Page 5

Close your eyes, my son. It’s time to swim among the stars.

When I awoke, I was on the Shore of the Damned, thousands of miles from the Fae Isles, and as the sun broke over the horizon, Godrick was there waiting to start a new life with me.

The doors behind me finally bang open, and I’m dragged back into the present as Mihal strides into the room. His black hair is mussed, sticking up in all directions, while his shirt is lazily buttoned beneath his coat. He leaves his broad chest half-exposed, revealing several marks earned in bed, not battle. Everything from his reedy legs to his too-sharp nails and cold-blooded smile sets my fangs on edge.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Mihal says as if he isn’t acutely aware of how long he’s made me wait. As if he hasn’t derived pleasure just from the thought of it.

“Not at all,” I say. Drac snickers as he and Hercule flank him. An eighth way to kill Hercule comes to mind. “How may the Mors Soluta be of service?”

He folds himself onto the throne and glances around us. “Where is the rest of your kindred?”

As far away from you as possible.

“They are… indisposed at the moment.” His dark eyes flash as I quickly add, “But I will relay all of this meeting’s pertinent details to them as soon as I’m back on the Shore of the Damned.”

“The summons was for all four of you.” He snaps his fingers.

Drac and Hercule tense beside him as guards shuffle into the room behind us. Blocking the obvious exit is a bold move on Mihal’s part. There are more ways out of this throne room than they think. My gaze drifts momentarily to the window. The faces of my kindred flash before my eyes, and I rein in my instincts to flee. Mihal would go after each of them to punish me for the disrespect. I can’t risk it.

I can’t risk them.

Begrudgingly, I bare my neck in submission. “My apologies, my liege. I hadn’t realized you requested for all of us to be present. I thought I would suffice.”

Mihal sucks his fangs, contemplative. “It seems where others grow wiser with age, you’ve become ignorant.”

“What is it you require of us?” I ask again, ignoring the gibe.

“Hold that thought.” He waves. “I’m always so incredibly famished after fucking.”

Two servants step out of the shadows. The first woman is far too thin with bruises around her wrists and neck. She sprawls across his lap and tilts her head to expose the contour of her throat. The other, a dark-haired woman with similar bruising and thinness, offers herself to me. My gums ache at the sight of her, at the steady beat of her heart, and the scent of her mortal blood. It’s so much more potent than animal blood.

I press my lips into a thin line as my predatory instinct threatens to take over.

The servant slashes her wrist with one sharp nail. A sweet and sour scent permeates the room with every crimson droplet splattering against the marble floor. What miserable memories of hers will I endure if I drink from her? Years of famine, torture, and then… nothing.

With his cold, cruel eyes, Mihal has likely compelled away everything that made this mortal a living, breathing person and not a blank canvas with no memories of her own.

It’s disgusting.

“I’m quite full,” I say carefully, “but I appreciate the offer.”

Mihal scowls as the servant takes my words as the dismissal they are and drapes herself beside the woman already on his lap. “Are you still swearing off human blood, Quill? Fearful of the affliction?”

I will not take the bait.

“Suit yourself.” Mihal smirks just before he bites the dark-haired woman with one ruthless snap of his teeth. She screams, fingers fisting the lapels of his coat before her whimpers become moans. At the same time, the first woman’s hand slips into Mihal’s trousers. She strokes him as she gazes at me.

Mihal has always played these games. He wants me to watch this display of power and envy it. Envy him. But I don’t, and I never will. The only thing he has that’s worth coveting is the throne he’s violating with these antics.

Godrick’s throne.

It would be my throne if I were male enough to Challenge him for it.

I glance toward the domed ceiling instead. A minute, maybe two, passes before the sound of bodies toppling to the floor drags my attention back to him. He drained the dark-haired woman entirely, and the other… her neck is twisted at a beastly angle.

Drac and Hercule grab the bodies and drag them from the room, leaving a single, sticky trail of blood in their wake.

“Now, then.” Mihal’s gaze is feverish as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Your task is simple: You will kill Adelphi’s Sacrifice before the next hunter ascends.”