Page 6 of Death Comes for Her
Sound returned to my ears when Eryx halted in a spacious, almost oppressively dark room. He set me back on my feet, uncomfortably clearing his throat.
When had he picked me up?
Seeing the room upright brought the interior into clear perspective. A large fireplace set in black stone, a warm fire radiating within, more of those strange glass encased lights set on a few spare tables in corners. Dark antique curtains covered the windows, blocking any potential light from seeping in.
And two occupants.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” a man leaning on the mantle spoke first, his voice low and deep. His gaze flicked over me, likely from my bedraggled, grimy state, and to the vampire soldier holding my arm.
“Lord Dante.” Eryx dipped his head out of habit more than out of respect.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, captain. Didn’t think we’d be seeing you again so soon.” The man shoved away from the fireplace, confidently striding into the firelight. Dancing red-orange light stressed wicked scars gouged across a ruggedly handsome face. A short beard enhanced his square jaw, and black hair fell in artfully disheveled waves to his shoulders. Hazel eyes glinted with vicious mirth as he smirked at his incoming guests.
“Yes, sir. I’ve come bearing a gift.” Eryx tightened his grip on my upper arm, then shoved me further into the center of the sitting room.
The second figure, a man sitting on a long red velvet couch, dropped the book he was reading, scoffing derisively. He snapped his book before dropping it onto his lap. His snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes sucked the air from my lungs. A shiver assaulted me under the cold scrutiny of his narrowed gaze.
“You’ve brought us a rat,” he drawled slowly. He had the laid-back poise of an aristocrat, and the pointy features of one as well. Every line of his face evoked the same beauty as a blade sharpened to perfection. Clear distaste curled into a sneer as he assessed me from head to toe.
The urge to vomit curdled within my stomach. Thankfully, my guts were empty, saving me from the embarrassment.
“Hold on, brother, do you smell that?” The dark-haired vampire took a calculated step closer, nostrils flaring.
The pale one rolled his eyes. “All I smell is filth and rotten onions.”
“Lord Simon,” Eryx sputtered, audibly swallowing at the man on the couch, “she’s something special, I assure you. She’s a—”
The darker one held up a hand. Silence instantly followed, and Eryx went as still as stone.
Dante, Eryx had called him. The dark-haired vampire stopped, towering over me. My wavering vision cleared enough for me to see broad shoulders, a wide chest. An absolute unit of a man—or perhaps a fucking mountain—smiled down at me with nothing short of amusement and dawning realization in his eyes.
“A fairy?” His hand drifted forward. A miserable groan escaped my lips as the vampire swiped a strong, rough finger over the skin of my neck. He lifted it to his face, rubbing the dried gold flakes of my blood between his fingers. Those hazel eyes snapped up to my face, and his head tilted curiously.
“We haven’t found a fairy in months.” The pale one rose from the couch and all but glided across the floor. His movements were slow and meaningful as he sauntered over with his hands behind his back. He stared down his nose at me with something akin to bored indifference.
“I don’t see any wings, Eryx,” Dante tsked. His disappointment came across as sarcastic.
Eryx licked his lips and sucked in a breath. “Yes, sir. She’s scarred.”
The pale one stepped into the clustered space of bodies. “Let’s see and get this over with.” He reached out first, tugging the already ripped fabric of my dress down over my shoulders. He didn’t stop when a pathetic whine vented free.
Warm air from the fireplace brushed along my exposed back. The fabric of my travel and bloodstained dress slipped down my chest. I had just enough strength to cross my arms over my breasts to hold it in place.
I wished I had something in my stomach to vomit on his fancy black leather shoes.
Accustomed to being assaulted and too weak to fight them, it was easy for the vampires to spin me around. Eryx held my shoulders, bracing me against his chest as the vampire lords, Dante and Simon, ran exploring fingers across my back and down my spine. A shudder of disgust curled deep in my otherwise empty guts.
I knew why they had gone silent—knew what they were so intently admiring.
Six golden scars between my shoulder blades that hugged my spine. Scars that existed as the evidence of my stolen birthright.
“Clipped wings.” Dante sounded amused by that fact. As if it was funny.
“Three sets,” Simon muttered, cold and distracted. “A Monarch?”
Dante scoffed again. “We killed all the Monarchs, brother! Remember their glorious screams when we riddled them with arrows and set their castle on fire?”
“Yes.”
