Page 40 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

It is too much. Too much like my past. I shudder against the feeling of the walls closing in on me like they always do. Of the feeling of too little air.

Of being trapped in darkness.

At least I knew Lyrian wouldn’t let me die.

Breathe! Just breathe. But I seem unable to get down enough air.

I sink onto the floor, my bare shoulders leaning against the cool walls. I cry until my tears subside. My body is still shaking from fear or cold or desperation, I don’t know anymore. It doesn’t matter. There is nothing left in me, not even hope, just a never-ending, gaping void.

Something catches my eye in my peripheral vision. I jerk my head up.

Gleaming crimson eyes watch me—a demon in the night.

I reflexively swivel backward, as far away as the tiny cell will allow, only to bump against the other wall.

The High Lord of Darkness. The color in his eyes flickers slightly, the red like burning embers as they take me in. I try hard not to think of where the red comes from.

How did he get in here?The cell door is still locked.

He takes a step towards me. He is huge, I realize. Taller than I, which is saying something since I am well over average height for most women. But his stature is towering in the tiny cell. I shift even further back, as far away from him as possible, until my left shoulder hits the opposite end of the cell. I wish I could melt into the wall. Hide. Turn invisible.

There is nothing left in me to pretend I’m not scared to my very essence.

My heart startles as he takes another step toward me. I look up at him then, into those mesmerizing eyes, too numb to remember that Kyrith warned me to never look him in the eye unbidden. Too numb to remember that I am a slave now.

But once more, I find myself unable to look away.

Shadows limn his face, casting his cheekbones and his soft, sullen mouth into stark relief. Even with his red eyes, he is mercilessly beautiful. The kind of beauty that hurts when you look at it.

Only after a while do I realize that he’s holding something out to me. A glass bottle with clear liquid in it.

As if he can feel my suspicion, he says in his deep, sensual voice, “Water.”

I just gaze at his hand. At those elegant, pallid fingers and the tattoo that stretches up from his wrist almost to his fingertips. Tendrils of ink mixed with gold form strange symbols I’ve never seen before. They seem to move… or is it just in my mind?

I focus back on the bottle.

I wouldn’t dare take it from his hands if I wasn’t so thirsty. But I am. With one last glance at his face, I take it and unscrew it. I gulp the water down so greedily that some of it runs over my chin and down my collarbones, seeping into my dress.

I hadn’t realized that those iron shackles around my wrists had dissolved, or when; leaving only deep, angry rims in my flesh.

Only when the bottle is empty do I glance back up to him. Again I find him watching me in return. I get up when he takes a last step closer. This time, I stand my ground, although it takes all my willpower not to shrink back.

Don’t show fear.No tears. No fear.

I repeat that over and over in my mind, but it doesn’t prevent me from flinching when he lifts his hand. I blush, hating myself for it. For shuddering when his fingers raise my chin. Now, so close, I avoid his eyes, trying to concentrate on a point past him in the darkness. My thundering heart blocks out every clear thought.

I stiffen when his fingers brush back my long hair, away from my neck, as gently as if he were my lover.

When he bends slightly down to me.

“You need to relax, or it will hurt,” he whispers right into my ear, his breath on my neck.

He’s going to drink my blood.How much? All of it? Will he kill me? Suck me dry? Every inch of my body goes taut as the meaning of his words echoes through me.

Such nonchalant words. As if they mean nothing. As if I mean nothing.

To him, I probably don’t. I’m nothing more than a slave, and who the hell knows what these vampires do with their slaves?

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