Page 41 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

I turn rigid as his fingers around my chin tighten ever so slightly, as if to lock me into place. His lips brush against my vulnerable skin then. I try not to think of his fangs as I brace myself for the pain.

But he doesn’t bite me.

Instead, he waits, suspended, his breath over my feverish skin, his fingers stroking my cheek now. His voice is nothing but gentle when he says, “Relax.”

Why is he so patient with me? Why not just get it over with?

As if to answer my silent question, he straightens, lifting my chin again. When I glance up, I’m surprised to find his eyes no longer that aggressive red, but a bright, calm blue that makes him look entirely different. Notsoscary anymore.

How does this work? Can he change his eye colors by will or is it influenced by something else?

If it works like auras, he probably can’t control it.

Suddenly, I wish to ask. To know. Those glittering blue eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen. Just what the ocean must look like under a full moon. Silver ripples where the light meets the waves, oscillating like a thousand diamonds, surrounded by the darkest of nights.

Only when he says, “I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you,” do I realize that I’m shivering so hard that my whole body trembles.

He won’t hurt me.All I manage is a shy nod. He waits a moment longer before I feel his lips there again, right on my pulse. I close myeyes, force myself to believe him, to trust him. I have no other choice anyway.

His fangs pierce my skin then and my whole world narrows down to the feeling of them in me.

It doesn’t hurt when they penetrate my flesh. Instead, there’s a strange heat rushing through my body, as if every cell has been set on fire. I shudder as he drinks me in, but no longer from fear. I barely register how my fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, that he has moved even closer, his huge body pinning mine against the cold wall, pressing hard against me.

Then, all too soon, I feel him pulling back, only absently feel him running his tongue over the wounds his teeth have left. He takes a step back from me, the red blood in his eyes intermingling with streaks of burning gold.

I look at my blood dripping from his lips. And despite all instincts, I find myself wishing that he would carry on. For a brief second, I have the sensation that he… might be feeling the same.

Desire glitters in his aurum eyes. Before they widen slightly, and he looks at me with some kind of… horror.

His features harden involuntarily, the gold in his eyes giving way to a vicious black as he regards me now, spreading through the red-like tendrils of ink.

As if I... disgust him.

Despite my fear, I blush with shame. Maybe it’s my blood? Or my… appearance? I don’t want to know what I must look like to him with my wet, half-torn dress and uncombed hair. Filthy. My eyes red-rimmed from crying. How could I ever think that he…

I can’t finish the thought. Can’t think it without dying of shame and confusion and exhaustion.

I am a slave. Food for him, nothing more.

I don’t know why it matters to me. It doesn’t, I tell myself. It’s a lie.

I can’t look back at him. I keep my head lowered, willing my hair to fall all over my face to hide from him.

When I look up again, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air.

***

I slump against the wall, my heart pounding too fast, as if it wants to break free of my ribs. My head’s still hazy from what just happened, my thoughts diffuse, my body just so cold.

There’s the solid jolt of a bolt.

I look up to find a spindly woman with ashen-brown skin and long, silver hair that reaches almost down to her hips standing in the open cell door. She wears a long, kaftan-like dress that shimmers in shades of deep-sea colors, setting off eyes smooth and bright as river pebbles.

“Melody,” she says as if my name is a foreign word for her, her voice laced with an accent I’ve never heard before. “I am Nidaw. I have been sent for you. Please, come. The Dark Lord told me to take care of you.”

The Dark Lord.I slowly get up, silently following the woman through the corridors of this dungeon that undoubtedly serves as a prison. As I walk, I try hard not to peek into each cell we pass, try not to listen to the weeping or hushed whispers in foreign tongues somewhere in the cold, dim darkness, desperation so thick in the air it’s palpable.

At the end of the corridor is a flight of stairs. I brace myself for what might come next. I’m still barefoot, but so is Nidaw. When we reach the top of the stairs, the uneven cobbles under my naked feet end abruptly, and my soles touch onyx marble, which is occasionally crisscrossed by golden veins, the stone surprisingly warm under my feet. So is the air. A gentle, warm breeze envelops me as we walk on, carrying the faintest smell of jasmine and wisteria as if wafting in from a nearby garden—the total opposite to the underground.

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