Page 44 of Heart of the Raven Prince

With the curtains shut, Caden begins stalking toward a leatherback chair, tugging his jacket off in the process. Tossing it over the arm of the chair, he unbuttons the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. Quickly rolling the sleeve up over his elbow, he presses a finger to his wrist and drags it down his forearm. My mouth falls open and a soft gasp of shock escapes when I watch runes etching into his skin, as though sliced there by an invisible knife. Blood wells from the jagged cuts and rolls down his arm, but he doesn’t even appear to notice. His magic pricks down my skin, and I know he has just performed some sort of spell. After a moment the wounds close, his skin quickly healing, the dripping blood the only evidence of the invisible blade.

Digging through his jacket, he produces a kerchief and swipes it across the blood on his arm before tossing the soiled cloth to the ground. He stalks to the side of the room where a carved wooden table sits. Atop it rests a crystal decanter filled with a rusty liquid, and I’m relieved to see the color is too close to brown to be blood. He pours himself a small portion into a matching crystal glass and sets the decanter back down. After a beat, he picks the decanter up again and pours a much heavier portion. He’s just raised the glass to his lips when he cuts his eyes to me and snaps, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” I ask, as he takes a long drink from his overly full glass.

Swallowing hard, he says, “Stop making yourself bleed.”

“I—What?” I stammer, then glance down at the sudden stinging in my fingers. I’ve absentmindedly ripped the side of my nail too far, blood welling from the wound and dripping down my finger. Glancing at him, I see his dark gaze following the trail of crimson that drips from my hand. Rage. Rage is so much easier to deal with right now, so I fill myself with it as I narrow my gaze on his and sneer, “Why? Still hungry?”

He lets out a low warning tone rumbling in his chest, but I see something like shame flashing across his gaze when he forcefully pulls his eyes off my bleeding finger. He finishes the rest of the oversized portion in one gulp and sets his glass down with more force than is necessary.

“You’re a vampire,” I say, disrupting the strained silence of the room. He flinches at the word vampire. I don’t blame him. I flinch too.

“Yes.”

The single word, and the damning reality that accompanies it nearly sends me crashing to my knees. The fae may have been creatures told to us in bedtime stories, but vampires were the twisted beings of our nightmares. Demons from the coldest, darkest circle of hell. Undead beings that covet our life so much they subsist off it. Stories of the fae were told as nothing more than fiction and myth, but tales of vampires were preached from behind the pulpit. If you did not walk a righteous path, then your soul would be feasted upon forever by the insatiable demons.

I can’t help but wonder what I did to deserve to be so eternally damned.

Caden is rolling the base of the glass around on the table, his attention somewhere far away. He scowls in intervals, and I get the feeling he’s having an argument with himself in his mind. He rubs his chest, and I remember the feeling of hollowness, like an empty grave inside my ribs. I let out a huff of cruel laughter and he cuts his eyes to me as I sneer, “You really are heartless, aren’t you?”

Before he can answer, there are thundering boots coming down the hallway, and we both turn in time to see Doran striding in.

“If you were going to leave that gods-damned ball early just to summon me, you could have at least—oh,” he says, coming to a sudden halt as his eyes land on me. His gaze fixes instantly to the ruby hanging from my ear, then to the bite marks on my neck, and he whips his head back to Caden as he asks, “What have I missed?”

“Arawyn knows,” Caden says, finally letting go of the glass he was fiddling with and walking over to a writing desk. He grabs a piece of paper and begins scribbling furiously on it.

“Knows what?”

Caden jerks his head in my direction, but doesn’t stop writing. “About her.”

Doran utters a single word in a language I don’t understand, but the tone in his voice makes it an easy guess that he was spitting out a harsh swear. Standing up straight, Caden walks to Doran as he folds the paper and hands it to him. “I need you to get this to Velen.”

“Caden, we need to—” Doran begins to say, when Caden jerks his head to me.

“I told you to stop bleeding yourself,” he barks.

“Why do you fucking care?” I snap, echoing the words I spoke to him before the queen found us. Storming toward him, I raise my injured hand, the one I had been picking at again, and shove it toward him. He hisses, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from him like I’m waving a venomous snake in his face. “What are you waiting for?” I laugh cruelly. “You certainly didn’t need my permission last time.”

“Fucking hell,” Doran swears, whistling low.

“Get out of here, Doran,” Caden says, his voice deathly quiet as he continues to hold my wrist even as I attempt to wrench it free.

Doran lets out a chuckle as he turns from us and says, “Good luck with that one.”

“Now, Doran.”

“Yes, my liege,” Doran drawls, making Caden shoot him a seething look, but he does leave us. I give my wrist another yank, and this time he finally lets me go. Grabbing my shoulder, he turns and shoves me toward one of the chairs facing the fire.

“Sit,” he commands.

“Why?” I counter, and his wings ruffling behind him, puffed up in annoyance.

“Because I am trying to answer your question, Oisín, but as always you’re determined to make it difficult.”

“You motherfu—”

“Sit down,” he snarls. Pausing, he clenches his jaw, inhales deeply and adds, “Please.”