Page 24

The only true thrill in his life always came at the end of her silver blade. The scar across his lip burned as if cut anew. Hissing, he clenched his jaw. Cut me again, he half wished to say to her the last time they met. Let me fucking feel something.

Maybe that’s why he had yet to kill her.

Or maybe it was because he was a godsdamned failure. The still-tender flesh covering the newest runes etched into his shoulder tingled.

Blood coursed through his body, a heat rising he had never felt before. Half on instinct, half out of need, Lucan’s hand drifted to his cock. Images of the elf bitch flashed across his mind: splayed naked on his bed, body whipped and bloodied until nothing of her elven elegance remained; his cock in her mouth, gagging and choking, tears falling from those hateful eyes; shadows at her throat, her hands, inside her moon-blessed cunt that would never serve their bastard goddess.

Lucan softly moaned at the thought of her begging for mercy. She was a proud thing, a blade honed to slit his throat. Breaking her will would be his most exhilarating challenge in years. A delicious thought curled around his mind. What if he bred her—made her carry a twisted, malformed thing that profaned everything she fought for? His lips rose into a lustful smile.

Fuck, he thought to himself as he stroked his cock. What a beautiful death she will make.

But he knew he was playing a dangerous game.

Growling, he jerked his hand away. Lucan curled his fingers around the gilded goblet in his free hand and tried desperately to focus on the court. White flashed like bursting stars around him before fading. For a moment, his vision darkened. Flames erupted from the floor. Gasps ran through the gathered court at the sight. The fire coalesced into a massive phoenix, wings spread long over the courtiers.

High above the court, Lucan sighed and lazily toed a scuff on the marble with his booted foot. Nothing bored him more than theatrics and firebreathers.

“Senna.” He could barely be bothered to say it loud enough for his manservant to hear.

“Yes, my prince?”

“Has Anileta returned yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucan smiled. Finally, something to break the tedium.

“You know what to do,” he said as he slid off a golden ring encrusted with glittering rubies. Lucan dropped the ring into Senna’s waiting hand.

“At once, sir.” Senna bobbed his head, then turned to leave.

“Ah, and make sure her hair is up. I’m in the mood for change.”

Senna slid into the shadows, his quick steps down the marble dais matching the pulse hammering in Lucan’s ears.

The heavy aroma of bloodwine, jasmine incense, and the copper-sweet scent of spilled blood clouded Lucan’s senses. He breathed in deeply while surveying the spectacle before him.

Anileta’s back arched dangerously high, toes nearly lifting from the floor, as a mass of shadowy tendrils snaked around the pale curves of her body. She moaned each time another wrapped around her throat, muffling the sound until only her ragged breaths broke the silence. The chains around her wrists—iron, smelted with the smallest amount of silver—tore at her perfect skin each time she writhed.

Whether in agony or bliss, Lucan did not know nor care.

It had started normally enough. Anileta sucked his cock while he drank from her wrist, pleasure dulling the tedium of his gilded cage. Her tongue ran over the gold bars pierced through the back of his shaft, teasing the balls at each end until his skin stretched tight. The countess had a lovely mouth, to be certain. The slight warmth of her blood—burgeoned by that of her thrall, no doubt—lulled him into a moment of peace. He hummed as her tongue worked down his length, nails skimming across his stomach until red marks appeared.

But then, she looked up at him, a hand brushing over the gray scar carved atop his once-beating heart.

Silver flashed before his eyes. Thin plumes of white curled in moonlight.

“St—”

His command died as Anileta wove a tendril of shadows around his thigh, its cool arm fanning across his skin.

The countess looked up; crimson eyes met his. Anileta pulled back and smiled, tongue running over her fangs. Thick black lashes fluttered like butterflies. Red followed; then it slowly paled.

Lucan froze.

A different voice moaned, the breathy sound like thunder in his ears. Paler eyes gazed back at him, faded like amaranth petals drenched in moonlight.

“Elarian,” Lucan groaned, tremors shaking his reclining form. The shadows around his thigh moved upward.