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He deserved more than that.
“I am sorry.” He brushed the back of his fingers over her arm.
“Thank you, Shadow Prince.” She kept her eyes forward, standing tall. Regal. Dismissing him with his title.
Rune inclined his head. “High Queen.”
Leaving the glass balanced on the railing, he phased away from Lyssa, materializing near the food station. This late in the evening, the blood whores would be engaged in—
Someone fell into him, elbowing him just under his ribs. His fangs lengthened with aggression as the Ra’Voshnik charged to the surface in a rush hungry for violence.
It bled through his eyes, coloring them a deep crimson as veined misted shadows crept from beneath his gaze, swaying over the tops of his cheekbones. A trait received when the original Pure Bloods drank the Darkness. It tore through their systems, transforming them.
Rune turned, seeing no one as a pair of footfalls retreated away from him. A scent carried to him, clean and subtle. A night breeze through plum blossoms. His fangs sharpened as an unfamiliar feeling settled over him.
Vsenia, the Ra’Voshnik purred deep in his mind.
His brow lowered in concern. Vsenia was High Tongue, loosely translated tocherished beloved. He’d grown used to the constant stream of aggression, the Ra’Voshnik whispering from the recesses of his mind he’d chained it to. Never in all his years had it behaved in this manner, thrashing wildly against his hold, urging him to find her. A loyal dog eager to get back to its master.
Rune leashed the Ra’Voshnik, cruelly tightening his hold until it fell silent. He listened, tracking the slowing footsteps until they stopped near the fountain he’d wager. He waited for the sight shields to drop, impatient for his first glance of the dark-blooded vampire who unwittingly brought the Ra’Voshnik’s viciousness to heel.
He lifted his chin and inhaled as his lids slid shut. Her scent calmed his mind, sharpening his focus until she was all that remained. A long-forgotten feeling snaked through him. Rune opened his eyes, focusing on the place she stood, wrapped in a sight shield.
Movement caught his attention, and Rune cursed. Delilah stood within his line of sight, just beyond his true interest. She raised her glass at him and smiled coyly. The dark-haired queen made his skin crawl. She ruled over the Court of Lace and Bone, a ruthless court that had a reputation for their sadistic appetites when they warred and captured rival courts.
Rune ignored her invitation, uncaring if he offended her. She could send her court for him if she wished. He would send them back to her. In pieces.
He turned, heading to a quiet, darkened alcove and Lyssa’s voice pulled him from his musings.
He looked toward the balcony as she used a spell to carry her voice over the courtyard. She held up the glass he left on the railing in salute, reciting pretty words Belind once used. The festivities concluded with a wish to the Darkness, a tradition honoring the creation of the Pure Bloods.
He’d been a fledgling eager for his first centuries of life the last time he participated in this ancient ritual. Rune bowed his head and closed his eyes, his mind descending within himself.
Possessing a soul shard tied the mind to a great psychic ravine, allowing individuals to turn inward and descend to the depths of their power, to a space beneath the physical world—a private intangible place within themselves where it was stored and drawn. Within the ravine that cradled the Darkness were a few shared spaces. The Pure Blood’s birthplace being one of them.
His shoes sank into the fine white sand as he materialized in the small cove. A steep cliffside rose out of sight to his back, and before him, the Darkness ascended in a towering wall.
It raged and coiled in on itself. Black, pulsating mist. The outer wisps and tendrils lined in a deep glowing purple. Rune listened to the low roar as it coiled onto itself and took the subtle mental shift to stand at the depth of his power.
I wish for an equal.
Rune mentally projected the words as he did each year during his first few centuries, hoping to be answered by a dark-blooded vampire who would match him in strength. He ran his hand over his mouth, feeling the accumulation of his many years.
He’d made a choice long ago during his first century. As he matured into what he was and the power he wielded, he saw two clearly defined paths before him: embrace the lessons and training that forged him into a terrifying weapon for his court’s arsenal or squander his gift and strength to prove he wasn’t a threat. Live as every other man, building a life with a partner he would trust and be devoted to.
He’d chosen the former, becoming the deadliest soul to walk the realms.
He thought of the life he had forsaken from time to time. Envied people who’d found their partners. Useless thoughts that pained him when he let his mind dwell. Knowing if he had to choose again, his choice would remain the same.
His mind wandered to his night breeze and he found himself full of questions. What had she wished for? What court did she belong to? Would his interest fade as the Hunter’s Moon set? Rune couldn’t decide if he wanted the feelings she stirred in him to stay or fade with the night.
He ascended, returning to his physical body, and opened his eyes.
The balcony was empty, and the night concluded. Guests would linger for another hour or so before returning to their courts and estates. Rune scented the air for his night breeze.
A mental sending struck his mind hard enough to make him flinch.
I can hear you, but you’re no equal to me.
