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“Have you met my newest acquisition, Kyare?” Lucan purred from behind Elarian. He traced his fingernail up her exposed spine before prodding her forward. “Eliyn is, perhaps, the best our master has ever bred. Go on—give him a taste, pet.”

Lord Kyare froze, his jaw slack, pulse thundering so loudly it nearly deafened Lucan. By contrast, Elarian silently drew closer to her prey like a moth drifting through the night.

“My lord,” she murmured demurely as she extended her right hand.

Kyare smiled; Lucan almost pitied him.

“Y-you are far t-too generous, my prince,” Kyare stammered out as Elarian wrapped her long, slender fingers around his wrist.

“I’ve been told as much.”

Inhaling quietly, Lucan stepped back to the door and closed it with great care, not wishing to distract a single one of those beautifully murderous thoughts swirling inside Elarian’s head.

Gods, how he wished to crawl inside that impossible mind and feel her bloodlust rising.

He saw it in the way she drew herself upright next to Lord Kyare: every muscle taut beneath that smile that promised eternal bliss, and how her silk skirts shifted just right to conceal the steel chain in her left hand, luring her prey with the same intoxicating allure even Lucan could not resist. Had Lucan not given the weapon to her himself, even he might have forgotten it was there.

Aurelion had once been called The Beautiful Kiss of Death.

Yet as Elarian slowly raised the chain behind Kyare’s back—unaware of his impending doom as he lost himself in her gaze—Lucan realized that description never fit the vile monster drenched in blood.

But Elarian…

Oh, Elarian was the most beautiful kiss of death anyone could ask for.

“Come, my lord,” she whispered as she stepped into Kyare. “I do not mind being shared if that is what Lucan desires.”

A howling, ugly creature reared its head at her words.

Shared.

Incensed by the thought, he almost flew forward and wrenched Elarian out of Kyare’s grasp. The petty lord’s hands wrapped around her slender waist, moving to cup the fullness of her ass. Curling his hands into fists, Lucan forced himself to stay still.

Elarian leaned in close, her free hand reaching up to trace Lord Kyare’s jawline as his eyes closed for only a breath.

Her wrist turned.

The chain flashed in the dim light.

A wet gurgle filled the air.

Steel and silk sang as Elarian vaulted over Kyare and twisted the chain around his neck. He lurched backward with the force of her movement, clawing instinctively at the steel biting into his neck. Planting one foot between his shoulder blades, she leaned her weight backward. Kyare stumbled forward with surprising strength, nearly dragging her with him. She smiled as vertebrae began to protest beneath her grip. A hideous cracking sound filled the chambers, cartilage and bone grinding against each other as the vampire’s neck twisted horrifically.

Kyare clawed blindly behind himself, fingers brushing her skirts.

She only laughed.

Crimson eyes bulged as his heels scraped helplessly across polished marble. Twisting around to face him, her gaze wandered over him before settling on his hips. Then her fingers slipped into his belt and relieved him of the small dagger hidden in his waistband. Smiling from ear to ear with that deranged, homicidal look Lucan knew so well, she plunged the blade deep into the petty lord’s heart.

Shadows billowed around them uselessly.

Kyare collapsed backward, head bouncing off the floor with a hideous crack!

For one breathless moment, no one moved.

Elarian stood over the twitching vampire, blackened blood spilling from his mouth. Her chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. The crimson silks pooled around her like fresh blood. A single speck of deep crimson painted her moon-pale cheek, glistening in the witchlights as she knelt beside the body.

“Ah, I’m sorry, my lord,” she said in a low, icy voice. Her chest barely rose, every breath measured. “I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself.”