“Drink,” he orders with fury.
I shove his hand off of me, the metallic taste of his blood dripping onto my tongue. “Graylen,” I stammer, stumbling away from him.
With his uncut hand, he grabs my right arm to steady me.
Another scream comes from the throne, this one long and filled with agony as it rises another octave. It’s followed by a loud rumble of protest, onlookers yelling their annoyance as they scream for more blood.
Suddenly, Graylen shoves me beside the throne while he stays hidden behind it. His hand falls from my upper arm, but lingers at my fingers. The taste of his blood coats my tongue, and my stomach rolls with nausea.
Another cry jerks my attention to the bottom of the stairs. I watch as Daimon shoves the snake girl away, falling to the ground. Alive.
My heart pounds in my chest as I feel the hold on my hand loosen entirely, the press of his fingers wrapped around mine fading.
Graylen still isn’t making any sense.
He cut his hand andshovedit against my mouth.
A noise of frustration rises in the back of my throat as the crowd begins to disperse, just like Graylen as he begins to step away from me. “Wait?—”
He blinks, his green eyes swallowed by darkness in a single breath.
And just like that, he’s gone.
Seventy-Eight
Iaspis
I haven’t beenable to stop watching Graylen since he pulled me behind the throne.
Things have beenmostlyuneventful since Daimon’s display of vicious torture—partygoers now speckled across the room as a dark and deep melody sweeps throughout.
Instruments are set up in the corner, moving of their own accord without a player to pluck strings or press keys.
Opal and Graylen have joined the throng of dancers, more and more people filling the dance floor from seemingly nowhere. A sharp heat pokes at my chest as I watch my oldest friend and my…Graylen…spin around the dance floor together.
With each passing song, my rage burns hotter. It’s as if my anger doesn’t know what to focus on—Daimon being the son of a god, Graylen still beneath Vidaris’s hold and his strange behavior behind the throne, or my closest friend’s betrayal.
The weight of a hundred questions presses on my shoulders as I watch Graylen’s hand slip around to Opal’s lower back.
My nostrils flare as she laughs, her hand reaching up to rest on his neck.
“Dance with him,” Daimon says lazily from beside me.
I snap my gaze to him, but his is set on the crowd, as if he wasn’t speaking to me at all.
“Go,” he urges, not looking away from the party.
But I don’t move, refusing to give in to whatever game he’s playing at.
Daimon sighs, shifting in his seat. I can’t make out his expression—his skull mask still in place with the violet blood of the beetle staining it. With it on, no one can see his mouth moving.
“This is your only chance, Lunaria,” he growls. “Go to your Aegis and ask for a dance.”
Something in his voice causes my feet to start moving, descending the stairs and pushing into the throng of grotesque creatures.
Even as confusion sparks in the back of my mind at Daimon’s words, I don’t stop. Beings with sharp beaks and leather wings look my way, my skin prickling as their eyes follow me.
But no one approaches me.
