Page 339 of Kingdoms of Night

Whirling back to the bar fight, my stomach clenched. I could end this in a fraction of a second. My hands twitched with the need for action.

But I stilled them, I gritted my teeth. The risk was too great.

Revealing that I was a siren was not an option.

So, speechless and utterly helpless, I stood there as the pirates and fishermen destroyed my tavern.

CHAPTERTHREE

THE CAPTAIN’S DARK APPETITE

Captain Elian Westin

Time was running out.

Time—a stubborn concept that I was determined to beat.

I’d lived for centuries, yet there was still an hourglass constantly flipping itself to remind me that I was indeed mortal despite what people thought about me.

I just needed one thing to keep me alive.

The souls of mortal men.

Leaving my ship was a risk, but I needed sustenance, and the souls of sailors was a delicacy that I couldn’t resist.

They had no family—no one who’d miss them.

The perfect target.

The storm raged on, but seemed to create a path for me, with little but soft splatters falling on my cloak’s hood.

It was a simple spell, one that a junior wizard could do with the right tools and training.

As I stalked the docks of lower Calbrock Bay, there was an unsettled feeling in my gut. I hadn’t needed a fresh soul in years. Why did my blood heat so on a night like this?

Though the muck of the streets left a rancid odor in the air, it was intermingled with the salty scent of the ocean.

Braving the filth of the docks would be worth it. One more soul would give me several years of life. I paused, tensing, and looked around with suspicion in my gaze. I sniffed the air, past the pungent odor was something more.

Something was…off.

I sensed magic—and it wasn’t mine. Magic was rare amongst human villages, yet there it was, calling to me—begging me to connect.

Was one of my brethren in Calbrock Bay? That would be quite the sight. I hadn’t seen any of the men of my youth in ages. Though we trained together, fought together, and cursed an entire nation together—in the end—we all went our separate ways.

The Wizards of Myrity usually kept to their temples—not grungy dockside villages. Nonetheless, the ones I considered friends were all dead.

Each time one fell—no matter where in the world—I could feel it. And, when the last died, his soul called out to me.

I could still hear his voice, and I shuddered at what he said.

It’s up to you now. You were always the strongest of us all.

I don’t know if I was the strongest or just the luckiest.

Luck—it seemed to quite like me. It had kept me alive when I should have been dead ages ago. Who knew if it was fate that I wasn’t buried and forgotten, or if I was still breathing for a reason.

Fate too seemed to favor me, no matter how many rules I broke, and lives I stole.

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