Page 91
Let her try to unravel the mystery. His deadly plaything’s blade would find her heart long before then.
Something stirred Elarian’s attention. Her weight shifted against his thighs, brushing against his cock before settling again. It was a slight enough movement to call a coincidence, but Lucan knew better. Shadows coiled around her wrists, drawing them together.
“Be still,” he said quietly enough for only Elarian to hear. “Lest I fuck you until you bleed again.” At that, her breathing stilled.
At last, Senna presented two goblets filled with deep red bloodwine, its heady aroma curling around Lucan like a macabre perfume.
“My lady,” Senna said, bowing deeply as he presented the gilded tray.
Elarian did not respond at first. Lost in her calculations, he thought, no doubt thinking of when she could turn around and rip Lucan’s eyes from their sockets. Lucan rattled the chain between them. Startled, Elarian’s head whipped around.
“My prince?” she asked quietly with glassy eyes.
“Your drink.”
Following Lucan’s outstretched hand, her gaze found the goblet of bloodwine waiting for her like an offering. She licked her lips once, neck straining, doubtlessly unnerved by the eyes waiting for her to accept. A near-imperceptible sigh escaped her plum-colored lips. Then, she extended her long fingers and wrapped them around the crystal goblet stem.
“None for me, Senna,” Lucan said, waving his hand to dismiss his manservant. Senna dipped low, then disappeared from view.
Intoxicated by the assassin who so perfectly pretended to be a dhampir, Lucan watched Elarian raise the gilt rim to her trembling lips. Her pulse grew uneven, breath hitching.
“A courtesan does not deny gifts, Elarian,” Lucan whispered against the shell of her ear.
He dragged a sharp nail down her spine. She tried to jerk away, but a shadow slipped around her bosom to hold her in place. Pressing in deeper, a droplet of silvery-red blood bloomed beneath his nail.
“Do not disappoint me, pet.”
Elarian’s lips twitched as she tilted the goblet. The quiet hatred in her eyes gleamed bright even as the first droplets of bloodwine danced over her waiting tongue.
I will break you yet, Elarian.
twenty-nine
Pleasure & Pain
Turning against everything she had come to understand in the long centuries of her life, Elarian lifted the goblet of bloodwine and let the sickly-sweet liquid dribble through her parted lips. The tang of iron whetted some deep appetite she had no name for—and did not wish to name. Somehow, the putrescent liquid did not revile her. Instead, beneath the watchful gaze of a hundred and more vampires, she thirsted for more.
Elarian despised herself for her greed.
Yet still, she drank.
Crystal rested cool against her lower lip as she swallowed another careful sip, the thick crimson liquid sliding down her willing throat. Deep within the fever consuming her blood, the fires eased, lulled into a fitful slumber by stolen blood—human blood. Terrified, helpless, and harvested like wheat beneath the long summer sun for monsters who laughed beneath glittering chandeliers.
Emptying the goblet, she carefully rested it atop her bare thigh. Relief from the cool metal lasted only a breath before fading. Two more days, Ela, she told herself. The hollow words did nothing to comfort her. Two days might as well be a lifetime if she had to bow to Lucan’s every whim. Soon, nothing would remain of her but utter and unyielding odium for the vampire who whittled away what precious little softness she clung to.
Lucan’s hand reached out and plucked the goblet from her hand. He held it out lazily, waiting—she assumed—for the vampire he called Senna to fill it again.
“Greedy in many ways, are we?” Lucan’s hushed voice dragged across her skin like a freshly smithed blade. “Or perhaps you seek to drown yourself to forget where you sit.”
Elarian did not reply.
Music drifted once more through the throne room, strings weaving around the murmured conversations that filled the vast hall. Noble ladies glittered as they floated over the dance floor, jewels winking at throats and wrists with every graceful turn. Lords clustered beneath towering pillars hung with deep red silks, speaking softly behind jeweled rings raised to blood-stained lips. Servants moved silently between them all, their eyes forever lowered as crystal decanters caught the amber glow of the witchlights overhead. Just beyond the dancing lords and ladies, a group of masked thralls sat atop a long table with outstretched arms—obedient dogs ready to feed their masters.
It would have been beautiful, had she not known every elegant smile concealed sharpened fangs.
Reaching forward, Lucan handed Elarian another goblet of bloodwine, then rested his hand atop her thigh. His other arm draped lazily across the throne as though she weighed nothing at all upon his lap. The golden chain linking his wrist to her collar disappeared beneath the sleeve of his tailored jacket, nearly invisible unless the light caught it just so. Anyone watching would see only another favored courtesan draped against the Blooded Prince while his court entertained itself beneath him.
Only Elarian knew how tightly his fingers curled whenever someone lingered too long near the dais.
