CHAPTER 21
Aimee
Nella just informed me that Dithrau has successfully survived the siege, and not for the first time, either. The vampires have returned in the middle of the night, almost unharmed, their numbers thinned, but victorious.
I immediately throw myself into a run towards the King’s private chambers, eager to see them alive, unscathed. My feet slap noisily on the stone tiles, the hallway becoming a blur around me, my heart thumping in my chest like a caged, broken dove.
The last few days have been filled with prickling disquietude—my nerves on edge, my body strained. Not knowing the tide of the war—my traitorous brain concocting the worst potential outcomes. I shudder at the nightmarish memories of my nightly visions.
Blaise, pale under the moonlight, his body mangled and torn, his head ripped ruthlessly from the rest of his body—gore staining his pretty face.
Killian alive, but turned onpyr, all feral and vicious, his once beautiful eyes now smeared the color of scarlet wine, of blood and demise. Stalking me like prey, cornering me and finally, finally wrecking me like I expected him to since the moment I met him.
Above all, Morweena, the puppet master, pulling his strings right in front of my eyes.
In my nightmares, she appears like an oozing gash, bursting in the very fabric of reality, covered in moss green velvet and rotting decay.
Wild, blood-red hair frames her face in a knotted crown of pure inferno, and black lips curl into a snarl that knows nothing but cruelty; pure, primordial hatred.
Her eyes are milky, unblinking chasms that don’t seem to gaze at anything in particular; they perceive not with sight but with starvation—of power and desolation.
Her parched skin is the pale shade of ashes, withering away to dust before me.
She looks timeless, untouched by the flowing sands of fate.
Every glimpse of her in my mind’s eye feels like pure torture.
She is an anathema given form, as if Imiryion itself dreamed of its own destruction and conjured her from the deepest pits of hell.
I barge into the room with no ounce of decorum, sighing loudly as I run towards the two males standing by the desk.
“Oh Gods, you’re really here!” I throw myself into Blaise’s arms, the momentum of my body’s impact on him making us spin on the spot once.
I hug him fiercely before he places me down, chuckling awkwardly.
He takes a step back, keeping me at arm’s length, and I notice the murderous-looking vampire behind him.
Killian’s fists are clenched, his lips drawn tight in a straight line, jealousy swimming in his obsidian stare. His shadows twirl around him like a blood-soaked halo.
I frown, taking in his body language. No! He can’t be! Is he really jealous of Blaise?
“I was worried about both of you,” I say, looking straight into his eyes, my voice lowering towards the end to emphasize my point.
“And we both missed you dearly, kitty cat! Some of us are just better at murder and mayhem than at expressing feelings!” Blaise says in his typical singsong voice. He directs his pointed stare at the other vampire.
A low, menacing snarl is the only reaction.
I take two steps back, looking for any signs of damage on their figures.
Blaise has a busted lip that’s already healing fast, while a discolored patch of skin under his right eye is all that remains from what I can only imagine was a nasty bruise.
Killian, however, looks as dazzling as ever, the dark circles under his eyes the only sign of the hell they went through.
My fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to make sure he is real, and not just a figment of my imagination.
But I know better than to succumb to such silly urges.
We’re bound to run into each other; that’s an undeniable fact—seeing how this is his castle.
But if we both reign in this sensuous compulsion that’s wreaking havoc in our minds, we’ll be fine.
Amicable.
Civil.
Friends with zero benefits.
Like two old monks—very chaste, very unencumbered by flesh’s pleasures. See, easy peasy!
“So what happens next?” I ask, switching my gaze back to Blaise.
“Now, princess, I plan to celebrate in Drovillan tonight. Get absolutely smashed!”
My ears perk up at the sound of that. I’ve been held up in this place for so long that the idea of a night out is like a breath of fresh spring air.
From Nella’s stories, Drovillan is a beautiful, dark medieval city, and my whole body itches at the novelty it represents.
“Take me with you, please! I want to explore, to have some Godsdamn fun!” I supplicate Blaise, my eyes pleading, my breath hitched.
“Uh, uh, kitty. Where I’m going is no place for a lady,” he says, and I huff indignantly.
“Bullshit! May I remind you where I was and what I was doing for a living before you not-so-graciously abducted me?”
The disreputable vampire bursts out laughing, holding his hands up in a placating way. “Heavens, no! For all our sakes, let’s not dwell on that!”
I’m prepared to insist—beg, if I need to—but Killian’s firm voice cuts through our squabble.
“I will take you out to Drovillan, little menace.”
I turn to him to refuse the offer, but his scowl leaves no room for discussion.
“Don’t even try to say no. I will pick you up after nightfall.
Be ready!” With that, he inclines his head slightly and marches out of the room, grumbling under his breath something about infuriating females and good-for-nothing brothers.
“You know, as both his little brother and your big brother, I feel it is kind of my sacred duty to say this. The longer you both play this cat and kitty game, the harder the fall when you both will surrender.”
I frown. “Cat and kitty?”
“Well, neither of you is a mouse, kitty cat, so that’s the best I could come up with. The point is, aren’t you tired of the push and pull already? It’s starting to be harrowing, and I usually enjoy the endless chase.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about,” I respond defensively, backing away towards the door.
“Sure, because I have lived for six hundred rambunctious years for nothing.” His trilling laughter follows me through the empty corridor.
True to his word, a sharp knock comes to my door, right as nightfall creeps in, staining the cloudy sky in darkness. Killian is here for our night out.
I take a steadying breath and give myself one last look in the mirror, fastening the scarlet cloak on top of my warm, black wool dress and leather pants.
With quivering fingers, I pull open the door, and I am greeted with a vision draped in obsidian and shadows. His unruly hair clings to his forehead, covering his smoldering eyes, as he hungrily takes me in.
“Little umbra,” he whispers seductively, his voice wrapped in velvet and the promise of sin.
“Let’s get this over with,” I answer impassively, as if I would rather pluck out my toenails with a dull blade than spend an evening in his presence. Truth be told, I am both giddy and fearful, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I bypass him and start strutting towards the stairwell.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Where’s the earlier glee, little menace? I thought you were dying to get out of my castle,” Killian says as he appears at my side, eating up the distance with calm, calculated strides.
“Yeah, but not with you,” I grumble, and he chuckles darkly.
We descend the floors, and I turn towards the massive doors that lead to the gardens, but he keeps walking, and my eyebrows bunch up in confusion.
“Where are you going?”
He glances down at me over his shoulder, a sly smile painting his lips. “There’s no exit that way, umbra, as you perfectly know from your countless hours of searching for a way out.”
My pointed ears burn brightly, and I gulp in apprehension, following in his footsteps. Fuck, he knows about that?
“I told you from the start, little menace, that I know everything happening in my domain. You just didn’t listen.” His smugness drips like honeyed wine, and I shudder. I had no remote chance of escaping this place, did I? And now, I’m not even sure I want to.
We turn a few more corners, and start descending a spiraled, dark staircase that ends in a long, damp tunnel, illuminated by several torches. So that’s how they go in and out of Sangeries. Fucking tunnels! I mentally facepalm myself for never thinking about this possibility.
At last, we emerge into the cool night air, in the heart of Drovillan.
The city unfolds before me like a mirage conjured from taboos and desires.
It’s a place carved out of obsidian and moonbeams. The countless spires and turrets impale the night sky like the sharp teeth of some slumbering beast. Each steeple is decorated with leaded-glass windows that shine with a cobalt and violet glow.
Intricately adorned bridges arch their way over a river that shimmers in the darkness like a flowing mirror, and candlelit street lamps burn with a soft, unnatural gleam.
The streets and alleyways sparkle with unbridled life.
The sweet scent of perfume and the coppery one of blood mingle in the air.
Vampires clothed in leather and silk walk hand in hand with daring humans.
Their laughter and seductive whispers mingle with the sultry tunes that drift from open windows and exuberant parlors.
I stand beside Killian breathless, my heart thudding not with my usual anxiety, but astonishment. Drovillan is stunning in a way that feels immoral—every cobblestone whispering a forbidden secret, every corner harboring a clandestine encounter.
The city feels alive, as if hedonism is dancing a languid tango with danger, and pleasure wears the mask of something more ruinous.
We stroll aimlessly on the cobbled streets, my eyes roaming over every surface, committing every detail to memory. I have never seen such a marvelous, decadent place. Not Annerough, not Vroni, and for sure not Ibrok, with its gilded mansions and way too flashy establishments.