Page 74 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“What?” She now desperately wished she hadn’t passed out in that room. That she’d been conscious for everything that had transpired in that alcove.
“The potion. It didn’t get past the spells your uncle had on the scepter. When that failed, I grabbed you and that doll and got us out of there.”
Her gaze dropped to his gauze wrapped hand, realizing what must have happened. He’d reached into the fire to retrieve the doll. Nobody got between her and her uncle and came away unscathed.
“Why would you save me? I failed you,” she asked.
“You said you’d serve me as my kalator in the trials. You can hardly do that if you are dead.”
Her heart stuttered and dropped. So there it was. She’d been the only choice. Did he want her to be his kalator that badly? Whether Zarathos succeeded in getting the vampire piece of the scepter, her agreement to be his kalator remained.
As long as she wasn’t dead. “So I was a consolation prize.”
He chuckled humorlessly. “I’d never describe you as consoling.”
“Where is the doll?”
“Buried where nobody will ever find it,” he said with venom.
“You could have kept it.”
“You think I need more power over you, Vampress? That doll would only serve as a liability to both of us in the end.” He ran a hand over his horns before dropping it to his side.
She gazed at her swathed body and pressed her fingers to her face, to feel the gauze wrapped around it. He was a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together, or like mist always slipping through her fingers. “You bandaged my wounds.”
His teeth ground against each other and his jaw ticked, his voice coming out sharp and annoyed. “I told you. A dead kalator is of little use to me in the Demon Trials.”
“You seem agitated.”
He stepped forward, his eyes flashing. “Give me your hand.”
Wariness stole through her. “What for?”
He extended his palm to her. “Your wounds are healing, but you are weak. Human blood will accelerate the process, and I have found someone willing to let you have all you desire.”
She froze, glaring at him. “What did you do?”
He pressed closer. When she didn’t take his hand, he sighed and reached down, taking a hold of her arm. “Why don’t you find out?”
And the shadows closed around them. They moved through the tunnels and out into the night. Zarathos swept her raging body up into his arms and shifted into darkness yet again.
They appeared inside a small jail cell. Gray bars and wooden walls surrounded them.A large burly man sat on the rickety bed that looked ready to collapse under his weight.
“Is this her?” the man asked, eyeing Aryana.
“It is,” Zarathos said, setting her gently on her feet. “This human is a murderer, per your specifications. He will be hanged in the morning. I’ll leave you to it.”
He steadied her as she stumbled, agony surging through her body. Zarathos frowned. “Or I can stay.”
She retreated until she leaned against the wall. Each move sent her nerves screaming, but she shook her head. “Go.”
“Are you certain—”
“Go.” She needed him gone to talk to this man alone. To find out for herself if what Zarathos said was the truth.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, Vampress.” And with that, he disappeared among the shadows.
Aryana forced her searing back into the brick to steady herself as she regarded the man before her. “You’re a murderer?”
