Page 45 of Eternal Ruin
“Since when do they govern us?”
He glanced at the ceiling, searching for patience. Uxlay’s laws were a noose around his neck and it made his skin tight to defend them.
“This Andreyas, if he’s old as you say, may know where the Death artifact is,” she said, a dangerous curve to her voice.
“You’d have an easier time drawing blood from stone. If he senses your threat to Uxlay, he will destroy you.”
A flame sparked in her gaze. “Nothing you haven’t tried to do.”
Over the last two centuries, Susenyos had tried to kill Arin four times. She always survived. He had the feeling he’d try again this year.
“Fine,” he heard himself say, ignoring Taj’s surprised sound. “I will bring in new acti to feed the Nefrasi—thosewillingandeager. But we will never become like Lusidio. Never.”
Arin gave him a thin smile, something like approval in her eyes. “Your choice to hide within this pitiful campus may finally serve a purpose.”
“I want to speak to all of them first,” he demanded. “Where is the Nefrasi hideout?”
“Once you prove yourself fully.” She looked down her nose at him, skilled in the art of making everyone insignificant.
Susenyos commended himself for not lunging for her throat. Still, he didn’t break his wrathful gaze until the three faded into shadows. Then Susenyos leaned heavily on the windowsill, sweat breaking out along his forehead.
His fangs were becoming too sensitive against his own tongue.
“You need to drink her blood,” Iniko said firmly.
Susenyos released a pained laugh. “I’ve ruined myself.”
The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him. He was hunting the artifacts so he could wield power and free himself from Lusidio, yet here he was binding himself to a girl who once wanted to kill him. Perhaps still did.
Susenyos didn’t remember getting back to his quarters, though he suspected Iniko and Taj carried him there. He removed his shirt and slipped into bed, staringat the ceiling. It was too quiet. The soundproof walls were built shortly after vampires complained about the unending stream of water in the Bath of Arowa, the night parties and feedings. But he was searching for a specific heartbeat—hers.
Misery ached in his fangs. He hadn’t been able to sleep well since the day he left Adane House. He didn’t think it was possible to both miss and loathe a place. Yet Adane House lay suspended between the two. He missed the room he’d tailored to himself, the sun reaching in like a goddess’s touch to wake him from deep sleep. Most hated the piercing ray of a morning sun, but he adored it. Lay half naked and let it sear into him like a white blade. It was the only time of day he felt her. The Sage he kept seeing at the moment of near death. He’d extend his hand into the warmth, sunlight weaving through his fingers, reaching and trying to catch what he could not.
Run and live. Her soft voice had haunted him since the first time he heard it, familiar yet foreign.Find your strength.
The scent of ink and paper from the scrolls would wash over him gently then. And he would lose himself a little in those he didn’t abandon. Those he was strong for.
Most of all, though, he missed the study lounge where he could open “Letter to the Immortal”deliveries by the dreaded fireplace, glancing up to see Kidan’s frustrated face as she struggled with Dranacti, drawing those curious shapes. She’d made herself part of his house, part of his mind without his permission, and now he couldn’t picture that room without her.
Only now everything was bleak. The pain and loss of his vampirism made the sun in his room heatless, bleached the scent of his letters, and made Kidan slip out of his grasp. Susenyos had knelt before his father king once, yet that house brought him to his knees again. He felt as he had back then. Weak, begging like a child for a lesser punishment.
There was fear too—knee buckling and familiar—that Samson would discover his secret and rip out his heart.
He was of better use outside. Strong.
When he did sleep, the dream that visited him was always the same. It started with a forest, a girl dying, and infected earth bleeding black.
Tonight, it was different.
He dreamed of Kidan. The suppleness of her skin, the way her curves fit neatly into his palms as her voice poured into him. He imagined walking out of his roomsright now and following her intoxicating scent. He could find it easily among the corridors and turns: broken oak and a hint of crushed rose. A heady creation meant to torture him. She would be asleep in a corner of the library, her soft face buried in books and avoiding the house like him. He wouldn’t feel the floor as he glided to her. His claws, already emerged, would move aside her braids.
The hunger in him twisted and knotted.
Endless.
18.
KIDAN
