his wasted dagger was in my hand. I turned it over in the firelight.
The blade was swirled. An amorite weapon. I tucked it into my belt and turned back to the bed, where Palomides was busy writhing around in a puddle of his own blood.
I rolled my eyes. “Embarrassing.”
