He moved toward the door with me following, Quandary leaping into the air and soaring through the open doorway. The salt in Kieran’s hand shifted, the grains sliding across his palm to point down the spiral staircase.
We descended in silence, the only sounds were our footsteps on the stone. At the bottom of the tower, Kieran paused, waiting for the salt to indicate a direction. After a moment, the grains shifted again, pointing toward the southern corridor.
“The old wing,” he said quietly.
I’d rarely ventured into that part of the castle. It was seldom used, a maze of dusty corridors and abandoned chambers from an earlier era. The perfect place to hide dark magic.
We walked side by side, Quandary flying ahead like a scout. The further we went, the colder the air became.
“Someone doesn’t want us following this trail,” I whispered.
Kieran’s eyes flicked to mine. “All the more reason to continue.”
The old wing was darker than the rest of the castle, with fewer windows and ancient torches that gave off more smoke than light. Our breath formed clouds in the air, and frost began to crackle beneath our feet.
“This isn’t normal,” I said, watching ice patterns spread across the stone walls. “Even for an old wing in winter.”
“It’s a defensive measure.” Kieran’s voice was tight. “Whoever placed those runes knows we’re following them.”
The salt in his palm glowed brighter, the blue light casting eerie shadows across the walls. It led us deeper into the abandoned wing, past dusty portraits of long-dead, scowling vampires and moth-eaten tapestries showing ancient wars.
“Look.” I pointed to a faint marking on one of the corridor walls. Another blood rune, this one more complex than those in my tower. “They’re everywhere.”
Kieran’s jaw clenched. “They’ve been planning this for a while. Runes like this take preparation.”
“But what exactly are they planning? If they wanted to hurt me, why not just do it directly?”
He glanced at me, something protective flashing in his eyes. “Because they’d have to go through me first.”
The fierce certainty in his voice sent warmth curling through my chest despite the frigid air.
The salt led us to a heavy wooden door at the end of a narrow corridor that was bound with iron and carved with symbols I didn’t recognize. When we approached, the frost on the floor thickened, crackling beneath our feet.
“What’s behind there?” I asked.
“The old crypt where the earliest vampire kings were buried before the royal cemetery was established.”
“Lovely.” I suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. “I don’t suppose they’ve been resting in peace?”
“Would anything in this castle be that simple?” The corner of his mouth quirked up, though his eyes remained serious.
He reached for the door handle, but I caught his wrist. “Wait. The crystal’s reacting.”
The stone in my hand had begun to pulse with a dark, sickly light, tendrils of shadow curling around my fingers. I tried to drop it, but it seemed to stick to my skin.
“Kieran—” Panic edged into my voice.
He clasped his hand over mine, enveloping both my hand and the crystal in his firm grip. A shockwave of power pulsed between us, his vampire magic colliding with my joy magic and whatever dark energy the crystal now contained.
For a breathless moment, I felt everything, from Kieran’s concern to his determination, to the steady beat of his heart. And beneath it all, a hungry darkness that wanted to consume us both.
Then the crystal shattered, the pieces falling to the floor.
“Are you alright?” Worry roughened his voice as he turned my hand over, examining my palm for injury.
“I’m fine.” I flexed my fingers. “What was that?”
“A trap.” He looked back at the door. “They knew we’d come.”
