Page 16 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
The small, barred window in the door slid open the next morning after the sun rose and she was forced into her corner of shadow. Eyes peered through the bars, checking her location. Then it slammed shut. Aryana’s door opened.
King Salen strode in, ducking his massive horned head to fit through the doorway. A couple of guards and attendants piled in after him. Despite being demons, the smell of their blood flowing through their veins made her mouth water. In normal conditions, vampires could go up to a week between feeds. But spinning had taken too much from her last evening, and now the metallic scent tempted her to brave the burns she’d sustain to satisfy the thirst thatclogged her throat and gutted her stomach, even with demon blood, which was less than satisfying.
King Salen stopped in his tracks when he saw the golden threads on the floor.
“I don’t believe it,” he muttered. His gaze met Aryana’s, full of surprise and wonder. He motioned toward one of his attendants. “Have this gathered up and transferred to a different room. I want an appraiser here immediately to check the authenticity of this. Have the guards bring in twice as much straw as last night.”
“Yes, my king.” The attendant, a squat, frog-like creature, bowed. His scent was the least appealing to her, and yet if he came within reach, she’d still consider taking a bite.
“And I require a guard placed in here tonight,” King Salen added.
“I can only perform such a feat in complete solitude. It will not work with anyone else in the room,” Aryana cut in.
The king’s eyes narrowed. “I want more.” He glanced at the pool of crimson dried on the floor under the spinning wheel. “I don’t care how. If she wishes to be left alone, leave her alone,” he said to the attendant. He looked at Aryana. “Do it, or you will be dead before the sun reaches its peak in tomorrow’s sky.”
He turned and marched from the chamber, leaving her to watch from her corner as the attendants and guards carried out their king’s commands.
Soon, straw filled the room, twice the amount as the night before.
Aryana hated waiting. How she missed escaping life through the steady, focused art of tapestry weaving. Her eyes shut as her hands practiced the movements. Slowly, one step at a time, splittingthe warp and threading the shuttle with the weft through the open space. Then battening it down into place. Each movement was precise, creating a masterpiece with each weave of the thread. She enjoyed the repetitive soothing movements, and the creation of something new and inspiring. It made her feel less of a monster and more… human.
The shadows of the day grew long and Aryana’s thirst only worsened to where even thoughts of weaving no longer distracted her. Her mouth and throat were so parched she could barely swallow. She realized with a tad bit of satisfaction that her shitty circumstances had led to at least one fortuitous development. Tonight was the harvest moon. The night she was supposed to complete her Bloodbound mating bond with Raydin.
She had thought she’d found an ally in her vampire betrothed for a short time, even let him bed her, though they both acknowledged no actual love between them. But that was how Aryana liked it. Love was manipulation. Love messed with one’s head and made you vulnerable. She thought she wasn’t vulnerable with Raydin until she’d discovered how much her uncle had him wrapped around his fingers. Until she learned he was only telling her things she wanted to hear, to keep her docile, to keep both her and Uncle happy. In the end, he was the king’s man, not Aryana’s lover.
But her uncle handpicked him to be the future king, and, regardless of her feelings, Aryana had to go along with it.
A small smile of satisfaction spread across her face. Well, at least not tonight.
When the last rays of the day disappeared from her window,hereturned.
But he wasn’t alone.
He held a human man by the collar. His hands and feet were bound, and Zarathos’s casual grip on his shirt was the only thing holding him upright. Aryana detected the scent of fear, combined with the slight hint of urine, and her eyes focused on the man’s trousers, wet around the groin. His well-worn, patched-up clothes signified he was a farmer or a person from one of the outlying villages.
“I’ve brought you a snack,” Zarathos said, dropping the man carelessly onto the stone floor. “Take your fill. It appears we have our work cut out for us tonight.”
The rich, earthy scent of his skin mixed with the sweet tanginess of that life-giving force that flowed in his veins. Gods, he smelled delectable. The compelling, erratic beating of his heart—not to mention the intoxicating, primal aroma of fear wafting through the air, thick and present—stoked the flames of her hunter instincts. She felt the pull, the irresistible temptation to pounce.
The man released a whimper and scooted away from both of them until his trembling shoulders hit the wall of Aryana’s cell.
Only a single bite and he’d be helpless in her grasp. Her incisors dropped, her mouth flooding with saliva. Every inch of her body vibrated with the urge to move, to descend on him and sink her fangs into his warm, yielding skin.
She gritted her teeth together, taking a step away. “Take him back.”
Zarathos raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“Return him to wherever you got him from,” she said, her words stilted from fighting against her desire, her very instincts. “I’m not—I’mnotfeeding from him.”
“The hell you’re not,” he growled. “I see how dark your eyes are, and I know how much blood you used up last night. You need to feed before we start, or you will not make it through another night of spinning. So feed.”
Aryana’s body trembled. Oh, how badly she longed to do that.
Vampires were strong and healed quickly, making them difficult to kill. Being impaled in the heart, decapitation, or being burned were the easiest ways to end her kind. Only the rarest poisons could work in their system. Blood revived vampires and healed most injuries.
But if they lost too much, like any creature, they’d die.
She squeezed her shaking hands into fists, and she met Zarathos’s dark, glowing gaze. “I will not feed off an innocent.”
