Page 47 of To Dwell in Shadows
When at last they reached the bottom, Vanthee tried to take Sam’s hand again.
“The way to Zaybris is treacherous. Let me lead you.”
“You can lead without touching me,” he said. Vanthee pursed her lips, but she didn’t push further.
He continued following her past cells filled with the depraved and corrupt. Most ignored them, though a few pleaded for freedom, or simply for attention. At last, Vanthee’s pace slowed. She stopped before one of the most decrepit cells they’d seen. Sam peered inside. It was dark, but he could make out a figure lying on a metal cot at the back, staring up at the ceiling.
Zaybris.
A jolt of anticipation surged through him. His fingers trembled at his sides from the overwhelming pressure of everything he had carried for so long now about to pour out.
“Here he is,” Vanthee said. “May I stay to watch you inflict your wrath?”
“I’d like to be alone.” The words came out breathless. This was it, the moment he had envisioned in countless daydreams andnightmares. It was meant to be just him and Zaybris. He didn’t want an audience.
Vanthee’s face fell. “I will leave you then. But call for me when you’re finished, to help you out.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Vanthee walked away with slow, languid steps, obviously delaying her departure. When she finally disappeared around a corner, Sam extended a claw and tapped against the bars of the cell. The sound made Zaybris sit up, though it seemed to take great effort for him to stand.
Sam was shocked by his appearance. When he had last seen the vampire in Aurelia, he’d looked just as Sam had remembered him—healthy, despite his paleness, tall, blond, with a bearing of pure arrogance.
The creature before him now was skeletal. Only a few strands of hair clung to his scalp where the bonewhite of his skull wasn’t peeking through. His nose had completely rotted off, leaving two empty slits at the center of his face. The clothes he wore were tattered and filthy, most likely the same one he had worn when he transported Selene to this realm.
Zaybris shuffled closer to the bars, then gazed up at Sam with sunken, rheumy eyes.
“It’s you,” Zaybris said, his tone was surprised, like he was being visited by an old friend.
“Yes.”
“You’ve come home.”
“I have.”
Zaybris tried to peer behind him. “Is your mother here? Has she mentioned me?”
“No.”
Zaybris curled his fingers, the remaining nails cracked and blackened, around the bars, leaning in. “She is busy with her royal duties, no doubt. Is she not the most glorious queen?”
“Indeed.”
“I know she’ll be here to visit me any day now. Have you brought me some blood? It’s been many weeks since I received my last drop.”
“No.” A bead of sweat slid down Sam’s temple, despite the chill in the air. He could tell that Zaybris was not in his right mind, but that didn’t change what he intended to do. “Vampire, can you guess why I am here?”
Zaybris blinked, then scratched at what was left of his ear. “Is this a game?”
“It is not a game.” Sam leaned closer to the iron bars. “I am a demon of Vengeance. Had you not ripped me from my home, my role here would be to make the dead feel the pain they caused others in life.”
Zaybris swallowed. “I see.”
“And now it’s your turn.”
Zaybris began to hobble backward. “But that was so long ago. Surely, you’re not still dwelling on such things.”
“Oh, I’ve dwelled on it for decades.”
