“Lyra Goldbrook,” the answer spills out of my mouth almost unbidden.
The beast within me curls into a smile at the mention of having a private dinner.“Get. Back,”I growl at the echoes of my mind.
“Very well then,” Devin dips his head. “I’ll be sure to send her.”
As he opens the door, on the other side are two guards in wait. Between them is none other than Marcella Briarstone. Dressed in a silk burgundy gown that brings out the rich tones in her skin.
Devin tosses me a glance, and I dip my head. The guards lead her into the room. Graceful violence in the way her hips move, each step ending in a click of her heels on the marble. Long black gloves wrap her hands and arms, matching the tall heels on her feet. The silk dress slides with her body, and a hint of her thigh peeks out from the side-slit cut up her gown.
Somehow, even in a dress, she’s got an edge to her. More than the two guards fully dressed in armor beside her. It’s almost comical that she’s so deadly no matter what she wears, and sheknowsit. Even if her memories are gone.
I flick two fingers at the guards to wait outside. Once the door shuts and we’re left alone, she stops a pace away.
She glances over to the windows. “I need to ask a favor of you. And I can’t explain why I need it.”
“Alright…what is it?”
“I need…” She blows out a breath, blinking rapidly before meeting my eyes. “I need dragonblood. At least three vials.”
I instinctively open my mouth to ask her, then shut it. Taking a step closer to her, I squint. Searching her face as if it’ll give me an answer her lips won’t. “Is someone hurt?”
“No.”
“You swear it?”
She snorts. “Did you forget that many were hurt in the trials?—”
“I can’t help myself but ask,” I respond rathergruffly.
“No. No one has been hurt outside of the trials, as far as I’m aware.”
The trials.She must need it for them. But if she wants three vials, and there are only two trials left, I can only imagine one might be for someone else. Lyra, perhaps? Interesting if they have become somewhat friends.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I mumble, barely containing my endless source of questions.
She nods firmly and walks to the exit.
As she twists the handle, I call out, “Marcella?”
She looks at me expectantly over her shoulder.
I clear my throat, trying to think around the beast twisting in my chest as her eyes connect with mine. My voice low, I say, “Do you trust Lyra Goldbrook?”
Silence and stillness settles over her features. Finally, quietly, “Why do you want to know?”
The beast claws forward, pouring flashes of her blood on that handkerchief to the forefront of my mind. Gritting my teeth, I shake my head and turn my back before the beast can do something else foolish. Like show its fangs again. The fingers on my left hand begin to twitch, and I aggressively squeeze my wrist to stop the movement.
“Cyrus…?” Marcella calls from behind me.
I manage to grunt out, “No reason. I’ll get you the three vials whenever I can. You’re dismissed.”
“But are you alright?—”
“Leave!”I snap.
Stunned silence falls over the room, before her heels click away and the door shuts.
Thirty-Three
