Page 47 of Dhampira

He kept walking. His empty sword belt rode low on his hips.

“But you’re a prince now.”

Lorcan didn’t slow or turn. His jacket stretched over his broad shoulders. The knot of hair at his nape looked lighter than usual against the black leather. In the sun, the color was a rich, deep chocolate.

“What are the Drachvi?”

Nothing. If not for the rhythmic crunch of his boots, he might have been a ghost.

“How did you get a dragonstone? Did you steal it?”

A gust of wind was my only warning. Between one breath and the next, Lorcan loomed over me, his fingers gripping my arms. White fangs flashed as he snarled in my face.

“There is only one way to harvest a dragonstone. I cut the beast’s beating heart from its chest, split it open, and plucked the jewel from the bloody, steaming meat.”

The sword’s weight rested against my leg. Trapped in Lorcan’s grip, I could only stare up at him while he vibrated with intense emotion.

Rage. At last, I’d cracked his wall of indifference. But at what cost?

I swallowed, my dry throat like sandpaper. “I…didn’t know. I thought the dragons were all dead.”

He released me so abruptly that I stumbled backward. “They are,” he said flatly.

We faced each other, the river’s babble steps away. Lorcan yanked down the hem of his jacket as if he meant to straighten it. But it was already straight. Everything about him was straight and hard. Cold and stiff.

“Enough questions,” he said, then turned and walked away.

And once again, I followed. Sunlight danced atop the river, which grew wider and more active, the current breaking around boulders that peeked above the water. Winged insects flitted among the scrubby trees that dotted the banks. A few birds chirped tentatively, their mournful notes drowned by the rush of water.

After what felt like another hour, the river curved around a bend. I plodded behind Lorcan, the sword growing heavier with every step. As we followed the bend, a noise brought my head up.

Cyprio’s cart sat on the riverbank, the trinkets and frying pans gleaming in the sunlight. A short distance behind it, a waterfall cascaded from a tall cliff.

I stopped, fear like a vise around my chest. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. I was exhausted and starving. My mind played tricks on me.

But Lorcan looked from the cart to me, something dark and assessing in his eyes. “It seems you knew you were a princess from the start.”

Sudden agony blazed in my hand. When I looked down, I gripped Cyprio’s tiara instead of the sword. Crying out, I flung it away. It landed on the riverbank as a sword, its dragonstone pommel glowing like blood.

My fingers smoked, silver bubbling from a gash identical to the one I’d suffered the first time. As waves of pain crashed through me, I cradled my hand against my stomach and looked at Lorcan.

The waterfall still roared behind him, but the cart was gone.

“What is this?” I gasped, hunching my shoulders against the pain. “What have you done?” And how did he know about Cyprio? I leaned around him, my gaze on the waterfall. “Is any of this real?”

Lorcan shrugged. “People see what they want to see.” He lowered his stare to the smoke curling from my hand. “Does it hurt?”

My fangs throbbed, eager to descend and rip the hint of a smirk from his face. “You’re a monster.”

He looked at me. “Yes.” With the acknowledgment hanging in the air between us, he fetched the sword from the ground. Then he moved to the edge of the water. He stared into the river, his body a black slash against the blue. The waterfall continued to spill behind him, its thunder echoing off the rocks.

The sword lengthened in his hand, the steel stretching into a spear with a pointed tip. Water lapped at the toes of his boots.

For a moment, I forgot my pain. Apprehension gripped me as I waited for Lorcan’s next move.

It came a moment later, but I was still unprepared for it. Something flashed under the water. The next second, Lorcan hauled a brawny, bleeding merman onto the bank.

“Fuck!” the merman bellowed, his thick tail thrashing. Water droplets spattered over the ground. Intricate tattoos covered the merman’s muscular chest and arms. His long hair was a cross between green and blue. He squirmed in obvious agony, the spear thrust into the center of his chest. Contempt shone in his brilliant blue eyes as he glared up at Lorcan with bared fangs. “Fuck you!”