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Such a beautiful name for a heartless killer. She stared back at him with those large, pale crimson eyes. For a moment, he wished to lose himself in her gaze. Shadows surged around him without command.

“You are clever, that much I will admit.”

A thin dribble of spit fell from the assassin’s silent mouth. Memories of her fingers dancing over his skin set his body alight. As if sensing his rising anger, the shadows curling over her ankles shot up her legs and coiled around her chest. They lifted her, then threw her against the far wall. Her head snapped against the stone with a satisfying crack before she slumped to the marble.

“F-fuck…y-you,” she gasped.

Break her.

The command came from within, from that ugly place where his master had carved into his soul and poured in nothing but pain and malice for those who dared to entertain hope.

Mold her. Strip her of everything she holds dear. That is the way, my son.

Lucan twitched as his master’s words thundered in his ears. Playthings, he called them. Fledging vampires to mold and educate in the ways of control, or mortals to use until they rose no more. You will thank me one day for showing you how to mold the perfect one. Aurelion’s thin voice cut through Lucan.

He was certain he’d never thank his master.

But at least tonight, he had unmasked a delightful distraction.

The elf opened her mouth, blood dripping from the curve of her lower lip. Defiance burned bright in her pale eyes.

“I wish nothing more than to see you try and kill me, darling,” he purred whilst thinking of her arched back, breasts heaving with a wild moan.

“That can be arranged, vampire,” the woman spat back, gasping through every syllable. Silvery red droplets flew from her mouth, splattering over the white marble between them.

The elf’s words burrowed under Lucan’s skin and scraped along his bones. Mouth twitching, he stared long at her neck. His tongue moved to wet his lips; he caught a remnant of her wretched sweetness, the taste of her ecstasy still lingering upon his mouth.

Brushing a shaky hand through his white curls, Lucan weighed the options before him. He could kill her easily, but where was the fun in that? There was something lethally tantalizing about her. The way she looked at him, still so defiant, even as she stumbled into his trap…

Walking toward her, Lucan gently placed his fingers over the elf’s slender shoulder. In one smooth motion, he slid his pale fingers around the elf’s neck, finding the pulse of her veins throbbing beneath her ear. Shadows crawled over his fingers, wrapping around her throat like black thread. His talon-like nails dug into her softness.

A stuttering gasp escaped the elf, her pathetic attempt to hide it only urging Lucan on. He squeezed until he felt tendons rolling over each other.

“Now,” he breathed against her ear, “let us try this again. Who sent you, elf?”

Elarian.

Her name rose unbidden, its delicate sound wrapping around his still heart. Lucan winced as pain flared through his chest. His thumb pressed against her throbbing vein just below her skin.

The elf did not respond. Her eyes betrayed no truths, lips sealed even as she struggled for breath. Someone trained her well. No wonder she has killed so many of my brethren. Disgusted by the thought, Lucan tore his hand away from her throat, nails raking over her pale skin. He stood, observing the elf before him. She sat as quiet as a statue, her soft, round breasts glistening with sweat in the moonlight. Lucan curled his hand into a fist.

Playthings are the way we control our monsters, Lucan.

Aurelion’s words rose again. As he stared at the elf—at Elarian—Lucan wondered if he had only been waiting for her. Never before had someone looked at him so calmly as he unveiled the monster his master had shaped him to be.

“Silence will not hide the answer I seek,” he said at last.

The elf smiled at him, teeth stained with blood, as she touched the golden locket around her neck. A peculiar shape, almost like a vampire’s fang, it accentuated the sharpness of her collarbone.

“I’m not trying to hide.”

Gods. Her voice was like a clear stream singing through the lush forest undergrowth—soft, yet cool and unforgiving.

“In fact, I very much wish to make sure you remember my name, for it will be the last thing you scream.” Her plump lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Elarian. In case you already forgot.”

There it was again—that godsdamned name that made him feel something dangerously close to being alive.

It didn’t really matter, did it?