Page 14 of Nocturn

Alow hum wrenched me out of the clutches of sleep. As reason invaded, so did the aches. My body felt like . . . I had been slumbering on the floor.

I wiggled my toes for sensation to return. The same sound that roused me from sleep echoed again. Was someone in pain? I pushed upright, and the grunt from above veiled the clink of a chain link against the collar.

I clenched the edge of the bunched-up fur strewn across the Warlord’s bed as I peeked over the mattress. Orange dawning light spilled into the chamber.

A woman lay in the Warlord’s embrace, her back to me as she arched. She was dressed in an azure gown with different panels making up the skirt, and as she writhed on the mattress, the panels of her skirt fell open to expose her legs an indecent amount. She kept moaning as she clasped his arm.

I had a clear view of his face nestled against her throat. His arm banded around her waist, fingers curled into her side while his mouth was flush to her skin.

My mouth parted in a sharp exhale, and his eyes flew open, pinning me with the intensity of his gaze.

I blinked rapidly, but she remained in his arms. I wasn’t hallucinating. His eyebrows furrowed until they formed a divot between them. I could tell each time he drew blood because she stiffened and arched.

Her cries elevated with intensity. Just as suddenly, she cut off, her mouth parted with a final whimper, her legs moved with sudden jerks, and she went limp against him.

Had he killed her?

He drank once more from her, then ran his tongue across her throat as he pulled away. Sapphire blood continued to drip from the two puncture wounds. Even his feeders were of high birth. I couldn’t take my gaze away from his as he stretched his legs out, body arching in a stretch that took up much of the bed.

The woman in azure lay on her side, not facing me. She still has not moved.

“You killed her,” I accused, pulling myself up the rest of the way.

She propped herself up on her hands.

“Cease nagging,” she groused.

I gaped, stunned by her annoyance, but she’d lost interest in me, turning back to the Warlord. She lightly touched his arm.

“Would you like me to service you, my lord?” she murmured, her voice husky.

He tucked his arms behind his head. “You are dismissed, feeder,” he murmured, his voice drowsy.

She sluggishly rolled off the bed on the opposite side from me, and as she straightened, she staggered. It took her a few breaths to regain her balance. Meanwhile, I watched, holding so still my limbs were stiff.

I waited without twitching an inch. He had yet to move or address me.

She left, leaving behind silence and the weight of my terror.

I wanted to do nothing more than huddle on the bed, but if I intended to learn how things worked at the Warlord’s Citadel, how he worked, I needed to be active.

The Warlord hadn’t moved. His breathing retained a steady flow, chest moving up and down. His robe had parted, pooling against his sides and leaving him lying across the bedding, nude.

I ripped my gaze away from the turgid length extended against his abdomen.

The little I knew of the prophecy, of the king, of Nocturn, surfaced in my thoughts. All of it had been gleaned from overheard ballroom conversations, or from sitting in on Miriam’s tutoring lessons.

Where the Sigils are etched, the bondmates shall be known.

On Nocturn, one soul shall pass, one shall yield.

The Vessel bears what the Warlord claims.

I wished I had paid more attention to learning about it, but the Kingdom of Sycarious had not been somewhere I ever believed I would find myself.

There were a few truths I could not ignore when considering how to proceed.

Any fight I attempted would not succeed. He was much too strong, quick, and powerful. I would have to find a way to escape without causing a scene. As long as I could flee toward the Barren, I could cross the deadly land to another one of the realms.