“Oh, thank Kydona.” Marius exhaled, relief flashing through his eyes. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure what you would say. You know, you’re a much better travel companion than Rupert and Damian,” he said, naming his other two bodyguards.
A chuckle slipped from Vivienne’s lips. The sound was broken and out of place in the dungeon, but it warmed something within her. “I can’t imagine either of them agreeing to this.”
Both vampires were burly soldiers who rarely cracked smiles, let alone laughed.
“Now, I won’t have to find out.” Marius studied her for a long moment, his smile slowly falling. “I really am sorry, Vivienne. I never meant for any of this to happen, and I’m going to make it up to you. I swear.”
Sincerity laced his words, and for a few moments, she forgot about her hunger and focused on him.
“You don’t have to,” she said.
He’d fought for her and saved her from the king’s wrath. That was enough.
“I do,” he insisted. Strength was woven within his words, and something flickered in his eyes as he traced the collar around her neck, shuddering in disgust. “I hate that they did this to you, hate that you’ve been down here. It isn’t humane.”
She wouldn’t argue with him about that. She hated the collar almost as much as she hated this prison.
Marius pulled his hand from hers. “I know I can’t erase what’s been done to you, but I hope this will help.”
Her brows furrowed as he stood and exited the cell. He was only gone for a few seconds before he returned bearing a large glass chalice. He cradled it between both hands, the crimson liquid it bore swaying gently from side to side as he walked back to her.
Vivienne’s stomach rumbled at the sight, and her fangs became daggers in her gums when the scent of copper filled her nose. Her hunger returned, and it was worse than ever. It took every ounce of strength she had not to growl and lunge for the prince.
“I brought this for you.” Unaware of her internal battles, Marius kneeled in front of her, extending the cup. “I was going to give it to you either way.”
He inched towards her, and she shook her head, pressing her back against the cold wall. Control was a minuscule thread, and she was gripping it with all her might.
“Don’t come closer, Your Highness.” She dug her fingers into the stones. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Fool that he was, the prince inched even closer.
“It’s from a stag,” he said, almost apologetically, as he picked up her hand and curled her trembling fingers around the stem.
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t from a human Source. She was so malnourished that any blood would help her. It wouldn’t appease her hunger, not entirely, but this was better than nothing.
Vivienne’s heart thudded as she lifted the cup to her lips and sipped. The blood slid down her throat, soothing an ache deep inside her.
Blood had never tasted so good. It was the richest of nectars and exactly what she needed. She moaned, and the sound seemed to echo through her cell.
They both froze.
His brown eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply.
“I’ll, uh… be outside.” He rose to his feet and stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers.
Vivienne was so hungry, but she didn’t lift the chalice back to her lips. Was he leaving? She thought… maybe she’d heard him wrong. Would he come back for her, or…
As if he could hear her thoughts, he smiled gently.
“I’m not leaving, Viv.” There was a softness in the prince’s voice that she’d never heard before, even when he’d been speaking with the injured woman after fighting the First. “I’m just going to let the guards know you’ll be coming with me. I’ll be right back.”
He slipped out the cell door, leaving it open behind him.
True to his word, he didn’t go far. The murmurs of conversation filtered through the cell as she emptied the chalice, drinking every drop.
By the time Marius returned, Vivienne had clambered to her feet. The empty chalice dangled between her fingers, and she’d dusted herself off as best she could. She still needed more blood, but for the first time since she’d woken up in the well, she felt like herself. She’d even raked her fingers through her hair and thrown it into a half-decent braid.
The prince strode into the cell, a key hanging from his fingers. “Turn around, please, Viv.”
