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What in the Otherworld possessed me to come to this part of the castle?
But that question will have to wait.
A bat swoops around the corner and hones their trajectory on me. They flutter in circles above my head, chirping incessantly as if attempting to communicate. This demon must be new or incredibly weak or stupid to think I can understand them. They seem to have me confused with their true master.
I reach up and snatch the peculiar creature from the air, pinning their leathery wings to their side. They don’t struggle against my grip. Only the same pattern of chirps.
“Leave me be, demon, unless you wish to die.”
The bat stills and blinks up at me. Satisfied, I release them. They flap back the way they came, pausing to hover as if waiting… it seems the ridiculous thing expects me to follow. Though I have no intention of doing so, nevertheless, I find myself trailing after them.
If I cannot satisfy the incessant hunger, I may as well satisfy my curiosity.
They lead me back toward the main halls. I’m beginning to wonder if they thought the crown prince ought to deign to wander among lesser creatures. I frown because that assumption has a false ring to it.
I’m debating on whether to allow this creature to lead me around when the flickering light from sconces dance over two figures at the far end of the corridor or not.
One woman has wild hair, the color of flames. Even from this distance, it’s easy to see that she is a lesser vampire, despite how she attempts to hide it with a courtier’s dress and fine jewelry. She is upset. Her face and neck grow splotchy with anger or barely controlled tears. With a hiss, she whirls and is gone, using the gift of vampire speed to flee whatever transpired between them.
A disgusting display of weakness.
The demon forgets all about me and wings their way toward the other… a mortal woman. She glances up and cups her hands, holding them out. The bat glides the remaining distance and all but collapses in her palms.
Did the demon intentionally bring me to this woman, or have I misunderstood what they wanted? She is the one Elizabeth said was a slayer.
Every question that arises only brings more.
Holding the demon close to her face, she seems to examine them for injury. Finding none, she strokes the top of their head with a finger, then sets them on her shoulder… and the little beast clings to her in return.
Slayers have no more love for demons than they do for the vampires they kill. Yet the scene would suggest otherwise. She clearly feels affection toward them. Everything about her is a paradox. Inexplicable.
Narrowing my gaze, I inhale deeply, searching for some trace of magic in her. Though I sense none, she is far too peculiar to be fully human. I have never heard of a demon being so attached to a mortal… let alone to a slayer. It’s possible she came to bear that title by chance.
Her presence mocks the crown, yet Elizabeth has graciously spared Cassius’s little pet from punishment for her crimes.
Still, she is prey, even to a demon as small as that.
Large brown eyes turn on me. There is no trace of fear or hate in her gaze. Just as when I saw her from the upper mezzanine, I am drawn to her. It’s as if there is an invisible thread connected to something inside me, urging me forward.
Before I realize I’ve taken a step, I find myself standing before her. Wisps of loose hairs that have escaped her braid stir by the air whirling from my movements.
Up close, I still can’t sense any trace of enchantment—spell, charm, potion, or otherwise—on her.
Only her purely mortal scent. Something wild, like an untamed forest heated by the sun after a brief rainstorm and spice. Her dark brown eyes are flecked with gold. And she is… beautiful. I was wrong not to think so before. From the defiant tilt of her chin and her full lips to every curve and plain of her body.
A sense of calm envelops me, and there is silence in my mind. That persistent buzz, the dark monster, that has been with me for as long as I have breathed, invading my every thought, has quieted. Noticed only in this instant because of its damnable absence.
Her mouth parts, but she doesn’t speak. The tip of her tongue darts out to wet her lips. I am drawn to the movement. It sparks a need to touch her. Taste her. Possess her.
We are alone in this hall, but anyone could turn the corner at any moment. While we do nothing but stand, staring at each other, I cannot help but sense that I have somehow crossed a line that would not please my queen. And I have never wanted anything more than to please her.
“You should leave Nightwich.” The warning comes out harsher than intended, scratching up my raw throat.
Her long lashes flutter with rapid blinking. Whatever spell held her broke at the sound of my voice.
“And why is that?” she asks.
I can’t look away from the beating pulse at her throat, beating just below the surface of her skin. I can almost hear the rush of blood in her veins. As tempting as the sweetest water to a man dying of thirst. As fragrant as the rarest wine.
