Page 2 of Blood Lord

I hate the way they ask my questions, peppering me with requests, and what's worse is the way the women drape themselves across me. If I feel the need to take one to my bed, I'll ask, but I don't need every unmated vrakken jumping into my cave.

Sex used to be the only thing I could enjoy. That euphoric feeling would bring me back to life as I started to go numb, but now even that has grown quite boring.

Feeding is the only thing that brings me back to life, and that is only because I let myself fall into a state of disrepair before eating. It's the literal feeling of coming back from the brink of death.

It reminds me a lot of when I was Made.

And that was the most alive I have ever felt, waking up no longer human. Too bad that I didn't recognize at the time that I had signed myself up for a pointless, neverending existence.

Someone raps against the door at the front of my cave, and I sigh again. I'm not going to answer it. I don't have it in me today to deal with anyone. Maybe in a few weeks.

That's the only upside to living with a bunch of immortal beings. Our concept of time is so skewed that no one is overly persistent. There's no reason to be.

So, it surprises me when they knock again. And again. And again. Until they are full on hammering on the door and I realize that I have to answer it or we'll stay like this for days. Akeldama help me, for these vrakken don't seem to run out of energy these days.

I peel myself up off the floor, stalking across the room angrily. I don't even have a good reason to be annoyed because what am I going to go back to? Lying on the floor and griping to myself? But dammit, I want that option.

I swing the door open with a low growl. "What?'

The vrakken on the other side is young. The circles around his eyes are only gray, but they'll darken with age. He doesn't have wings, and his skin is still pale, not an icy white. I'd say he was one of the last we Made, a few hundred years ago.

"The Council has sent me to summon you, sir. They are expecting your presence."

I snort. "Give them my deepest apologies." It comes out like a sneer, but I can't be bothered to care as I go to slam the door in his face.

But the pesky thing catches it. I snarl, getting ready to lunge at him and maybe scare him a bit when he says something that actually stops me. It catches my attention, an unusual feeling.

"Brinda asked for you specifically." He licks his dry lips, and I notice what a pale shade of pink they are. He must be dying of thirst, especially as he keeps gazing at my mouth longingly. I know my lips are bright red with fresh blood. "She said to promise you it's something interesting."

I grit my teeth, but I have to admit I'm curious. Because it is Brinda, who knows me very well, and the idea of anything remotely interesting happening around here, I agree to go.

"Fine." I tell him. And maybe I am growing annoyingly soft in my old age, but I stalk to the spring and swipe a caesin from the water. Thrusting it into his hands, I snarl, "But feed yourself before we go. Your stare is irritating me."

2

Selene

The circus tent looks even bigger here on the edge of Liiandor, battling the trees for the greatest height. The stars are the perfect backdrop, outlining the bright colors of the fabric, and I know it will draw the eyes of anyone within a few miles.

A thrill of excitement shoots through me. This is supposed to be our biggest show yet. We've been growing in our fame, and after weeks of peppering the city with flyers and spreading the world—with Nielmor's protection, of course; humans can't wander the streets of Liiandor and not expect to be snatched by new masters—the night is finally here.

Maybe I shouldn't love a life of being allowed to eat because I'm interesting enough to sneer at, but there are worse things a woman could do on this planet.

Much worse.

So, I hum under my breath as I sit before my mirror, brushing out my hair and pinning it back so that the long strands don't fall in my face but cascade down my back. I've become quite adept at using the makeup Nielmor procured for me, and I twist under the soft lights of my tent, looking at my face from every angle.

I've never considered myself pretty. Maybe that's the way of growing up around dark elves, but I know that the point is not to make others fawn over my beauty.

No, I enjoy being striking. All the makeup and costuming highlights my 'alien-like' features as Nielmor calls them, especially under the harsh lights of the big tent. I use the rogue and shimmer powder to draw out my high cheekbones, slender nose, and brighten my eyes.

By the time I'm done, I look just as intended: like a literal fallen star.

That's what Nielmor calls me. I am his fallen star, bright and white and shimmering. I don't mind it. It keeps me in his good graces, and we all know what happens when we fall out of those.

While I'm not free under the circus, I do have more freedom than most humans do. The threat is still there, working beneath a dark elf, but he seems to be taken with me. And he probably doesn't want to do anything that would threaten to damage my voice. That would really put a damper on his show.

But I do everything to keep him happy, and he rewards me for that. I even get my own tent—and the privacy of getting dressed alone! That's practically unheard of, at least here on Liiandor, for humans.

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