“So, it’s true?!” she exclaimed, disgusted.
“Our power requires sustenance for us to stay in this world. The blood of mortals is the most potent.” Caspian shrugged.
His nonchalance bewildered her. How could this demon not see how abhorrent his words were? A monster. He spoke of killing people, ending their lives as if it was nothing.
He said, “But there are ways to drink blood without killing a person.”
“I do not understand. You mean to strike up a friendship with me. But you tell me your kind drinks the blood of mine?”
“You are mistaken.” Caspian shook his head. “Demons do not have friends. That is a mortal interest. Oaths and favours are the only thing we take interest in, and any oaths we make, we must keep.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“I tire of your questions. They are many, and I grow weary,” he said sharply.
Dread coiled in her gut.
“And, Elizabeth?”
She looked up at him in alarm.
“I will be gone for a few days. Try not to get into trouble while I am gone.”
“And? If I get into trouble? How would a demon be of any help to me?” She lifted her chin in the air, the picture of highborn stubbornness.
He offered her his hand.
Confused, she hesitantly extended her fingers towards him. His hand closed around hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. She tried to pull her fingers back, but he held firm. Was he going to trap her and try to drink her blood right here? Mere feet from people in the streets?
She glanced around, wondering if she should scream for help. She was frozen in place while he brought her hand to his lips.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he kissed her knuckles, as if he knew that he frightened her, and he enjoyed it. “If you find yourself in trouble, let us hope I am nearby and in a benevolent mood. Until we meet again, Elizabeth.”
A small wisp of wind brushed her cheeks, and he was already far across the street and nearly out of sight. She looked down at her hand, still suspended in the air.
***
Caspian smirked and leapt off the roof into the night.
The girl was coming along as planned, but he had one more stop before the night was over. He made his way to the tavern where sure enough, his target sat playing cards. He’d been stalking his target for days, a stocky man with a trimmed beard.
His target was from the southern kingdom of desert and spice, rumored to have been seen boasting about things best left unsaid. He strode up next to the man and sat down.
“Five coppers to play,” grunted the dealer.
“I’m not playing tonight, thank you,” he said, fixing his eyes on the dealer, who averted his gaze.
“No problem, master, sir, no problem. We can play with five just fine.”
He turned to the portly gentleman, his heart beating rapidly with the thrill of the chase.
“Mr. Arman?” he said, his words honeyed.
The man swallowed. “Yes, do I know you?”
“No, but we have similar interests,” he said, letting the man see the surety ofdeath in his eyes.
“Regarding,” The man sniffed, keeping his eyes trained on Caspian’s shoulder.
