Page 38 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
They glared at each other, but eventually the demon male folded, the air seeping from his lungs. His head fell forward, and he nodded.
The woman spun toward Zarathos. “We won’t accept this unless you make a bargain with us.”
A sad smile tugged at Zarathos’s lips. A bargain. Yes. He’d make a bargain with them, if only for Casiel’s sake. “Name your terms.”
“You guarantee that Casiel gets away unharmed, and we will turn ourselves in.”
“You will turnyourselves in as traitors and admit to your sins. And admit that it was I, Zarathos, that caught you and compelled you to confess,” Zarathos added.
The woman and demon man exchanged a glance. The woman nodded. “Deal.”
Zarathos reached into his pocket and brushed his father’s death threat with trembling fingers. Maybe he’d live through this. If this didn’t win his father’s approval, he had no idea what would. “Then let us seal the bargain.”
The world came slamming back into reality. Zarathos sought Aryana’s gaze. They stared at each other. Shit, it washismemories they’d dived into this time. But how?
He looked at the crimson pooling on the ground. Of course. He’d revived her last evening. Vampire bodies processed human blood instantly, but demon blood was different. The blood she’d taken from Zarathos wouldn’t be processed as hers until two full rotations of the earth. Which meant it washisblood running through Aryana’s veins.
She’d seen too much. Way too much. His heart beat in his chest. A feeling he hated more than all others coursed through him. Like a wolf holding its prey by the throat, but this time, Zarathos was the prey. “You… you... willnever…”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Aryana said quickly.
“Good.” He rose, straightening his cloak. “At least you understand what kind of monster you are dealing with.”
She swallowed. “I do,” shewhispered.
He turned away from her, unable to look her in the eye any longer. “Ernon, Mils.”
His servants appeared in the room. Because they were bound to him through a special magic, only they possessed the ability.
“Yes, master?” Mils said as they both bowed.
“Clean up this mess. You know what to do with the thread.”
They glanced at the blood pooled on the floor. “As you command, sir,” Ernon said.
Zarathos refused to look at Aryana as he reached for the door, though it was clear she hadn’t moved from where she stood. She probably was already planning in her head how she might use this against him.
“You will stay within my chambers, Vampress. If anyone gets a whiff of you being here because you left my room, it will be seen as violating our bargain.” That was a bit of a bluff. He couldn’t just add things so wholly removed from the bargain itself, but there was enough of a gray area that she’d hopefully think twice about disobeying him.
And with that, Zarathos left her standing there in his tower.
Chapter 15
Zarathos
Zarathos sat in his empty throne room, his claws scraping against the armrest of his throne. The seat itself was an immense structure adorned with wicked, twisting spires and carved from the bones of long-dead creatures. Thrones came and went with the rise and fall of arch kings. His father had pieced together this current rendition. Zarathos tried not to dwell on the crimson-stained skeletal remains that ornamented his seat, as if they’d been pulled from the bodies of his father’s enemies and added to the throne while they were still in the last throes of life. Knowing his father, that was more than likely.
The room in which he sat was a vast chamber, its jagged stone walls coated in a slick, blackened sheen, absorbing centuries of darkness. The ground was uneven, covered in cracked, fiery obsidian tiles.
He lifted his head, the weight of the twisted silver crown pressing down, as thoughts of Aryana crowded his mind. She’d even seen the part of his memories about his name. That had been the worst of all. Every day with the vampress felt like a fresh threat, another piece of himself laid bare.
And yet, when it was over, the way she looked at him… not with hate or disgust. No, it was something else.
What was it? Pity?
Not quite.
There’d been a kind of understanding in her eyes. Had she realized, in that moment, the same thing he had the first time her blood surged through the needle?
