Then he stops.
He steps back instead, chest heaving, control snapping back into place with visible effort.
“Never ask me that again,” he snarls.
And then he retreats, the shadows swallowing him whole, until there is nothing left of him at all.
I am alone once more.
The music swells. Someone laughs. The fire crackles.
And I stand there, heart pounding, knowing I have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed, that whatever comes next, nothing will ever be as good as it was.
I stumble back into the press of bodies, the noise crashing over me like a wave. Tears blur my vision, and I cannot tell whether it is the room spinning or me. All I know is that the hurt inside me feels unbearable, as if I would need to cut my heart out to stop it from poisoning the rest of me. The drink hits harder. My stomach churns. I brace myself against a beam to keep from falling.
Then a scream rips through the room.
It cleaves the music in two.
At first, I think I am imagining it. Too drunk. Too miserable.
Then it comes again, raw and animal. Laughter dies instantly. Bodies jolt. Heads snap toward the sound as the crowd parts in a ripple of confusion and horror.
A tall, wiry man staggers forward from the same shadows where Luceran emerged.
He looks drunk at first, unsteady and swaying, but then he clutches at his belly, fingers pressing hard. His hands come away slick, and I see the blood seeping between them, dark and spreading, soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the stone.
Someone gasps.
The man looks up, eyes glassy, mouth working as if he’s trying to say something. A name. A warning. Whatever it is never makes it out.
He collapses.
Panic erupts.
The humans scream and scatter, terror ripping through the basement as bodies surge for the stairs. Someone slams into me, nearly sending me sprawling as they claw their way upward, flooding toward the kitchen, toward escape.
I don’t move.
I don’t know if it’s stupidity or bravery or the booze roaring in my veins, but my feet stay planted as the room empties around me. My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear anything else.
I take a step toward the shadows.
There is heavy breathing in the darkness. Something lingers just beyond what I can make out, shapeless, faceless. My skin prickles. Every instinct screams at me to run, yet I take another step. And then another.
A woman stumbles out of the shadows.
She collapses straight into me, and I stagger under her weight as warmth spills over my hands, my arms, my chest. Blood. Too much of it. Her eyes are wide, fixed on nothing. Her mouth opens in a silent plea that never forms.
Then I see her throat.
Cut to the bone.
Now I scream. And when I glimpse a hand reaching out of the darkness, I decide that is enough. I am not that brave.
I run.
I slip in blood as I bolt for the stairs, taking them two at a time. My lungs burn. My heart claws at my ribs, frantic to escape, as I burst into the kitchen.
