I try to move. I want to run for the kitchens, to tear open cupboards, throw every herb I can find into a pot and pray something helps. But he won’t let me go. His arms tighten, drawing me closer.
“Just stay,” he murmurs. The words fade at the edges, as if even they cost him too much. “Just for a moment.”
It takes all the restraint I have to be quiet for him, to make it easy, to rest my head against his chest and stay calm. For him. His chin settles against my brow, and my fingers twist into his hair as I breathe him in.
“I know what you did for my father,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A faint huff of breath leaves him. “Where would be the fun in that?” he mutters. His voice is so low now I barely hear it over the crackle of the fire. “It wasn’t meant to end this way. You shouldn’t have come back. I didn’t think you would.”
“I love you,” I say, the words quiet, my nose brushing his collarbone. “There is nowhere else I should be but at your side. I should have believed you.”
He shakes his head slowly. His fingers thread through my hair. “None of that matters anymore,” he says. “All that matters is that I get to hold you again.”
Footsteps echo faintly somewhere beyond the shelves.
“Neve,” a voice calls.
My head snaps up. Luceran barely stirs until pain hits him hard and sudden. He snarls, his hand clawing at the flesh over his heart. I cover his hand with mine at once, pressing my lips to his cheek, pulling myself tighter against him as if my warmth might steady him again.
The footsteps draw closer.
“Neve…”
A shadow stretches between the shelves, deep and unnatural, the firelight refusing to touch it.
“Who’s there?” I growl, my arms wrapping protectively around Luceran. “Show yourself.”
The figure steps forward into the light.
I gasp.
Atilia.
Relief floods me so fast it nearly knocks me over. “It’s you. Please, he’s getting worse. We need to do something.”
Then I see it.
The smile carved across her face is wrong. Where teeth should be, there are rows of fine, needle-sharp points, and her eyes… they are not blue. They are bottomless black.
They reflect nothing. Not flame. Not shadow. Not me.
“Neve,” it says again, the sound rising and falling, lilting, almost musical, as if it’s savoring the shape of my name on its tongue.
Cold floods my veins.
“You are not Atilia,” I say slowly, forcing myself to stand. Luceran reaches for me, weak fingers clutching at my clothes, trying to pull me back to him, but he doesn’t have the strength. I step forward despite him. “Who are you?” I demand. “Tell me.”
The thing wearing Atilia’s face tilts its head and shrugs, the motion disturbingly casual. “I have many names,” it replies. “But they are meaningless.” Its smile widens. “All that matters is that my master hungers.”
My jaw tightens. “Hasn’t he already had his fill?”
It laughs.
The sound is wet and broken, like something rotting beneath the surface, and my stomach churns in revulsion.
“My master does not know satiety,” it croons. “He is an eater of worlds. A devourer of bloodlines.” The black eyes fix on me. “And he is always ravenous.”
28
