Page 31
Silvered blood streaked her face. Lucan blinked, and thick mist covered her face. A bruise bloomed under her left eye—her pale red left eye.
The memory faded as quickly as it came. The elf lowered her gaze, and Elarian disappeared.
Lucan exhaled slowly through his nose.
A prisoner. Nothing more.
His fingers drummed against the thin metal table. “Let us try this again, shall we?”
The elf flinched as his shadows crept over metal and curled around her waist. Tendrils inched up her torso, squeezing her breasts.
“Which direction?”
No answer.
Lucan pointed toward the far wall. “North?”
The elf remained infuriatingly quiet.
“East?”
She held her breath for the barest of moments. Lucan smiled, attention sharpening.
“There. Was that so difficult?” He leaned forward, shadows now holding the elf rigidly against the back of the chair. “East, and then what? Through the Starfall Craters?”
The prisoner’s lips parted. “The m-ma—” Her words died.
Anileta stepped around the table, one timid hand resting on the prisoner’s neck.
“Would it not be best to wait until tomorrow when she can speak?”
Lucan’s gaze flicked to Anileta. The countess offered him a sympathetic smile. He wished for nothing more than to rip it from her face.
“Tomorrow?” The word hung in the air.
“My prince—”
“I don’t even know why you are here, Anileta.”
Silence settled over the room. The elf swallowed, blood from her split brow dripping to the table below.
“East. How far?”
The elf strained to speak against the shadows now curling around her throat. She coughed up silvered blood and bile, then gasped for air.
“Pl-please,” she whimpered. “I am not with them!”
“Lies,” Lucan snarled, face now close enough that he could smell the fear mixing with sweat leaking from her shivering body.
“The Evermist, east, and then—”
“I find it curious,” the pale-haired vampire interjected, “that you are certain her information is reliable.”
Lucan’s jaw tightened. Mouth salivating at the scent of the elf’s blood, tainted as it was with silver, he swung around and stared at the courtier. He only smiled—the thin, practiced thing worn by the court bathed in blood.
Something black and ugly unfurled within his rotted chest.
The scars beneath Lucan’s tunic began to burn. The fabric tore at his skin, touch reminiscent of Aurelion’s cruel hand. All at once, the room felt too small, too bright, too hot.
