“What is it, Finley?” The baron’s tone changes, becoming cold and dangerous. “What about Aderick?”
I hear footsteps; Kaithar stealing across the cold ground. My commander is perceptive. He’ll want to be closer to her, in case the baron tries anything stupid.
Before I realize it, I’m moving, too.
I surprise myself.
I don’t really know what I’m planning to do, but I just don’t like this.
“Father, I beg of you. You mustn’t do anything in haste. Aderick… it isn’t good news. He’s been badly hurt.”
“What?” The baron makes a strange sound; a strangled cry of rage. “This is all because of you…”
Slap.
The sound of an open hand hitting flesh resounds loudly in my ears.
“That’s enough.” Kaithar steps in. There’s a scuffle.
Finley’s father roars as Kaith restrains him. “Get your hands off me, you fucking filthy Vikurian.”
Kaithar just chuckles. He’s got the patience of a saint, really, and he’s well able to handle himself, but still.
Nobody talks to my commander like that.
Nobody gets to treat Finley Solisar like that.
Anger surges through me, so intense it burns white-hot. My head swims. A faint red haze descends across my vision, and I’m overcome with a sudden urge to kill that man.
It’s that old battle-lust feeling, because the shadows of war have never left me.
But there’s something else, too.
A certain madness.
This is the part of me I’ve tried so hard to keep suppressed.
It’s been there since the change; barely understood, always lurking beneath the surface, threatening to strip me of everything that makes me civilized.
He hit her.
More than that… he’s drawn blood.
Her blood.
The scent slices through the air like a finely honed blade, obliterating every single thought in my consciousness. It wraps around my soul and pulls me away from this mundane existence, transcending life and death.
I feel impossibly light on my feet. Power surges through me. I could kill that man with a single hand, wrapping my fingers around his feeble neck, crushing his throat, extinguishing his life in an instant.
The world around me becomes a blur as I move faster than even I thought possible. I fly through the doors; down the corridors, passing a couple of servants who don’t even see me.
All they would feel is a rush of wind; a disturbance in the atmosphere.
I couldn’t care less.
I can’t think straight anymore.
Her blood draws me to her. I just want to devour her, and destroy anything that dares to touch what is mine.
16
FINLEY
Pain shoots through my lower face as my hand flies to my mouth. My fingers come away stained with fresh blood—my blood.
He’s split my lip.
I can’t believe you!
Father’s always been stern and demanding; prone to violence when he’s angry, unpredictable at times. He’s lost his temper with me many times… but he’s never hit me in public.
And now a big Vikurian warrior has him pinned to the ground, his knee pressing into his back, and I can’t stop staring at them, because nobody has ever dared challenge my father like this.
“Get off me, filth,” my father snarls. “You dare treat me this way? Your master’s going to have your head for this.”
Kaithar says nothing; he just chuckles softly, as if this sort of thing is nothing to him.
I should be begging for leniency on behalf of my father, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
For the first time in my life, it feels like someone’s on my side.
Father’s eyes dart back and forth as he searches for his men. “Dobson, Negus, do something about this.”
The Ruen knights stand several feet away, their eyes wide, uncertainty flickering across their grizzled features. The older one, Negus, hesitantly starts to draw his sword.
Kaithar pins the man with a dark stare and raises his eyebrows, as if to say: are you really going to try?
Because even though he’s unarmed, the Vikurian stands a head taller than them, and he radiates raw power from every inch of his body. The speed with which he put father down was astonishing.
The ease with which he keeps him down is terrifying.
And the warrior has the nerve to throw me a good-natured glance.
And then he winks.
Honestly, now.
“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Finley. I suspect he’ll be here any moment now. I can only apologize that I wasn’t fast enough to stop this idiot from striking you. Took me by surprise, to be honest. You see, I never could have imagined that anyone who calls himself a father could do that to his own child.”
I blink furiously as sudden tears come to my eyes.
What’s this?
I rarely cry. He protected me. This wasn’t what I’d expected… at all.
“How dare you…” Baron Solisar struggles under Kaithar’s knee, but it’s futile.
“Release His Lordship at once.” Negus has his sword out. He’s approaching slowly; tentatively, his expression telling me he really doesn’t want to do this.
Because he’s noticed the Tyronese soldiers that have materialized from the shadows; they’re standing against the walls, quietly watching the scene unfold.
And they’re all lean and hard-faced and dangerous looking; there’s an edge to them that our fighting men don’t have.
They’re all focused on Kaithar, as if waiting for him to just say the word.
But he doesn’t need to.
Because right then and there, a storm blows through the gates.
Icy wind swirls through the air, tugging and snapping at my hair, penetrating even my thickly lined coat. Specks of frost and snow fly into the air. For a fleeting moment, they shimmer like tiny diamond shards, before scattering into nothingness.
There’s a blur in front of me; a shadow, all black and crimson and pale, slowing and coalescing into solid form.
The wind dies away, leaving nothing but stillness.
And the shadow isn’t a shadow at all.
It’s a man.
“You!” I gasp, meeting familiar crimson eyes. The very same eyes have haunted my dreams these past few nights. They glow dangerously, just like they did when I first encountered him on that frozen road.
My breath hitches.
There isn’t a single shred of doubt left in my mind that I’m in the presence of magic.
The sun is behind him, casting a gentle shadow across his face, encircling his pale hair with a soft, ethereal halo.
His hair is loose and tousled, as if he’s just gotten out of bed. It’s gloriously long and lush, longer than even mine, reaching down past his shoulders.
It’s the color of pearls. Not quite pure white. Not quite as cold as the snow, or as luminous grey-white as the moon.
There’s a hint of golden in it.
Its softness contrasts with his alabaster visage; his chiseled, inhuman perfection, tempered only by the fullness of his lips, which are imbued with the faintest hint of dusky pink.
His expression…
No human is capable of looking at me with that kind of intensity.
I really don’t know whether he wants to devour me or kill me.
And I can’t move. Just like before, I’m unable to move even the tip of my finger as those terrible lips part to reveal the very same fangs that forcibly pierced my skin.