Page 95 of Blade of the Nightking

The betrayal.

I nearly lifted it again, tempted by the pull of it, to the promise of a quieter mind. But something in me recoiled—not just at the thought, but at the need, at the part of me that wanted it so badly.

I stared at the drink a moment longer, my stomach knotting as I looked at myself—truly looked, in a way I’d avoided until now—and didn’t like what I saw.

I pushed the ale away and stood, the urge to reach back for it still there, still insistent. I forced it down and turned toward the door, shoving through the crush of bodies.

I could handle this. I’d handled so much worse. My own demons, at least, I could control.

I was nearly at the door when a clammy hand closed around my wrist, yanking me backward before I could react. The room lurched, voices and movement blurring together as I lost my footing—someone laughing too loudly to my left, the cloaked male seated near the door, the flash of the fiddler’s bow—and then I was pulled down hard onto someone’s lap.

An arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me close as another hand slid over my thigh, squeezing. His hot breath hit my cheek, thick with drink.

“Well now,” he muttered, slurring. “Look what just fell into my lap.” His friends chuckled around him.

Revulsion surged through me as his mouth pressed wetly against my neck, his hot, reeking breath brushing my ear as he murmured, “Stay, and I’ll make that soft, tight human cunt of yours sing.”

The pressure in my chest broke. Rage flooded through me, blinding in its force, and I shoved hard against him, wrenching from his grip as I stumbled back to my feet. “Pig.”

His face mottled, his thick lips twisting as laughter broke out around him.

I turned away without another word, pushing through the crowd, desperate for air, space, silence. I needed to get back to the castle, back to my room and into bed before that craving took hold of me again.

The door swung open under my hand, and the cold hit me all at once.

The air sliced hard enough to make me suck in a breath. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in what little warmth I had left.

The fog had rolled in thick off the Virellan Sea, so dense I could barely see more than a few feet ahead, swallowing the street around me. The castle wasn't visible, not even a hint of it through the haze, but I knew the way. I could picture it clearly enough in my mind, perched above the bay. I turned in that direction and hurried on.

Behind me, the tavern door opened again. Laughter spilled out into the night, along with music and raised voices, then cut off as the door swung shut once more. I didn’t turn, but I heard them—boots hitting the street, uneven, careless. Likely males leaving for the night.

A broad avenue opened suddenly to my right, appearing so abruptly that I jolted in surprise. A shopfront on the corner caught my eye. I was certain I’d passed it earlier.

I turned. The road stretched ahead, quieter than the one I'd left, and I followed it, in search of familiar landmarks. The ground changed beneath my feet, the solid cobblestones giving way to gravel and packed dirt. My steps slowed. I didn't remember this road.

Behind me, boots crunched. More than one set. Then came a low, rough chuckle.

I quickened my pace. The footsteps quickened too.

My breath shortened, my heart kicking hard against my ribs as I turned down another street, then another, pushing faster, trying to lose them, to put any distance between us. The sound of them only followed, closer now, louder, gaining.

“Human,” a voice called out, slurred with drink and edged with mockery. “No use running. We can scent you.”

The sound of it sent a jolt of fear through me. It was him. The male from the tavern.

I ran.

My boots thudded against the damp ground as I turned into a narrow alley, its walls rising close on either side, the fog hanging thick between them. I pushed forward, my breath burning in my lungs—and stopped short.

Dead end.

I spun around, chest heaving, eyes straining against the shifting gray as I tried to see through it.

The footsteps slowed as they drew closer, shapes taking form through the haze. He stepped through the fog with a slow, satisfied grin, two of his friends falling into place at either side of him. All three were broad, thickly built males, their arms corded with muscle earned through hard labor.

I stepped back instinctively, but there was nowhere left to go. My back hit the brick wall.

The leader moved forward, his gaze fixed on me as his hand dropped to his belt and drew a blade free. It was short, curved slightly. The kind used for gutting fish. His smile spread slowly across his face, his eyes fixed on me with a satisfaction that made my skin crawl.