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“You are lying.”
“Why would I lie? Why would I land here, in the midst of your frenzy? I would have to be a complete fool to come here without scanning the landing area. There’s blood and flesh everywhere. How would I possibly miss that? The very air stinks of death. You have turned the volcanic breezes of this world into gusts of gut and bile. Believe me when I say I am here because Emrys wants me here. There is no other reason in the universe that would compel me to come.”
My favorite thing about lying is how it takes on a life of its own once you really settle into it. At the beginning of that little speech I had no idea what I was going to say, and now I believe every single word that came out of my mouth.
“Emrys will be here soon, so we will determine the truth of your claim then.”
“Yes,” I say. “He will. Wait. He will?”
“What do you think this blood sacrifice is in aid of? This is part of the celebration of his homecoming. We are the warriors of Clan Coldblood. You know very little for a mate who was sent here.”
“The alternative would be that I was running away from him and somehow managed to fly at random through a magnetic storm only to be spat out right above the very planet where his homecoming was being prepared by his most ferocious and voracious warriors and be immediately taken prisoner by them,” I say. “What’s the likelihood of that?”
“Almost impossible,” he says.
“So wildly improbable it would be tantamount to a fuck you from the universe itself,” I say. “It would be like being kicked directly in the ovaries by the force that animates all life. It would be like any and all gods ever dreamed of coming down and using all their many arms and hands to flip the bird.”
Some people would say that fate decreed I be here. But I know better. I know this is part of the terrible fucking luck and even worse planning I’ve demonstrated over the course of my life.
“I’m here to tell you that Emrys wants a bower made of piles of bones,” I say. “Looks like you have more than enough for that. Also, a river of blood, if you’ve managed not to drink all of it.”
I am now an event planner. Hell, it makes sense. Why would Emrys send me here if not to communicate his aesthetic desires?
The vamp holding me lets me go and pats me down, smoothing my clothing. There is a light crinkling sound as the foil crinkles. It causes the creature to raise a brow and notice for the first time that I look completely insane in terms of sartorial choices. I’m still wearing my nightdress and my protective coating.
“You are dressed very oddly.”
“It’s a beauty treatment. I want to be all nice and sweated out for Emrys when he arrives.”
“I see,” he says, dubious. The story I am spinning is pretty threadbare. If you weren’t listening to me, and you just looked at me, you’d see a woman in an overly ornate nightie, who landed in the middle of a massacre telling the murderers she knows their boss. Fortunately for me, I do know their boss.
This is a mess, but like all messes I end up in, I think I can probably muddle my way through it.
“I assume you have a tailor here,” I say. “I will need a new gown, complete with tailored pants. I will need boots. Emrys assured me I would not have to leave the planet in order to obtain attire for homecoming. If I have to return to the nearest seamstress, I risk being late for homecoming, and I cannot be late for homecoming.”
“Of course. What is your name? I am Aristo Delaroy.” He says the name almost as though I should recognize it. Maybe Aristo is someone Emrys would mention in conversation, but I doubt it. Emrys has never struck me as someone who would mention any of his loyal followers to me in conversation.
“You can call me Maria.”
“Maria,” he says. “What a lovely name.”
It is a lovely name. Not mine, but that’s fine.
“How long will it take you to clothe me appropriately?”
“A matter of hours at most. We have fed, and our tailors will make it an upmost priority.”
Emrys is coming, but he is not here yet. I might be able to get some very cool vamp style clothes and be gone before he sets foot on the planet. I love the idea of the creature who loathes me having to pay for my new threads. It would really make him quite furious.
“How many days do we have on this planet before the homecoming begins?”
“Three days remain,” Aristo says. “Would you like to stay in your scythkin vessel while we prepare your quarters? We are yet to construct the homecoming hall, though we do have a dwelling suitable for the king if he were to arrive ahead of schedule.”
“This is all very last minute,” I say. I know I am supposed to care about all this, so I may as well pretend to.
“Finding a planet suitable for the feeding frenzy proved more difficult than usual. We wanted raw blood from creatures who were sentient, but not yet civilized.”
“You wanted them to be able to understand the horror of being fed upon, but not be able to resist you in any way.”
