Page 12 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
But a plan was forming in her mind, creeping up on her slow and steady like a shadow at dusk, stretching longer with each passing moment until it consumed her thoughts.
She’d fulfill the bargain she made with Zarathos, even get him the vampire portion of the scepter to help him win the Demon Trials. Then, once the deal was complete, she’d be free.
Free to kill the arch king and claim the throne for herself.
Once she reunited the vampire nation with the demon alliance, she could rule all of it and ensure human safety from all of their kind. With the scepter’s power behind her, she’d be a force to be reckoned with.
And she’d get Zarathos back for kidnapping her and trapping her into this bargain.
He returned that night as promised. The darkness gathered within the shadows of the room; the moonlight cast a dull shine throughthe barred window. But Aryana, being a creature of the night, saw better in the blackness.
He took form, his ash-like features set in a cocky half-smile, black silk hair swept back with effortless precision. Shadows coiled around him like worshipful hands, making the golden gleam of his eyes burn all the brighter.
Her pulse sped up at the sight of him.
He fixed his gaze on her, the ring of light in his eyes flashing. “Good evening, Vampress. I know you must have been so saddened to be deprived of my presence for the last several hours.”
“Like a deer deprived of a hunter’s arrow in its side.”
He pressed his lips together as if to hide a laugh, and she tried not to think about how it felt to have that wicked mouth on hers. Thatkiss was a one-time thing and wouldnothappen again.
Zarathos motioned toward the spinning wheel resting in the room’s center. “Are you ready?”
She stared at the mechanism for creating thread, wondering what sort of task he’d require of her. “I’m ready.”
He reached into his cloak. “I need you to sign this, in blood, if you don’t mind.”
“What is it?”
“The contract that binds you as my kalator. It requires that you serve to the end of the trials on the pain of death. The trial council requires it.”
She took it from him and looked it over, though there wasn’t anything she could do. Per her bargain, she had no choice but to sign it. “Keep your distance,” she said to Zarathos.
He held up his hands in a facade of innocence.
Never taking her gaze off of him, she let her incisors drop and bit into her fingertip, bringing the smallest prick of crimson. Zarathos’s nostrils flared slightly, but other than that, he didn’t move, watching her with those glowing eyes. Her skin scraped against the dry parchment as she signed her name. Curling her finger inside her fist to staunch the bleeding, she held the contract out to him.
“Very well.” He took it from her and folded it, turning away. “Let us begin.”
With a dramatic swirl of his cloak, he stepped up to the wheel and pulled out a long sharp silver needle the length of her pointer finger from the recesses of his clothes. It was attached to an odd wooden contraption. He secured it to the spinning wheel above the spindle. It fit perfectly, its pointed tip glistened in the low lighting. The wooden part had a small carved trench with a hole the size of a coin on one end.
Aryana swallowed, staring at it. “What is that?”
“This, my dear, is how we are going to turn straw into gold.” He beckoned to her with a long finger. She eased forward, watching him closely, her muscles tensing.
“You touch the needle and let your blood run down its edges while I spin the straw and cast my spell and there you have it,” he said. “Straw into gold.”
She frowned. “You need my blood?” Her stomach clenched at the thought of drawing more in front of him. Abaddons and other non-vampire demons didn’t require blood the same way vampires did, but demons were just as capable of falling into bloodlust.The scent turned into a craving to feast on the flesh of their victims—vampire, demon, human, animal—they didn’t care.
His lips split into a mocking grin. “Are you frightened?”
Hot anger tore through her even as her heart pounded in answer. How dare he tease her. “Of you? Never.”
His cruel, knowing smile grew. “Poor judgment on your part.” He chuckled. “Shall we get started, then?”
Throwing her shoulders back to show that he wouldn’t intimidate her, she walked up to the needle. Unballing her fist, she pressed her already bleeding finger against its tip. Pain struck her as a trickle slid down its silvery length. She looked to Zarathos in challenge.
He seemed satisfied. She lifted her finger while he sat down at the spinning wheel and grabbed a handful of straw. When he glanced at Aryana, he frowned. “I’m afraid it’s not only a solitary prick. I need a continual flow of your blood.” He gestured around the room. “Until we finish.”
