Page 50 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

“Don’t be indecent,” I huffed.

“I don’t thinkI’mthe indecent one here.” Then, “I don’t think you want to keep him waiting. He was very insistent you come now.”

“But—”

“That little thing will probably put him in better spirits,” Erekkus said breezily, turning away. “We can dream.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

The first words out of Atrius’s mouth when I walked through the door.

I gritted my teeth.

“I heard you were very eager to see me,” I said sweetly. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting as I changed.”

“Close the door.”

I did. Atrius had claimed the warlord’s chambers, of course, though it was almost funny now to witness him among all this cheap finery. He was sprawled out in a velvet armchair near the fireplace, a gaudy purple thing marred by cigarillo burns and several very suspicious-looking stains. His limbs skewed out limply. He was shirtless, the fire playing over the lean furrows of his muscles.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Atrius half-dressed. More than his appearance, I was startled by his demeanor. Everything about him, from his stance to his expression to the few flashes of emotion he allowed to slip through his walls, reeked of utter discontentment.

He eyed me.

“You look ridiculous,” he snapped.

“What, you don’t like it?” I made a show of flouncing the little lace-lined silk skirt. “Shocking, since Aaves was clearly a man of great taste.”

“Don’t let any of the soldiers see you in that. Come here.”

The words were cold and clipped. Erekkus wasn’t joking. Atriuswasin a sour mood.

I did as he asked, crossing from cold marble tile to slightly-dirty white bearskin.

Up close, I could sense something noxious pulsing in his aura—he tried to tamp it down, hide it behind that steel wall that usually shielded all his emotions, but it was too powerful to hide. I felt it like the throbbing heat of a fire on the other side of a door. It was just as painful, like a wound, but unfamiliar—I’d sensed many illnesses before, physical and emotional, and none felt quite like this.

I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He looked to the flames and didn’t answer, his scowl deepening.

I kept reaching toward him with my magic, prodding gently, succumbing to my curiosity. I risked touching his hand, just to get a stronger sense?—

He jerked it away.

“I hear that some of the Arachessen can use the power of Acaeja to heal,” he said. “Can you?”

His tone was so sharp and aggressive that it sounded more like a rebuke than a question.

I fought the urge to grimace.

“Not well, unfortunately.”

I had never been much of a healer. Some of my Sisters specialized in it—they were able to read the threads within a body and use them to manipulate wounds or illnesses, though it was a slow process and not as instantly helpful as a healer trained under the magic of gods more naturally attuned to medicine. Still, I’d seen them perform remarkable feats with it.

I had trained in the method, as all Arachessen did, but it had never been a strength.

“But you know something,” he said.

“I can try.”

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