Page 14 of Song of Night

“Oh, and you’re now an expert on blood-drinking demons?” His brown eyes are cold as he meets my gaze.

“I know what I felt,” I say softly.

“Feeding is a…full body experience.” His tone is as frosty as his eyes. “It doesn’t mean there are feelings involved. It’s purely physical.”

“I see.” I turn away from him and mount my horse in one swift movement.

“You’re lucky to still be alive,” Asher growls.

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to thank you for not killing me?” I can feel blood dripping from the two puncture wounds on my neck, and I reach up to touch it without conscious thought.

Asher’s face goes still. He pulls a small dagger from his boot, then cuts a piece of cloth from his tunic before handing it to me. “Here. Tie this around your neck.”

I snatch the cloth from his hands and start tying it around my neck. He urges his horse forward and leaves me as I sit there trying to get it fastened securely. Fury flashes through me as I watch him go. And with that surge of raw emotion, I feel a flicker through my core. A flicker that feels like…

I focus on the feeling, but it’s not my magic, not the flare of Night. Disappoint flashes through me, which on top of Asher’s rejection sends a shiver of sorrow through my chest.

I’d do just about anything to get my power back, but clearly my longing is making my imagination run wild. I’m just as unmagicked as I was before.

Chapter Ten

ASHER

The light in this place is so dim it’s hard to tell what time of day it is, and I’m beginning to fear we’re not going to reach the other side of the Waste in time. We’ve been riding for hours since the monster attack, alternating between cantering and walking the horses.

Of course, all that awaits me there is my death. Likely after an extended period of torture.

One of my earliest memories, over three centuries ago, is of Lord Vyrin. I’d been barely more than twenty. My father sent several emissaries to Vyrin’s court to negotiate an agreement between our realms after Vyrin started encroaching on the boundaries of Illiare. I remember what came next with the same vividness as if it happened yesterday.

We sat in my father’s throne room in the Palace of Night, though it was not called the Palace of Night back then. Then it was called the Royal Court of Illiare. My father and mother sat in the center of the dais, Kieran and I flanking them on smaller thrones. Four messengers in the blue livery of our house entered the long, marble-tiled room, carrying an ornate metal chest between them.

My father’s eyes gleamed as they set the chest down before him. Based on his expression, I leaned forward in my chair, too, expecting a treasure of some sorts as an apology and a peace offering. Gold perhaps, or rubies or amethysts. With a nod, my father gestured for the messengers to lift the lid of the box.

For a moment, just the barest of moments, I thought it was rubies after all.

But then the scent hit my nose, the sharp tang of blood. My brain pieced together what I was seeing: severed body parts stuffed inside the chest, flesh and bone in sharp contrast with the crimson covering everything.

The emissaries we’d sent to negotiate peace.

That day I realized two things. First, that Vyrin was a sadistic sociopath who couldn’t be reasoned with. And second, that sometimes violence is the only choice. Be powerful or be prey.

War had become my life from that moment forward. It drove my every move, fueled my obsession with deeper and darker magic, until a century later I unlocked the flood of wild magic that changed everything. Killed my father, turned my brother against me. Everything prior to that fateful day seemed a past life, something I’d locked away.

But now my past has come back to taunt me.

My enemy clearly has no time limit on his grudge, which is why I know this whole expedition is nothing but a sick and twisted game. I can’t help but flick my gaze over to Zara, who is riding sullenly beside me. Killing her earlier would have been a mercy compared to what awaits us ahead. No matter how furious I am with her, I won’t let Vyrin have her. Not someone like him.

I glance down at my arm, which is completely healed. In fact, my entire body is buzzing with energy after drinking Zara’s blood. I’m grateful I still possess the natural healing abilities of a vampire because I’m quite certain I’d be dead otherwise. Though, I’m not sure Zara is going to let me feed on her ever again after what I said earlier.

It hadn’t been a lie, not entirely.

With vampires, sexual arousal on behalf of the drinker is not uncommon. I’ve always been an exception, however, rarely feeling anything but guilt for my hunger. Zara’s reaction to being consumed is also completely unique…her obvious pleasure makes it impossible not to want her in every way.

I’d almost lost control in two ways today. Both in draining her dry, and in ripping off every piece of clothing and entering her in the way that we both so desperately crave.

It makes me furious that I still want her in that way, knowing she’d likely given her body to my brother also. Made those same moans of pleasure…

“The horses have rested long enough,” I say, and I kick my gelding forward into a canter.

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