Page 14 of Heir

His eyes went wide, and he whimpered again from how tightly I held his greasy brown hair.

“So your simple mind can understand, I will use the more . . . derogatory terms. There are Daywalkers, like Voltan and myself. The King is also one, as are his subjects. Then there are the Nightwalkers, or the Phaceanesh. They are the ones who need to feed to survive. The zombies, if you will. A sub-species of our more . . . sophisticated kind. I do not need to feed to survive. Do I like blood? Of course, but it is not what I require to survive. Perhaps you have been mistaken, hmm?”

His dark eyes darted wildly across my face. “I was told to take out the vile subjects of the King. The zombies. Those that feast on others to live.”

“By whom?” I brought my mouth down to his throat and allowed just one of my fangs to drop. It pricked his grimy skin, causing blood to bloom and trickle down the filthy creases of his neck and into the top of his stained, no-longer-white polo shirt.

He cried out in pain.

I dropped the other fang and leaned in to apply pressure to his neck once more, this time leaving a second puncture mark that slowly overflowed with his lifeblood. “I will repeat myself only once, by whom?”

He trembled now, utterly afraid that I would be true to my word. This man didn’t want to die, despite his cavalier opinion of death a moment ago. His eyes held true fear and the most minute part of me held sympathy for him. He was told to kill the wrong species of vampire—on purpose—but why?

I leaned in, my eyes on his as I opened my mouth, preparing to give him exactly what I said I would: indescribable pain and a slow, excruciating death.

“N-no . . . no. Please! I’ll tell you what I know. I promise!” The scent of urine filled the air, and I glanced down at the front of his pants, which he’d noticeably soiled.

Voltan snorted from the shadows.

My grip on the prisoner’s hair loosened just a fraction. “Speak.”

“I . . . I don’t know who is in charge!” His eyes darted wildly across my face and his bottom lip wobbled. “But . . . t-the man who came to me was a demon.”

“A demon.”

“Y-yes.” He nodded emphatically, spit flying as he spoke. “He said his . . . his boss would make me high in his court if I helped them rid the Realm of . . . of your kind.”

“And did he say who his boss was?

“No.”

“And what was his name?”

“Um . . .”

I tightened my grip on his hair again and brought my mouth closer to his neck.

“His name was—”

Crack!

The dark dungeon filled with a blinding white light as lightning crashed down from the ceiling above and straight into my chest, throwing me backward. The prisoner screamed out in pain from where I’d yanked on his hair, but the screaming disappeared, replaced by the ringing in my ears.

I was slumped against the wall, having cracked my head hard on the brick behind me.

Voltan was already crouched in front of me. “Milord, what happened?”

Lilac, honeysuckle, and cayenne filled my nostrils. It was faint, but it was distinct.

Voltan’s eyes met mine, and a warmth filled my chest. Like a fool, I smiled.

He smiled too, when he realized what the lightning was about. “She’s come of age, Milord. Your mate, she’s come of age.”

He helped me to my feet. I brushed my tailored suit clean of any dust and nodded. “I must find the King.”

“I’ll finish up here with the prisoner.”

We both turned to face the bound man.

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