Today's Reading
When it came to Émilie, he believed there was no such thing as coincidence.
The scent of freshly spilled blood drifted in Bastien's direction. Another wounded creature collapsed to the ground a stone's throw from where he sat. When the horned fey recognized Bastien, she shrank back in fear, clutching the open wound beneath her neck with both hands.
It didn't matter. The smell of her blood beckoned to Bastien, as ever. The lone vampire among them, crouched in the darkness.
In the past, there had been many blood drinkers who called the Sylvan Wyld their home. They'd ruled the Winter Court until their insatiable appetite for control had cost them everything. By rights, Bastien should never have been allowed to return. But there was no one left to enforce the exile.
And Bastien had never been the sort to comply.
A sweet perfume rose from the fey blood glistening on the stone floor. The young female—her horns curved and her hooves cloven— rasped another breath, the long gash along her collarbone continuing to spill, warm and rich and fragrant. The blood called to Bastien with a forbidden melody. Cursedly beautiful. Deliciously damned.
He locked his jaw, even as he felt his features start to transform. His fangs cut through his bottom lip, bringing the taste of his own blood onto his tongue.
Bastien had never fed on a fey creature. The scent of their blood was enough to promise that its taste would be like water on the lips of a man lost in the desert.
He inhaled. Then exhaled.
Monstrous. Even now, after all the suffering he'd witnessed, still his thirst sang the sweetest song. Bastien forced himself to look away from the ruby- red blood just as commotion resounded from the blue darkness closest to the mouth of the cavern.
A tall fey creature struggled against the grip of their captors.
Despite the murk, Bastien's heightened senses recognized the familiar garb of a Grey Cloak warrior, one of the elite guards tasked with protecting the Lady of the Vale.
Bastien stood, his hands turning to fists at his sides. What was a Grey Cloak doing in the Sylvan Wyld?
A massive centaur held the Grey Cloak with one arm, while a redcap goblin prodded the warrior from behind with a spear. The third dark fey, this one a lean, dark-haired amabie, grasped the end of an iron chain bound to the Grey Cloak's joined wrists. As the warrior fought their restraints, a faint sizzling sound emitted from the parts of their skin touching the dark metal.
The Grey Cloak was not alone in their injuries. Half the centaur's face was burned from where silver bullets had grazed his cheek. A makeshift binding was wrapped around his right shoulder and forearm. The redcap was missing an eye. And though the diminutive amabie appeared unscathed, her hands and sleeves were covered in dried blood.
It was likely someone the amabie loved had died in her arms.
The Grey Cloak warrior winced and straightened to face Bastien. Even in the dim light from deep inside the mountain, Bastien could see the disdain on his handsome face. A sneer curled his lips. It was clear from the cuts and bruises along his jaw and knuckles that he'd fought his captors every step of the way.
All those around Bastien fell silent, watching intently.
The ebon-haired amabie spat beside the Grey Cloak's feet, her white fingers curling tighter around the iron chain. "We caught this one just beyond the reaches of the mountain." She looked around, her beak-like mouth shaping into a sneer. "What should we do with him?"
"Feed him to the children!" cried a creature from above.
Another screamed, "Burn the skin from his body with iron tongs.'
"Tear him apart, limb from limb," yelled a mushroom-headed hob.
"No," boomed the voice of the massive centaur. His gaze locked on Bastien. "Ask the vampire. The one whose arrival portended our suffering." Accusation flashed in his eyes. "The one who—despite his bloodline—holds such affection for summer scum. Let us see if Nicodemus' heir knows how to mete out justice."
Anger flared in Bastien's body. He stood, his chin high, ready to fight.
Then an injured winter fey groaned nearby. Bastien glanced around. They had suffered enough. He would not be baited by their pain.
Instead, Bastien fixed his attention on the green-eyed stare of the grey-cloaked warrior. "I gather," he began, "that you were sent to find the Lady of the Vale's assassin."
The warrior's nostrils flared, his sight narrowing.
...
