Chapter 13
M y jaw dropped as my gaze was drawn upward.
Rows of arches surrounded us, a marble statue in each alcove.
The rows spiraled several stories high, forming a curved wall that surrounded a vast garden.
An enormous statue of a woman rose in the center.
Breathtakingly lovely, she held a bowl large enough to fit all the residents of Derryton inside.
Water spilled over the edges and filled a pool at her feet.
Flowers and greenery floated in the water, which lapped against steps that appeared to lead into small temples at the base of the wall.
But for all the garden’s beauty, it was obviously a ruin.
The stairs were cracked, the marble chipped and stained.
In places, the greenery had run wild. Thick tangles dripped from the alcoves and climbed up the woman’s robes.
Long tendrils spilled over the edges of her bowl.
Crumbling stone benches ringed the grassy area where I stood.
Shafts of sunlight sliced across the marble like arrows, bathing the towering wall of arches in gold.
If the place had ever possessed a ceiling, it was lost to time.
“Stop fighting!” Vander growled.
His command jerked my attention back down. A short distance away, he wrestled with Lorcan on a marble walkway. Hissing, Lorcan swung at him. Vander dodged the blow, bent, and slung Lorcan over his shoulder with a meaty arm clamped around Lorcan’s thighs.
“Bite me and I’ll snap your fucking fangs off!
” Vander shouted. Sweat dripped off him as he hurried to the grass and dumped Lorcan onto his feet.
Black eyes glittering, Lorcan took another swing.
Vander spun away, moving gracefully for such a big man.
As Lorcan’s fist sailed through empty air, Vander hooked a foot behind Lorcan’s ankle and knocked him to the ground.
Lorcan landed on his back and Vander pounced, falling on top of him and pinning Lorcan’s thighs beneath one of his. In one swift motion, he tore open Lorcan’s jacket and buried his fangs in Lorcan’s neck.
Lorcan jolted. He clawed at Vander, his fingers digging into Vander’s biceps. A second later, his groan echoed around the garden, and he clutched at Vander like he meant to drag him closer. But not to fight him.
No, this was…different.
My throat went dry, visions of my first night at the Drakhold rushing me. Lorcan and Vander had argued at the fountain, their bodies close. Like now.
The tension left Vander’s body by inches, until he eased into Lorcan like someone sinking into a warm bath. Lorcan’s hair spilled over the grass, and his eyelids fluttered. He slid a hand up Vander’s arm to his nape, holding the larger man against him like he feared he might leave.
But from where I stood, there was little chance of that. Vander’s jacket had ridden up, exposing the curves of his buttocks. The round muscle flexed under its tight covering of leather as he rolled his hips against Lorcan’s. Positioned as they were, Vander’s manhood was right over…was against…
Fire scalded my cheeks. My heart leaped and skipped, beating against the prison of my ribs.
Embarrassment flooded me. Because it was wrong to intrude on something so private.
And yet, I couldn’t stop watching. Instead, some deep compulsion kept my gaze locked on the men.
The garden around us was a marvel. Pure magic, if I had to guess.
But the spectacle unfolding on the grass held my attention like a drumbeat.
The men were a study in contrasts—Lorcan dark and pale, Vander russet-haired and tan.
Lorcan was lean with whipcord strength and mesmerizing reflexes.
Vander was brute force. But he wasn’t brutal now.
On the contrary, he was gentle, one large hand smoothing over Lorcan’s hip and squeezing.
He pulled Lorcan’s groin more firmly against his.
The men moaned together. Lorcan spread his legs, black leather parting around Vander’s hips. He hitched a thigh higher, a masculine whimper easing past his lips.
The sound broke the spell that had fallen over me.
Face flaming, I looked around the garden.
My gaze snagged on one of the little temples, and I started toward it.
I took two steps when my foot caught on something hard.
Pain shot up my toe, and I bit back a cry.
But a sound must have leaked out because Vander jerked his head up.
Lorcan roused beneath him and then both men locked eyes with me.
Lorcan’s were white around his irises again, the bloodlust that had gripped him seemingly gone.
The three of us stared at one another, the steady cascade of the statue’s fountain like a shout in the sudden silence.
Ignoring my throbbing toe, I hooked a thumb toward the nearest temple. “I, um…I was going to explore.”
Vander shot to his feet. “Corinthe,” he said, crossing to me. He lifted a hand like he meant to reach for me. Appearing to think better of it, he lowered his arm. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” I said. Over Vander’s shoulder, Lorcan sat up.
Vander spun and pointed at him. “Stay put.”
Irritation flashed over Lorcan’s face, but his tone was more fatigued than angry as he drew up a knee. He touched two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. “Yes, Captain.”
My fascination took another turn. Had Lorcan just teased Vander? Whatever they were to each other, they were more than prince and captain. And the animosity that always brewed between them was absent.
Vander’s features were tense as he turned back to me. This time, he took my hand. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Yes.” Curiosity drove my gaze as I looked between him and Lorcan, questions hovering on my lips. But where did I even begin? An awkward silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the fountain. “You don’t hate each other?” I blurted.
Lorcan looked at Vander, obviously waiting for the larger man to answer.
Vander cleared his throat. “Ah…no. No, we don’t hate each other.”
Well. That was one question answered. But why did they act like enemies?
“You should sit down,” Vander told me in a firm tone. His expression was just as firm. Apparently we weren’t going to discuss what I’d just witnessed. Fine. I had other questions.
“What is this place?” When Vander hesitated, I snatched my fingers from his. “I’ll have the truth, Sir Vander. All of it.”
His brows drew together. “I have no intention of lying to you.”
“I find that difficult to believe. You’ve lied to me from the moment you took me from Sausberg.”
His eyes darkened to pewter. “Would you have preferred I leave you on the auction block?”
Anger put a growl in my voice. “Those nobles were terrible people, but I highly doubt any of them would have forced a captive to eat his own fingers.”
“You’d be surprised,” Vander said, his growl matching mine.
“Vander,” Lorcan said.
The prince’s voice cut through the tension. Abruptly I realized that Vander and I had drifted closer. We stood toe to toe, the hem of my skirts brushing his boots. The last time we were this close, I’d kissed him—and then he’d kissed me.
You’re beautiful. And I’m stupid.
He’d kissed me. But a moment ago, he looked ready to kiss Lorcan.
“You’re right,” Vander said finally. “I wasn’t honest with you.” He gestured to a bench on the edge of the grass. “Sit, Princess. This is a long story.”
It was my turn to hesitate. Lorcan remained on the ground, his forearm over his knee and his dark gaze steady.
“Please,” Vander added.
Gathering my skirts, I went to the bench and sat. Vander followed, tucking his scabbard out of the way before seating himself on the other end. Bracing his hands on his knees, he gazed around the arches.
“This place is called the Everless. It has other names, but that’s the one most people use. Not that anyone ever comes here. It’s something of an in-between place.”
“Like the Wendlewood?” I asked.
Vander looked at me, a faint smile in his eyes. “A little bit, yes. I’m something of an in-between creature.”
“I thought you were a turned vampire.”
“I am. But I’m also a changeling.”
Surprise parted my lips. Most Gheddans dismissed changelings as nothing more than a charming folktale.
Parents told their children stories of elves who crept into humans’ homes in the middle of the night and stole infants from their cribs.
The elves produced even fewer offspring than vampires.
Driven by a desire to nurture young they couldn’t have, they raised the occasional human child as their own.
The stolen children were called changelings—humans forever altered by Veradorn’s magic, which gave them various gifts.
The idea of a changeling had always seemed far-fetched.
What would an immortal as powerful as an elf want with a human?
But I’d seen plenty of magic since I crossed the Feyline.
If Rasimir could have servants with scorpion tails, why not an elven changeling?
I shot a look at Lorcan, who observed us with the same steady expression. “You knew this,” I said, making it a statement.
“Yes,” he said.
I turned to Vander. “Does Rasimir know?”
The smile in Vander’s eyes grew bitter. “All too well. Rasimir turned me.”
Of course. I should have realized it before. Vander was the captain of Rasimir’s personal guard. Aside from Lorcan, he was closer to Rasimir than anyone.
“This happened two hundred years ago?” I asked.
Nodding, Vander rubbed a palm over the reddish scruff on his cheek. “The elves took me when I was two months old. I never knew my human family. Even back then, Rasimir’s wars had pushed most of the elves out of Nocta. I was raised in Veradorn, the elven plane.”
I looked at the towering statue. Long waves of marble hair covered the woman’s ears, but a closer inspection revealed a pointed tip where a human’s would have a soft curve. “Are we in Veradorn now?”