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I paused. That wasn’t right. My victims never did that.
“Our meals are escaping us, pet,” Alaric called.
I glanced up at the bastard.
Bending idly, he retrieved the young man’s sword from where it had fallen. A ludicrous blade, more ornate than any young soldier should have possessed, it glinted in the firelight with metalwork and engravings, along with chips of red gemstones in the hilt. It must have belonged to the dead young man’s family, or else it had simply been stolen.
Twisting the weapon this way and that, Alaric grinned as if the idea of carrying such a thing entertained him. “Shall we catch our fleeing prey before they are gone?”
I did not bother to respond to the idiotic question, instead turning my attention to the chaos all around. Let the fool carry a sword. It only made him look like more of a vapid nobleman, good for nothing but show. And as for its former owner, well, perhaps the soldier turned to dust because Alaric bit him first. Regardless, it scarcely mattered.
I was still hungry.
Quickly, I scanned the village. Most of the humans were already dead, although a few still hid in their homes and screamed when monsters broke down the door. A fire had broken out in one of the buildings and was steadily spreading to more—not the dragon’s work, but dangerous nonetheless. It would likely engulf the entire outpost soon.
By the outpost entrance, a woman was trying to slip away under the cover of the smoke, a small, crying bundle in her arms.
I grinned and started toward her.
Alaric matched my pace—and my smile. “Delicious choice.” He strode past me, as if he intended to reach the woman and the infant first.
But then he came to an abrupt stop, and every other monster around us did too.
Pausing in confused alarm, I turned to him. “Why are you?—”
His lips peeled back in a ravenous snarl, cutting me off. But his eyes weren’t on me. Neither were the eyes of any of the Voidborn.
To a creature, they all stared to the south.
An icy shiver coursed over my skin.
Alarmed, I turned too, ignoring the villagers as they fled through the gate and ran into the field beyond. Even the dragon no longer paid them any mind.
That chill… I remembered something like this from long ago…
I snarled as the memory snapped into place. Eira. The dead queen. I’d killed her almost twenty years ago, striking her down right in front of her baby’s crib only to turn around and convince her fool of a husband that giants had been the ones to crush every bone in his beloved wife’s body.
But this chill couldn’t be from Eira or her power. Yes, that bitch had been a diamond witch, the highest echelon of power among the insufferable Jeweled Coven. But the only trace of her remaining in the world resided in Gwyneira, and I’d made sure that brat would sooner fly to the moon than use magic. I’d filled her head with tales of madness, kept her from ever encountering the slightest bit of training, and I’d poisoned her with my blood from practically the day she was born. For pity’s sake, I’d transformed her into a vampire.
If Eira’s daughter ever felt any stirring of magic at all, it should have only fed into making Gwyneira more of a vampire. More of my pawn. That weak-willed child couldn’t have changed the fate I set for her, not even with giant blood in her veins.
The Nine…
The words whispered like a distant voice carried on the breeze, and instantly, a growl rose from the Voidborn. Several of them lunged for the gate as if to chase down the source of the words, only to slow at a barked command from Alaric. His order was unintelligible, spoken in the language of those creatures and giving me only the barest suggestion of its meaning. But his tone was imperious, and its effect was immediate.
The monsters stopped. Only a few grumbling growls continued.
All around us, the chill faded from the air, allowing the heat of the blaze consuming the outpost to return.
“The Nine have come.” A vicious grin split Alaric’s face, the kind of expression a psychopathic executioner wore before the axe fell.
I hesitated. I could tell him he was mistaken, because of course he was. The Nine were a fairytale. This was the real world. There were no warriors spoken of in prophecy. No battle for the fate of the world itself. There was only power and those willing to claim it.
And the fact he said that when the chill on the air made me think of Eira and her brat…
I drew myself up straighter, refusing to tolerate such a ludicrous flight of fancy. Gwyneira was no witch, and she certainly was no warrior. She was a whiny, pathetic child. A leech. A shackle on my ankle that I’d been forced to drag around for nineteen years while I waited for her to become the ideal sacrifice to get these creatures off my back. And rather than serve that simple purpose, she’d run off like the selfish wretch she was and ended me up in this position.
But then, if Alaric would remove her from being an irritant who might try to claim my throne…
