Page 63 of Xantera
At last, even the Chosen One to my left pushes his plate back, but he doesn’t give a satisfied sigh. Instead, his hands clench over the table, as if preparing to have to fight off the Guardian behind him at any moment. I tense up, too, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
The First Guardian claps his hands, a sound like stone clacking twice against stone.
“Now that you are fed and nurtured, Chosen Ones, it is time for you to perform your duty to Xantera. In exchange for ourprotection from the horrors beyond the Wall, you will provide us the sustenance we need with honor and dignity. If you will please sit up on the table.”
My stomach clenches, sickeningly full from the meal they just forced us to eat. The command couldn’t be any clearer, though.
Get up on the table because nowwe’rethe food.
It’s just as humiliating as it is frightening when I stand up and turn around to face the Third Guardian’s fanged grin, his lips pulled tight as he assesses me.
Before he can ask, I spit out, “I can lift myself.”
Scooting all the dishes away to clear a spot, I plant my palms on the surface of the hard table behind me and hoist myself up. All around me, I can hear the other Chosen Ones struggling to do the same, some clambering up on chairs to do so, others lifted forcedly by their Guardians. One of them on the other end of the table is crying, her sniffles radiating through me in waves of fury.
My mother had to do this.
Diggory’s daughter had to do this.
Every Chosen One before me had to do this—face a reminder of the feast we’re not allowed to have back in the city and then become that feast for others.
The Third Guardian sits in the chair I just vacated and slides it forward an inch toward my knees. He tilts his head at me, his pupils tracing my neck and then my arms, his nostrils flaring. His golden hair falls just below his wide shoulders. He’s built so much differently than the men I typically lay eyes on. That plane of a chest, his shoulders carved from stone—it’s like a trap for women everywhere. No one would be able to deny how striking he is, how eerily beautiful he looks, like a snare ready to snap its prey when they’re lured in.
His own knees widen.
He can’t possibly expect me to sit in his lap and straddle him… can he?
A smirk forms across his vampire lips before he licks them. “Any part of your body will do, Saskia—whichever part you prefer. No need to take off your cloak… unless you want to, of course.”
I clench my teeth at the suggestive tone, but Lucan stays utterly silent, as if giving me the choice to react howIwant to. Because the Third Guardian is actually giving me the option to drop myself into his lap and offer him my neck, I realize. Like it’s a game to him—getting his Chosen Ones to fawn at his feet after a few sultry words.
Unfortunately for him, creepy crimson eyes and cold marble skin aren’t really my type.
Even though I know defying him could very well send me to my grave, I can’t help the words from spilling through my teeth. “You’re the last monster in the world I’d remove my cloak for,” I say in a low voice that nobody else in the room would be able to hear—besides Lucan himself, who inhales with an emotion I can’t quite name.
The Third Guardian’s pupils burn blood-red, but before he can decide whether to kill me or not, I roll up my sleeve and stick out my arm.
“I’m sure it tastes just as satisfactory from my wrist—but only if I’m alive, right? Might taste a bit stale if I’m dead.”
I’ve got him. I can see by the way his eyes shutter and drop to my wrist, his tongue darting out a few times to wet his lips again. Oh, gross. I squeeze my eyes shut when he reaches out his hand, not wanting to see it happen but feeling every movement anyway.
Long, clammy fingers lock around my wrist. A pair of rock-hard lips press against my skin, even colder than I expected. He’s chosen to keep me alive despite my insolence. For now.
You foolish, brave, stubborn fucking woman,Lucan chastises, finally exhaling.How the hell am I going to survive you?
I don’t have time to wonder what he means. Sounds erupt around me from my fellow Chosen Ones—gasps, whimpers, shouts, even a scream. But contrary to the underlying assumptionthat a Guardian drinking from you would be more than just honorable, these all sound like noises of pain to me. Only pain.
And when two sharp needles pierce my delicate skin, I can confirm it: there’s no rush of gratification or pleasure. Only a feeling like hot poison leaking into my veins and rooting its way up my arm like snakes of fire.
I stay quiet. I won’t give the Third Guardian the satisfaction.
But his light hum travels up my forearm, like he just can’t help himself.
I’ll make you forget,Lucan promises desperately, his voice mimicking the pain I feel.Every second of this nightmare, I’ll bury it so deep, Saskia, it won’t be able to haunt you.
I nod inside my own head, focusing on Lucan’s words, on his presence. That warmth that stamps out the iciness of everything around me. The muscles in my face relax as I block out my surroundings and the siphoning of my blood goes numb.
Just you and me, baby,Lucan whispers, and I believe him.
