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Mischief twinkled in his rapturing eyes. “Correct on both parts then.”
Unable to fight his gravity, she leaned closer and dropped her voice as if they were exchanging secrets instead of threats. “So, tell me then, what exactly are you doing here?”
Her gaze dipped to his mouth as it parted, bracing for his lies. Having spent countless evenings with an ear pressed against keyholes while mature discussions were had, she was confident in her ability to cut through conversational bullshit. Being raised by war strategists helped with that too.
However, Renton’s attention had drifted away. Anger flaring, she spun around to see what had caused the distraction and spotted her father standing on the balcony. Long, onyx hair spilled down his signature midnight armor. A haze of black magic surrounded him like a swarm of enticed flies, and his normally ocher irises were stained obsidian, the only physical mark of his madness.
What happened to laying low?she taunted Ames, expectant of his appearance at her father’s side. The leash to the monster.
No response came, and dread coiled in Tenah’s gut as her thoughts spiraled out of control.
“Excuse me,” she said to Renton, cutting for the balcony stairs.
Renton’s hand caught her wrist. Another shocking jolt of energy coursed through her.
What was that?She whirled on him, crimson flames awakening with vengeance after having been shoved down all evening. He dropped her wrist as the heat of her magic seeped through her fire-resistant skin.
Still, he took a step forward as if to restrain her, a muscle in his jaw flaring. “It isn’t safe.”
“Yeah?” she retorted. “Well, he’s my father.”
Tenah hiked up her cumbersome skirts and rushed for the stairs, hoping the stranger wouldn’t take chase. If he tried to stop her, she wouldn’t hesitate to light his ass on fire. She probably should have started their conversation with flames.
The lilting music and soft murmur of voices faded away as every fiber of her being tuned in to her father. She leaped up the stairs, hissing at the brush of toxic magic against her bare skin. Hot and metallic, it coated the inside of her nose and mouth. Her limbs slowed, bogged down by an invisible, threatening force.
Black eyes slid to her. She froze on a step, her heart shuddering when her father offered a slow, wicked smile. He lifted a single finger. That was all it took to send a shockwave of black electricity crackling through the library, eliciting a choir of screams.
Tenah slammed into the railing. Tumbling down the stairs, her dress shredded, and her hair tore loose from pins. She hit the floor just as glass shattered and rained down on their guests.
Groaning, she pushed up to her feet, grateful for her choice of boots and not heels. She looked over at the broken wall of windows. Her stomach bottomed out as a sea of monstrous orange eyes stared back.
Chapter4
Tenah
Why did the feingrot reek of her father’s unholy magic? Could he summon them? Bind them to his will? Had Ames known about this ability?
Tenah’s chest throbbed in tune with her injured wrist, used to cushion her fall. Chained in place by shock, she watched shadows race for the nearest doors, launching their bolts of wildfire at the otherworldly beasts.
This had to be a nightmare.
Everything would be set right if she could just wake up. That or the champagne was having a hell of a time with her imagination.
Ames, she tried again desperately.Where are you?
She forced her legs to carry her into the smoky corridor. Latching onto the faint vibration of icy magic, she began to track her wraith, not permitting herself to speculate on why his magic felt so weak.
Perspiration slicked her skin as she wound through serpentine halls. So much of this absurd house was small, eclectic spaces built haphazardly. Rounding another curve, she found Ames crumpled at the bottom of the attic staircase. Blood had soaked through his tattered suit from gouges etched into his arms. Black veins pulsed through the light skin along his temples.
Proof of his Corruption.
Sickness hit her like a punch to the gut. Her knees buckled, and she barely caught her weight with her wrist as she dropped to the floor.
Was he breathing?
Wassheeven breathing?
Her limbs stopped responding to her brain’s messages. She wanted to crawl to him, but there was a part of her unwilling to confirm the inevitable as blood continued to flow from his wounds.
