Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 229266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1146(@200wpm)___ 917(@250wpm)___ 764(@300wpm)
I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell, “why?” as I stared at the pale face and the dried blood that stained his chest. Why had he made that choice? He’d thrown everything away for a short-lived sense of retribution. Against me, who had done nothing to him or his family. None of that had mattered in the end. Now, his son would grow up without a father.
But at least he would live. If he’d been given over in the Rite, he’d likely face a future worse than death. I had no idea how long the third sons and daughters survived within those Temples. Were they…fed upon immediately, even as infants? Small children? Third sons and daughters were given over annually, while the second sons and daughters were given to the Court between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. They lived—well, most of them. Some died at Court due to a sickness of the blood that took them during the night. Casteel had said the vamprys struggled to control their bloodlust, and I now doubted that there’d been an ailment that took them. Instead, it was like what had happened to Malessa Axton, who’d been found with a bite on her throat and her neck broken. It was never confirmed, but I knew Lord Mazeen, an Ascended, had killed her and left her body there, half exposed for anyone to find.
At least Lord Mazeen will harm no one else, I told myself as a savage wave of satisfaction flowed through me. I easily recalled the look of shock etched onto his face when I chopped off his hand. I’d never thought I would be glad to kill anything but a Craven, but Lord Mazeen had proven that false.
The violent joy came to a swift end as thoughts of the children crept back in. How could anyone, mortal or not, hurt young ones like that? And they had been doing it for years—hundreds of years.
Realizing I’d come to a standstill, I started walking again. Chest heavy, I didn’t even bother to look at Jericho. I could tell by the pitiful whimpers coming from him that he was still alive.
I believed everyone deserved dignity in death, even him, but I didn’t feel even one iota of empathy for what he’d brought upon himself.
And Landell? Did I feel sorry for him? Not particularly. What did that say about me?
I didn’t want to think of that so I asked, “Who was that man?”
“His name is Alastir Davenwell. He’s the advisor to the King and Queen. A close family friend. More like an uncle to both Casteel and Malik,” Kieran said, and I jerked a little at the mention of Casteel’s brother.
“Is that why Casteel didn’t want me around him? Because Alastir is an advisor to his parents? Or because he too will wish to chop me into pieces?”
“Alastir is not a man prone to violence, despite the scar he carries. And while he knows his place with the Prince, he is loyal to the Queen and King. There are things that Casteel would not want to get back to his father or mother.”
“Like the ridiculous marriage thing?”
“Something like that.” Kieran shifted the conversation as we rounded the corner and entered the common area where the air was free of the stench of death. “Do you feel pity for the mortal? The one Cas helped escape the Ascended with his family?”
Cas.
Gods, that sounded like such a harmless nickname for such a dangerous man.
I glanced at Kieran as we entered the narrow stairwell, noting that he was without his short sword and bow as he moved in front of me. But he was far from defenseless, considering what he was. I didn’t even bother to make a run for it. I knew I wouldn’t make it more than a foot. Wolven were incredibly fast.
Kieran stopped without warning, spinning around so suddenly that I backed up, hitting the wall. He took a step toward me and dipped his head to mine. Every muscle locked as he inhaled deeply.
Was he…?
His head lowered, the bridge of his nose brushing my temple. He inhaled again.
“What are you doing?” I jerked to the side, putting space between us. “Are you smelling me?”
He straightened, his eyes narrowed. “You…smell different.”
My brows lifted. “Okay? I don’t know what to tell you about that.”
He didn’t seem to hear me as his eyes brightened. “You smell like…”
“If you say I smell like Casteel again, I will punch you in the face,” I promised. “Hard.”
“You do smell like him, but that’s not it.” He shook his head. “You smell of death.”
“Wow. Thanks. But if I do, that is not my fault.”
“You don’t understand.” Kieran eyed me for a moment longer and then turned, starting up the stairwell once more.
No. I didn’t understand, and I really didn’t want to.