Page 107 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

Thankful for the capped sleeves of her gown, Emillie flexed her scarred hand and turned over her wrist. This was not something for which she could prepare herself. Even biting her own wrist would not measure up to what she knew to expect from Alek’s larger fangs. Her heart picked up its pace at the thought.

“As you partake for the first time,” the old vampire said, an echo of the words playing in Emillie’s mind from Ariadne’s wedding mere weeks ago, “remember this: you are now but one being, and to each vein, you shall be faithful.”

“And to each vein,” the Caersans around them repeated, “you shall be faithful.”

Alek wrapped his fingers around her arm and guided her wrist to his mouth. For a moment, Emillie merely stared. It was not until he raised his eyebrows in question that she fumbled for his arm and mimicked the motion. Still, she did not strike. She could not take her eyes off the Lord Governor as he bared his fangs and then dug them into her wrist.

Biting one’s own wrist was simple. The feeling was no more or less painful than pricking one’s own finger. That it was expected helped in the matter.

Feeling a foreign pair of fangs, however, sent a jolt through her. Emillie sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening and locking with his. Perhaps she should have struck first, for now, she stood in shock, mind blank.

It was not until the High Priestess urged Alek’s arm closer that Emillie bared her own fangs and sank them into his flesh. To her dismay, he did not appear as stunned by the intrusiveness of it all. In fact, the feeling appeared to be…pleasurable. If, of course, the way his eyes fluttered shut was any indication.

Alek’s blood, undiluted by her own, flooded her mouth before shooting up the hollows of her fangs. Though not unsatisfying, Emillie understood the problem immediately. He tasted like dark cocoa, and she preferred the flavor of vanilla bean.

Of Kyra.

The image of the Rusan vampire swam to the forefront of her mind. The red curls cascading over her shoulders, and her wide hips swaying with the music. Her smile, and the way her eyes lit up whenever Emillie looked at her.

Gods, she wanted to know what Kyra tasted like, not Alek. And now she might have that chance. With the vampire employed by her husband—what a wretched thought—Emillie may very well have the opportunity to discover exactly how delicious Kyra tasted.

And she wanted to know about more than just her blood.

First, she needed to get through the reception. She could continue their ruse a little while longer. Then she would be able to discover just how honest Alek had been. Would she be given the freedom to pursue any woman she wished? So long as she kept up appearances, she prayed to Keon he was a man of his word—and that the rumors surrounding him were as unfounded as he claimed them to be.

When at last they pulled away and the puncture wounds were sealed with salt, the High Priestess announced, “Presenting Lord Governor Alek Nightingale and his wife, the Lady Emillie Nightingale.”

And before Emillie knew what was happening, she was ushered from the dais and led outside to the waiting Nightingale carriage. Rain poured down from the dark night sky, making her instantly regret not bringing a cloak. She had seen the clouds rolling in when she woke and had been grateful she planned an indoor reception. Alek said nothing as he helped her into the carriage without a word. It was almost as though he wanted the escape as badly as she did.

“Are you alright?” Alek broke the silence after they had begun the journey to the reception hall. He glanced at her wrist. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

Emillie shook herself from the daze she had fallen into and smiled. “Hurt is a strong word. I was merely surprised.”

“The first time is always a shock,” he agreed. “It gets easier.”

She did not want it to get easier with him. If Emillie had her way, she would be indulging in Kyra’s vein or, if the Rusan no longer found interest in her, she would find another woman with whom she could share those intimate moments. It was not something she looked forward to with Alek, no matter how kind he had been to her.

Rather than respond, Emillie gave him a smile before looking out the carriage window. The rain clattered on the roof and slid by on the glass pane. Though she was not superstitious, she could not shake the feeling that such weather was an ominous sign for their marriage.

As though it would have been an easy one anyway.

When they arrived at the reception hall—a conservatory filled with shrubs, flowers, and trees from across Myridia—Emillie nearly launched herself from the confined space with Alek. She remembered herself, however, and waited to take her husband’s arm before entering the hall.

Warm, gently humid air wrapped around her as they stepped across the threshold. She had hoped guests would be able to meander between the conservatory and outdoors, but with the rain impeding that plan, everyone gathered inside. Though not nearly as many Caersans joined them as Ariadne’s, a good many still applauded their arrival.

Traditionally, a Caersan woman would be expected to speak with her father. Emillie paused before the man who had blackened her eye just long enough to give him a brief hug before almost dragging Alek away. She would have no such heartfelt exchanges with he who had as good as forced her into a loveless marriage. Though the decision had been hers, she wished it had been for reasons other than to protect her sister’s heart.

Music swirled around them, and Emillie glided onto the dance floor with Alek. Her husband swept her into his arms, moving gracefully and exchanging whispers as the guests watched. Though she responded, she did not focus on him.

With every turn, she searched for that fiery hair. She had hoped Kyra would be in attendance—hoped to, perhaps, sneak a moment with her hidden away by the towering foliage of the conservatory. To her dismay, she could not find the Rusan.

“She is not here,” Alek whispered as he brought her in close. “I feared you two would be discovered in such a public setting.”

Emillie whipped her gaze to him, her breath catching for a thunderous heartbeat. “What do you know of us?”

“Kyra is very excited to see you again.” Alek’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “She has hardly spoken of anything else.”

So she did want to see her again. She had not merely taken on the position at the Nightingale Estate for the pay and prestige. It had been for Emillie.

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