Page 48
“Yes, my lady.”
“And send word that I shall not be feeding tonight.”
A pause.
“My lady?”
Though she could not see it, Elarian imagined the countess smiling grimly. “Yes. I am not to be disturbed, either.”
“Not even if His Highness calls?”
“Especially then.”
Fabric rustled in the adjoining room. Elarian heard a door open then shut with a resounding thud that seemed to shake the ground beneath her feet. Then, a latch clicked into place.
Silence settled over the countess’s chambers. She glided from the receiving room to her inner chambers like a ghost, slippered feet never making a sound over the smooth stone. Long, oil-black waves hung loose to her waist. A rich emerald dress billowed behind her, corset drawn tight around her thin waist. When she turned to face a mirror—back to the assassin and still blissfully unaware of the danger lurking—Elarian had to admit, there was something unnervingly beautiful about the woman.
She moved with languid grace as she slowly removed her jewelry. First, a golden bracelet at her wrist, and then the large rings that glinted under the witchlights. Pearl hairpins followed like stars falling from the night sky.
Ethereal.
That was the only word that truly could describe the countess. Elarian had spent so long attempting to kill Lucan that she never truly realized how differently the vampires moved. How the countess seemed as if a being of liquid, flowing across the room in her emerald raiment.
As she shifted to creep closer, the countess sat at a tall, gilded chair, hiding her back from Elarian’s view.
Godsdamnit.
Papers shuffled over the deep, wood boudoir. For several long, excruciating minutes, the countess simply sorted through letters as if she were some clerical assistant. Elarian’s breath grew sharper, her nostrils flaring. Slowly, she moved to the side, angling herself until she could see the countess’s side.
The vampire twisted in her seat, exposing her torso to the waiting assassin.
Now!
Elarian shifted her weight to her toes, ready to leap across the room. Her muscles twitched. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then…
“You may come out now, assassin.”
The countess took a final sip from her goblet of bloodwine. Moving as if already bored with speaking, she carefully set it on the boudoir. Long, crimson nails filed to a point scraped across the carved wood.
“I have been listening to your heart for the better part of five minutes now.” The countess stood and turned, gaze fixing upon Elarian crouching in the deep shadows. “Remarkable discipline.” She took a step forward. “I almost missed you…until I said Lucan’s name.”
Elarian’s heart pattered in her chest. She stood and stepped into the light. There was no use in pretending to hide now.
“As you have not yet unleashed your blade, perhaps you come to bargain.”
“And what might a shivaem ever have to offer me?”
The countess stepped closer, the emerald silks of her gown whispering over the stone floor. “An assassin,” she continued. “A survivor. A woman turned into a blade. Oh, yes, I think there are many things I could offer you.” Her crimson gaze flicked to the silver still clutched in Elarian’s hand. “Yet I think a head crowned in white is what you desire most.”
Elarian said nothing. Instead, she focused every ounce of her being on stilling her heart before it betrayed her again.
“I was wondering why you stayed your blade.”
“I did not!” Elarian balked as if she could somehow deny the truth.
“But I am not wrong, am I?”
Extending her hand, the countess beckoned for Elarian to come closer. She moved to a table between them, then filled two goblets from a crystal decanter.
