Page 9 of Vervain

“Close your eyes if you don’t want to see,” he murmurs, the taste of nightshade so potent I could choke on it.

Serun’s claw grazes my cheek, and I cringe away from his touch. “No,” I say through a locked jaw. “Show me who you truly are, nightwalker.”

The icy bite on my cheek fades. In the next breath, a beam of red flashes across the theatre like an electric pulse, illuminating everything.

Then, darkness slices through the cages of the unclaimed like jelly.

Torn flesh, gargled cries of agony, and weeping sounds of begging echo in my ears as Serun levitates, arms outstretched at his sides and his head tipped back. Inky shadows sweep out to form a thousand blades, and in the blink of an eye, more flesh hangs from sinew and crimson petals flutter down like ash.

Saliva thickens in my mouth, pooling at the sight of so much blood, as unclaimed nightwalkers fade into eternal night.

And below, nightwalkers raise their hands to worship their devil.

CHAPTER THREE

SOLICITATION

Saya Claymore

I’m the devil’s consort.

The way he killed—swift and so easily—as if he had done this a thousand times before.

A habit.

No remorse. Not flinching at the lives lost—even if they are nightwalkers.

And for some unfathomable reason, he wants me as his.

Why?

The red light fades before I can fully digest the scene, the theatre once again plunging into darkness. A ring of fluorescent light appears, and the cages of claimed form a straight line, shuddering as they begin to move towards it. All except mine, as I’m drawn up into the shadows, wires whirring and lifting me towards the ceiling.

Tendrils of light briefly slip through my fingertips, showing me my vegodian magik is alive—but even now, the light doesn’t know if it wants to stay or fade away. If only my mum had taken me to the same classes as the other children, I might have learned to properly wield my vegodian power.

If only she had believed I was more than the nightwalker she was afraid of.

The cage dips, and I fall forward into the bars, leaving my stomach behind. The cage shudders, and as I try to grab at the bars, the metal suddenly becomes smoke, and I crash to my hands and knees.

I rise, and through gritted teeth in the dark nothingness, sparks of light emerge with my rage. At least I know something I can do with this now. “Ardulgyu prus urot.” Moving my hands in front of me, I curl my fingers into half-circles. Light appears and solidifies in my hands, forming the base of a hilt that grows until the palms of my hands strain against leather.

Then, a slice of light rises from the centre, sharpening with a glint of silver that brings the tip of the blade to a point.

I’m no warrior. Yet, as I grip the sword of rot, it is as if a thousand years of training spill into me and I instinctively know how to hold it. My body finds it familiar. A call so natural—like when I sheathed this blade in Serun’s chest, just before he revealed he was playing me for a fool.

Egotistical fucking night⁠—

A shaft of light eats the darkness as a circular ceiling above opens, revealing the crescent moon. The pale moonlight encircling me expands, bleeding into the shadows as the room takes shape. Limestone walls with patterned floral designs. Vervain. We grew it in our gardens, and it bloomed throughout the entire village.

I hold out the glowing blade as I study my surroundings. Tall pillars, carved with intricate, curved flames line what seems to be a large empty room. Then, my body jolts at the wooden double doors across from me.

A way out.

My ear twitches, bending in ways I used to ignore when I was glamoured. As I take a step in that direction, a faint rhythmic tapping behind me makes my ear bend back towards the sound.

I turn, the tip of the blade raised high, and my eyes narrow at the sight of the creatures sitting at a long table in the darkness.

Across the hall and away from the moonlight, crimson eyes watch unblinking. Frozen, like statues, not a heartbeat among them. The same nightwalkers who stood over my deathbed, including Lucifer, who is seated next to Serun. As much as I want to care about the others, my focus is locked on him.