Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SILVANUS
Foolish merman.
It always happened, these mortals exposing a weakness at some point. No matter how hard they fought, they always opened a path for me.
Grabbing him, I spun him around and plunged my fangs into his neck, piercing that special mortal artery, guzzling every drop of his executioner blood. Mer, werewolf, human, human mage, and elf. A delicious cocktail full of power surging through my veins.
“What are you doing?” I heard Paris say.
After the final drop, the man’s slowed heartbeat coming to a stop, I dumped his body on the ground, and faced the elf.
He trembled, holding the crystal blade, tears running down his cheeks.
The power of the merman’s blood sated my bloodthirst, stirring my predatory side.
Ready for more.
Ready for Paris Raine.
The elf bit his bottom lip, backing away. Terrified, delicate, so tethered to his mortal vulnerability. With one quick movement, I could break the threads of his life, let him die here with his brethren.
No. Not my spark in the dark.
Even in my unreasonable state, I understood the importance of him continuing to draw breath.
His trembling worsened. “I can’t…” he muttered.
I licked the executioner’s blood off my lips. “Why are you out here?”
Desire rippled through my body, firming my cock. The corridors smelled of honey and sweat and death. I had to have him, right here. To throw him against the wall, tear off his clothes, and fuck him into oblivion, sucking on that incredible blood.
Whatever we’d said, whatever we’d agreed, it didn’t matter. I needed him.
All of him.
The more I see of you, the harder I yearn for you.
“You killed him,” Paris breathed. “You killed him.”
I stared at the elf, my anger subsiding. His pretty face should disgust me, but it rebuilt the walls of my reason.
“There was no choice,” I answered.
“He’d never have killed you.” He backed into the wall, the blade vanishing in a puff of silver smoke.
“Pardon?”
“It’s impossible to kill you.”
“Nothing is impossible,” I returned.
He clutched at his chest, his sorrow affecting me.
Let me make it better…
“Why didn’t you just let him go?” He closed his beautiful cobalt eyes, squeezing out tears that glistened like liquid diamonds on his cheeks. “Why don’t you let them all go?”
My anger spiked again. “Let them go after they attacked my home and killed my people?”
He kept his eyes closed, lips quivering.
“You’re out of your mind, Paris.”
I expected an aggressive rebuke that never came. Instead, he slid to the ground, covering his face with his hands and sobbing almost silently, muttering a name over and over again.
Pearl.
I took a step toward him, unsure of what to do.
“Paris?”
He kept crying, still speaking that name.
What should I do? Comfort him? Yell at him for suggesting I spare the lives of these executioners? Curse him for endangering his life in this maze?
My spark in the dark…
“My sister,” he finally said between sobs, keeping his face covered.
My chest ached in empathy, knowing what he was about to say. “Pearl?”
“Yeah.” He uncovered his face, eyes bloodshot, cheeks stained with sadness. “I lost her last year.” He sniffled, wiping his eyes with the bottom of his T-shirt, exposing his slender stomach. “Sorry, you don’t need to hear this.”
Seeing flesh had the opposite effect. My cock softened, and I found myself sitting down beside him.
“It hit me again,” he said. “Sometimes it comes out of the blue, attacking like a mugger jumping out of the dark. Strips everything away, leaving me a fucking mess. Seeing Jon on the ground triggered it, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Jon?”
“The merman.” He pointed at the corpse. “Grief’s a strange beast, huh?” He sighed. “I don’t need to tell you that.”
I rested the back of my head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling and thinking of my nameless sister, of my losses. The sting of grief came to me in scattered waves at various points of the day and the night. A permanent stalker with a wicked blade at the ready.
I wanted to know more about his pain.
“Tell me about her,” I spoke gently.
He sniffled. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine in a minute. You’ve got your own issues.”
“I understand loss,” I replied. “Not how you experience it, of course. All heartbreak is different. But I want to know, Paris. If you’ll let me.”
I watched his profile, saw his brows pinch together. “I can’t do this. You’ve just killed an executioner, I’ve had a bit of a meltdown, and now we’re having a moment.” He shook his head as he sighed. “What are we doing here?”
The voices of the trapped ones, along with their footsteps, sounded around us. We sat together for at least five silent minutes until he took a breath as if to steady himself, the kind you make before giving a speech.
“I’m a twin,” he announced. “My sister and I were born in Elmwhisper Woods in eastern Elf Domain and given over to the Executioner Program as babies. I’ve never met my parents. I couldn’t even tell you their names.”
I kept silent, letting him speak.
I needed to know this. I needed to know everything about my spark in the dark.
“Man, this is so weird with a dead body nearby. Why am I even talking to you?”
After another minute, he continued speaking.
“My sister was murdered by a vampire. I found her body one morning after she…” The words crystalized in his throat.
I put my hand on his thigh.
He didn’t shake it off.
“It’s alright,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
But please do.
He let out a long breath. “No, I want to. I should talk about her more. I always keep her inside here.” He touched his heart.
“To protect her, to keep her close. And she’s so much more than a victim.
She was funny, strong, my rock, my everything.
I want to celebrate her, I really do. She deserves it more than anyone.
A true hero with solid convictions. Not like me, sitting here with the vampire king and, well, you know the rest.” He smacked his delectably glossy lips. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
His eyelashes cast lovely shadows on his cheeks.
“I’m sorry about your sister.” I brushed my shoulder against his.
“Thanks. I’m sorry about your losses and the broken memories.” He closed his eyes again. “I’m so tired.”
“Me too.”
“But I can’t sleep in this palace. I can’t be here, listening to them die. I know letting them go would be failing your people, but can I try singing at them? See if I can at least clear their minds of Aidan’s rot? If I can, then maybe…” He didn’t finish.
He gave me something to consider, despite its bitter aftershocks.
“I should’ve started singing the minute I clapped eyes on Jon,” he said.
Why were things always so complicated?
Mercy was my biggest flaw in this life, yet I considered it again.
At your own detriment!
“He tried to kill me,” he spoke.
I sat straighter in surprise. “Who did? Him?” I gestured at the body.
“Yeah. He thought I’d come here on your behalf. Took some swings at me until he saw my crystal blade.” Now he sat up straighter. “He called it the Knife of Fractured Rapture. Have you heard of it?”
Interesting. “No. Did he offer an explanation?
“Unfortunately, you showed up.”
“I see.” Curse it. I’d been too headstrong.
He smacked his lips again. “Something else to investigate.”
“I will ask around.”
“Awesome. I’ll see if Caer knows anything.”
More silence, a seven-minute stretch of it this time.
I counted every second.
“Can we go now?” he asked.
“Where?”
“Back to the island?”
If only. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s almost sunrise.”
“The windows keep the power of the sun at bay, just like here,” I countered. “But we’re too alone out there.”
A wonderful thing if not for the risk of Aidan showing up.
Paris released a trembling breath as the executioners continued to bellow and stomp around us.
“The noise bothers you,” I said. What a ridiculous thing to say. Obviously, it did. And there was nothing I could do about it. The sounds were meant to please my people and myself. To signal victory in every corner of the palace, to offer satisfaction over the slow demise of our enemies.
My dimmed anger gave way to sympathy. I couldn’t stand to hear his pained, shallow breathing.
“Let me think about this,” I said. “After all, you’re here and an executioner. Maybe we can gather more allies.”
He brightened, his shiny aura blinding for a few seconds.
“Really?” he said, facing me.
Goodness, his smile disarmed me.
What was happening to me?
I reached out for him, my fingers about to land on his cheek.
He didn’t flinch, only smiled, welcoming my move.
“Paris, I—”
The air rippled, golden clouds ringed by black lines manifested before us.
“Fuck.” Paris sprang to his feet as his crystal blade appeared.
I did the same.
Aidan as Hal laughed, freshly scrubbed and dressed in black with a long gray coat.
“Oops,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” His molten gold gaze locked onto Paris. “Like my new look?”
Paris snorted, his fingers visibly tight around the dagger’s hilt, and projecting menace when the horror of seeing his friend clearly flashed in his eyes.
“As much as I like a kick in the balls,” the elf returned.
Aidan smirked. “Is that how you speak to your lover?”
Paris grimaced. “Stop chatting out of your arse.”
“But you fucked this mage, didn’t you? He’s mentioned it a few times.”
Paris took a step forward. “Is this your attempt to screw with my head? Kind of shit, huh?”
Aidan chuckled. “You’re rather arrogant for a puppet.”
Paris showed him his middle finger.
“A finger that’s been inside this body several times,” Aidan responded.
I bristled, ready to step between them.
“If I’m a puppet, then what are you?” Paris answered. “Because you’re only occupying his body because of me. Without me, you’re nothing but a walking corpse.”
The deity did not appreciate that. “This is merely temporary, elf. You will do well to remember who I am, and the threat I pose. Dark days are coming.”