He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “By Aidan, how did you get it?”
Okay, now he was freaking me out. “You need to start making sense.”
He blinked lifting his eyes to me. “A Knife of Fractured Rapture.”
“A what now?”
He licked his lips, blanching a tad. “I thought they were a myth.”
Not any myth I knew about. “Speak.”
He cleared his throat, shooting me a pointed look. “What are you doing with it if you don’t know what it is?”
“I—”
A door opened, Silvanus stepping through, swaddled in that dark aura he sometimes had when pissed off.
Uh-oh.
“The king!” Jon cried.
Immediately, the merman sprang back into action, diving into the violent dance, taking shots with his fists and stakeblade, dodging the vampire’s moves. It was an impressive sight, the executioner holding his own, matching Silvanus’s speed.
I stood uselessly on the sidelines, unsure of what to do.
“Feel free to jump in!” Jon barked at me.
This guy really did have a positive attitude, even after the things he’d said to me.
The vision hit me again, dragging me away for a few moments, fragments of it rolling through my mind until I was back in the corridor. Breathless, nauseous, watching the vampire king drain the merman’s blood from his neck.
Oh, fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SILVANUS
Foolish merman.
It always happened, these mortals exposing a weakness at some point. No matter how hard they fought, they always opened a path for me.
Grabbing him, I spun him around and plunged my fangs into his neck, piercing that special mortal artery, guzzling every drop of his executioner blood. Mer, werewolf, human, human mage, and elf. A delicious cocktail full of power surging through my veins.
“What are you doing?” I heard Paris say.
After the final drop, the man’s slowed heartbeat coming to a stop, I dumped his body on the ground, and faced the elf.
He trembled, holding the crystal blade, tears running down his cheeks.
The power of the merman’s blood sated my bloodthirst, stirring my predatory side.
Ready for more.
Ready for Paris Raine.
The elf bit his bottom lip, backing away. Terrified, delicate, so tethered to his mortal vulnerability. With one quick movement, I could break the threads of his life, let him die here with his brethren.
No. Not my spark in the dark.
