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Kyare lifted a hand weakly to her face.
“You should count yourself among the lucky, shivaem—for if I had my choice, you would be burning with my silver buried in your heart.”
She twisted the knife sticking from his chest until a scream broke the silence. Pale crimson eyes dancing with delight, she removed the blade, then licked the blood from one end. Lucan trembled at the sight, slowly stroking himself over his pants in the shadows while he thought of how delicious her mouth would taste now.
“N-no,” Kyare managed to stutter. “It c-cannot be y-you.”
Elarian’s fingers pressed into the wound seeping black; Kyare thrashed under her touch, helpless to stop her from pushing deeper into his chest cavity. A slow smile curved her lips: wolfish, feral, and utterly bewitching.
“It is.”
Hidden in the shadows, Lucan watched, one hand fisting his cock. He wasn’t sure when his hand found it, only that watching Elarian kill made his blood sing.
Forcing her fingers deeper, Kyare flailed violently. Lucan imagined her watching the light slowly drain from Kyare’s eyes—how she felt the frantic quivering of his flesh as he drew his last breath, the heat of his stolen blood rushing over her moon-pale skin. Gods, watching her kill was a thing of beauty. Lucan’s strokes grew faster, more earnest, his breath catching as he thought of licking the blood from her slender fingers.
“Disappointing,” Elarian murmured as she drew the blade across Kyare’s throat.
Crimson and black sprayed across her torso and face; she remained motionless, staring at the vampire as death came at last to reclaim his damned soul.
Elarian did not rise.
She stayed crouched over the corpse, slowly breathing as blood dripped endlessly from her fingers. Forcing himself to let go of his cock, Lucan buttoned his pants and silently walked to her side.
“Elarian.”
Her head snapped up.
For one impossible instant, Lucan imagined moonlight instead of witchlight spilling across her skin. He imagined forests instead of marble and a silver wolf standing where an elf now breathed.
Those pale eyes remained strangely unfocused before recognition settled over them.
The wolf faded but did not disappear.
“You enjoyed yourself,” Lucan observed.
She glanced down at Kyare’s body. “He stopped moving too quickly.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Lucan moved to Kyare’s head, careful not to step through the widening pool of black blood.
“You have done well, my deadly plaything.”
“I know.”
No false modesty. He should have found it insufferable; instead, a part of him realized they were more alike than he cared to admit.
“It would seem captivity has done little to dull your edge.”
“Only a fool would have thought that.” Her gaze lifted to his. “You simply pointed it somewhere else.”
The words settled between them, sharper than any blade. Lucan reached for the chain still looped around Kyare’s ruined neck. Their fingers brushed as she unclenched her fist. Before he knew what he was doing, Lucan dropped to his knees, each leg on either side of the lord’s purple face. He leaned in close to Elarian, breathing in deeply until the scent of blood and her arousal filled his lungs.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her pulse stuttered. Lucan’s cock answered in kind.
“Like what, pet?” He grabbed one of her bloodied hands and raised her fingers to his lips. “Like you are the most delectable creature I have ever seen? A ruthless killer who enjoys it?”
Elarian shuddered as his tongue flicked across one finger. The taste of her salty skin mixed with the iron tang of blood bloomed across his tongue, setting every nerve alight. Sucking her finger in his mouth, his tongue slowly wrapped around its slender length. Her pulse thrummed wildly.
“I…yes,” she whispered.
