Page 28
Soon.
She already smelled their rot-filled blood sizzling on her silver blade.
Clean—at least by her recent standards—clothes and freshly washed skin did little to ease the discomfort simmering under Elarian’s skin.
Leaving the abandoned processing room, she slipped deeper into the castle, clinging to shadowed corners and dusty ledges. Rough tile underfoot slowly gave way to refined marble. Tapestries hung from floor to ceiling; decadent threads of gold, maroon, and silver woven into shapely forms of nude women, vampires feeding from their throats, their wrists, even the swollen lips between their thighs. Even as she crept along the far wall, diving into every alcove she found before starting again, Elarian felt her eyes drifting toward the lascivious images.
A cool breeze stirred across her neck.
One of these days, I might just fuck you while you try to fight back, elf. Use your cunt before I spill your blood.
For a long while, Elarian crouched in an alcove across from a tapestry showing a white-haired vampire feeding from an elven maiden. Her thoughts flickered back to that ruinous night in the Evermist. Lucan pressed his knee into her chest, fangs close enough to scrape across her nose as he promised to defile her. Heat flooded her veins at the memory. How her body had thrilled at the thought of the very shivaem she swore to end instead using her until nothing remained.
Elarian lingered in that moment.
Shame at her desire to spiral into Lucan’s arms fueled her when her starin faded.
She never acknowledged the heat gathering between her legs.
The loud groan of a door swinging open jolted Elarian from her thoughts. She shivered as she stood, legs shaking. Just the awkward position, she told herself. That was all.
Eyes darting around, she spied a crumbling support column one alcove over. At the far end of the tapestry-lined corridor, shadows shifted. Sucking in a breath, Elarian ran to the column and pulled herself up. Just above, a rope hung from the rafters; she reached for it, fingers latching around the thick braid. With a faint grunt, she swung her legs over her head, ankles clasping around the rope with ease.
Below, the shadows moved closer until two pale figures dressed in refined servants’ clothes came into view. Elarian hissed. Unwilling to risk making a sound, she hung upside down, clinging to the rope as the two shivaem passed underneath her dangling form. They spoke in hushed whispers, but no words came to Elarian’s ears. They turned and disappeared into another corridor.
Before more shivaem or their thrall could arrive, Elarian quickly flipped upright and shimmied up the rope. It tore at her palms, but soon enough, she found a beam running parallel to her and stepped on it with ease. A lattice of beams greeted her. Thick cobwebs covered nearly every nook and cranny up high in the rafters. Some hung down like icicles, heavy with centuries of dust and rotten air. Up here, the festering sweetness of the shivaem eased. Elarian breathed in deeply, glad to free her lungs of their scent for a moment.
“Do not forget this time!”
A woman’s shrill voice reached the rafters as clearly as if she had stood just behind Elarian. Jumping at the sound, she dropped to a lower beam and peered closer at the corridor below. She saw nothing but an open door at the far end and a woman’s crimson petticoats fluttering through it.
No matter, Elarian thought as she settled into a comfortable squat. She had all the time in the world up here.
Nearly an hour passed before movement stirred in her vision. A door creaked open, then quickly shut, the soft sound only betrayed by a disturbance in the air. Another door, closer to Elarian, opened. A woman wearing a refined crimson dress, the bodice hugging her torso while the skirts flared out around her like petals, stepped into view. Her faded brown hair sat atop her head like a bird’s nest strewn with gemstones. Elarian never understood the so-called fashion of these vampires.
The woman leaned against the wall for some time, nervously checking around her every few minutes. Elarian thumbed the hilt of her silver blade but let it rest easy at her side. Something about the vampire intrigued her. She was not a lowly maid—that much was certain—but her demeanor and pretty yet not indulgent clothing spoke of a position granted some power, but not enough to ensure safety.
A lady’s maid, perhaps? Elarian knew the vampires treasured their courtly rules and inordinate levels of petty servitude.
At last, the woman turned her head in response to some unheard call, gemstones in her hair glinting in the soft amber light. Stilling her breath, Elarian shifted closer to the woman. A breath later, she greeted a man dressed in shades of deep red and black. The two embraced, then began exchanging words. Elarian leaned in but only heard broken fragments.
“Dozen…through…dirt.” A pause. “Light…hanging…mercy…cruelty.” The man’s words made no sense.
Breathing in deeply until her heart calmed and her muscles relaxed, Elarian extended her leg to the next row of beams below her. Wood creaked as her booted foot pressed into the grain.
Elarian froze and whispered a prayer to Melistra.
The vampires did not look up.
Slowly easing her full weight onto the beam, Elarian tried again to focus on the exchange below. Something told her these two vampires held important secrets; perhaps she could do more than dismantle Lucan before the full moon came.
The maid glanced around, then spoke in a voice so quiet, Elarian almost missed it.
“Has he asked for it again?”
The man’s expression tightened—protective, almost. Interesting. Peering closer, Elarian memorized the crook of his nose and the black hair slicked back into a low bun. She would make sure to find this one again.
“Three times now.”
