Blood Bound Page 16

  Miria reached over her shoulder for Aeidan’s face, clawing for his eyes, his nose, anything that would give her an edge against him. She found nothing but air behind her.

  She couldn’t die here. Not now, with Zephyr’s still-warm corpse hanging at the top of the cliff behind her. Not before she had a chance to tear apart the one who had gotten him killed.

  “Fuck you.” Miria spat out blood onto the ground.

  Aeidan’s punch came hard and fast, catching her unprepared and knocking her head into the wall. The world spun as Miria stumbled back.

  Dizzy though she was, she took advantage of his loosened grip to spin away from him. “Is that all?”

  Aeidan howled with rage and swung at her face again. This time, she moved out of the way just in time to send his fist slamming into the brick wall behind her.

  She dove for his feet. His legs buckled, and he fell to the ground. Miria jumped on top of him, pinning his arms down with her legs.

  His laugh came out as an infuriating sputter. “No matter what you do to me, it won’t bring him back.”

  She wrapped her hands around his throat and pressed as hard as she could. Aeidan thrashed beneath her.

  She held firm.

  When she’d beaten the shit out of him to defend Azalea, he hadn’t been the one who deserved it. But he deserved it now. He deserved to die.

  And there was no one to pull her off of him this time.

  His hands clawed at her arms, his fingernails digging into her skin. His laughter still rang in her ears, surrounded her.

  She couldn’t let him hurt anyone again. She pushed harder on his neck.

  The color drained from his face, leaving him shades of blue and purple.

  But the laughter wouldn’t stop.

  “Miria,” a soft voice called out from behind her.

  “Walk away, Azalea.” Miria didn’t give in, didn’t budge at all. She wouldn’t stop now—she couldn’t. She had to stop the laughter. It burrowed into her consciousness, consuming her.

  The presence behind Miria lingered, though she didn’t dare turn around. She couldn’t face Azalea. Not now. Not until she was done.

  Aeidan gasped and sputtered for breath beneath her until, finally, he offered no further resistance. His lifeless body stilled, and the panicked features of his face went slack.

  But his laughing remained, echoing through her mind.

  “Just shut up!” she yelled.

  “Miria?” Azalea’s voice called out again. Her footsteps crunched in the dirt behind Miria. Azalea wrapped her arms around her, pulling her gently back.

  “Get off of me,” Miria snapped. “He has to stop laughing. He won’t stop.”

  “He’s not laughing, Miria,” Azalea said softly. “He never was.”

  Miria relaxed her grip on his throat and let Azalea pull her to her feet. She stood over Aeidan, still breathing heavily. She had expected to feel a sense of satisfaction at Aeidan’s death. He’d caused Azalea pain, had caused Zephyr’s death. And yet, as she stood over his corpse, Miria felt nothing but a cold, suffocating emptiness.

  Miria buried her face in her hands. She couldn’t face Azalea, not after she’d witnessed her murdering Aeidan. She didn’t have to kill him. She wanted to. Just like she’d wanted to kill the vampire and his elven partner.

  She was a murderer thrice over, gods forgive her, and this time, Azalea watched her do it. How could she face her now?

  Miria searched for words she could use to justify what she’d done, but none came.

  “It’s okay,” Azalea said, wrapping her arms around Miria.

  Miria allowed herself to sink into her friend’s arms and buried her face into her shoulder. Azalea’s scent, flowery and fresh, enveloped Miria, allowing her a safe refuge. Her chest shuddered, and all of the grief she’d been holding in poured out of her in heaving sobs.

  Azalea ran her hands through Miria’s hair and kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry for not being here for you. For everything.”

  “He’s gone,” Miria murmured into Azalea’s skin.

  The image of Zephyr’s body jerking against the rope at his neck flashed in her mind, and Miria held Azalea tighter.

  Azalea was all she had left. There was nothing and no one else.

  In a way, Azalea knew this was her fault, too. She should have stopped Miria sooner instead of standing there waiting until Aeidan was dead. She should have done something.

  But after what Aeidan did to Zephyr, how could she take Miria’s anger from her? Miria deserved her vengeance.

  And Aeidan didn’t deserve to be saved.

  “Turn around! Both of you, step away from the body!” Lucian stood at the edge of the alleyway, accompanied by three other vampires. They swarmed the tight space, cutting off their only escape.

  Azalea pulled Miria up to a standing position and guided her away from Aeidan. She pushed herself between the vampires and her friend.

  “I saw what happened here. Aeidan attacked her. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Save it until we get to the watchtower,” Lucian snarled.

  A vampire pulled Azalea’s arms roughly behind her and pushed her forward. “Sir, what should we do with the body?”

  The captain of the guard stared down at Aeidan with disdain, considering the question. “Leave him. We’ll send the others to clean up this mess later. Our priority right now is questioning the living ones quickly. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to fit in a second execution tonight.”

  “Wait,” Azalea cried. “You can’t do this! I need to talk to Lord Nero. I’m—”

  “I know who you are,” Lucian snapped. “But you witnessed a murder tonight. Being Lord Nero’s consort won’t get you anywhere with me.”

  “Lord Nero wouldn’t like this,” Azalea said. “He wouldn’t want to see her die without trying to defend herself. That’s all she did!”

  “You know nothing about what Lord Nero would want. And he certainly doesn’t have time to concern himself with—”

  “Captain?” A cool voice came from behind Lucian. “What’s going on here?”

  Lucian stepped away from the women and stood up straight, giving Nero a respectful nod as he approached. “My lord, I wasn’t expecting you all the way down here tonight.”

  “I came here to bring home the elf you’re currently treating so poorly,” Nero said, voice low and menacing. “I hope you have a good reason.”

  “I do, my lord.” Lucian gestured to Aeidan’s body. “The silver-haired one just murdered him, and the other is a witness.”

  Nero’s grey eyes met Azalea’s. “Is this true?”

  “It is,” Azalea said. “But I watched him attack her first.”

  “Liar,” Lucian said. He pointed at Miria. “She is the girlfriend of the elf who was executed tonight. She was looking for an excuse to take revenge on the one who turned him in.”

  “Zephyr isn’t…” Miria paused, and her defiant mask slipped a little. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. And you’re wrong about me.”

  “Please believe us,” Azalea said, looking to Nero for help.

  “Azalea comes with me. Do what you must with the other,” Nero said.

  “Wait!” Azalea said. “Before he attacked Miria, Aeidan said he planted a sword in Zephyr’s apartment. Does that mean anything to you?” The lie came out as smooth as the silks on her dress.

  Lucian scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. He admitted to stealing the sword and committing the murder. Are you telling me he lied?”

  “Maybe he was trying to protect Miria, in case Aeidan tried to frame her, too,” Azalea said. “He would have killed her tonight if she didn’t fight back.”

  “Come along, Azalea,” Nero said, reaching out a hand.

  “What about Miria?”

  “She murdered our livestock,” Luc
ian said. “She stays with me.”

  Nero’s swift movement was a blur of black as he pinned the captain against the wall by his throat. “Never use that word.”

  “I’m— I’m sorry, my lord,” Lucian sputtered out. He coughed as Nero released the grip on his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

  “I suggest you go do something more useful, Captain.”

  Lucian brushed off his shirt and rejoined the other guards. “We’ll get this mess cleaned up later.”

  Once the captain and his guards were gone, Azalea grasped Nero’s outstretched hand with her own. He pulled, expecting her to follow, but she stood firm. “My lord, I can’t leave Miria here.”

  His head tilted to the side to get a better look at Miria, as though he hadn’t really noticed her before. “I remember her. She was with you when you came here as a child.”

  “Yes. And since then, we’ve never been apart.”

  Other than the last week when Miria was furious at her, of course, but Azalea chose to leave that part out.

  “And you wish to bring her along with you?”

  “It would ease my mind to know she’s safe,” Azalea said, choosing each word carefully. “Maybe she could work the kitchens, or help your other staff?”

  “I’m rather selective of my attendants. Your friend has gotten herself into a lot of trouble here. I’m not sure she would be a good fit for my household.” Nero tightened his grip on Azalea’s hand.

  “She wouldn’t cause you any trouble, I swear it.” She offered Nero a smile, one she hoped was reassuring. “Right, Miria?”

  In response, Miria glowered at Azalea through choppy, silver bangs, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, looking every bit the murderer Azalea now knew her to be.

  18

  Nero approached with the slow, measured steps of a predator who didn’t want to scare off his prey, watching Miria intently with every movement.

  She backed away from him at the same pace until there was nowhere left to go, until her back pressed hard into the brick wall behind her. Until she filled the role of his cornered prey, at the mercy of the dangerous creature who stood before her.

  Nero stopped a few paces in front of her. Up close, he looked exactly as he did in her childhood memories, all dark hair and cool grey eyes. He carried with him the unearthly beauty of a gorgeous creature who no longer belonged among mortals. He towered over her, tall and muscular and terrifying all at once.

  With that beauty and strength, it was no wonder Azalea had fallen for him.

  He eyed Miria, evaluating her with a silent, imperceptible calculation. “Who did you kill?”

  From behind Nero, Azalea stepped forward. “He was—”

  Nero raised a hand to quiet Azalea. “I will hear the tale directly from her.”

  Azalea looked down at the ground, her cheeks a warm, rosy color.

  “Who did you kill?” Nero repeated. His voice was soft and smooth, sweet like honey that was laced with imperceptible poison.

  “A piece of shit who wasn’t worth the air he breathed,” she said, her voice coming out distorted through gritted teeth.

  “Why?”

  Azalea raised her head, trying to meet Miria’s eyes as she shook her head frantically. She wanted Miria to shut up, or soften the story somehow.

  Miria would do no such thing. If Azalea wanted to ignore Miria’s wishes and try to force her into the service of a tyrant, she would let that tyrant know exactly who she was.

  “I beat the shit out of him last week. Broke his nose,” she said, ignoring Azalea’s gasp at the blunt manner in which she spoke to the vampire lord. “He wanted revenge for it, so he chased me through the streets while everyone was distracted and cornered me in this alleyway. He meant to kill me, but he’s weak.” She spat at Aeidan’s corpse.

  Nero glanced over at the body. “Impressive,” he murmured. “The boy was much larger than you, likely stronger. Where did you learn how to fight so effectively against a stronger foe, I wonder?”

  “He was just too much of an arrogant idiot to respect me in a fight. He made it easy.”

  She couldn’t hide the pride in her voice even if she wanted to. She was proud of herself for killing Aeidan. He’d tormented them for years. It was the right thing to do. And if the vampire lord decided to put her down for her brazen recounting of the murder, so what? That was better than living through hundreds more years like this.

  And it was sure as hell better than submitting and becoming one of his servants. That was a line Miria would never cross, no matter how much Azalea wanted it for her.

  She no longer cared if Nero thought she was a threat. She was a threat, and she was damned proud of it.

  Instead of attacking her like she expected, Lord Nero smiled, evaluating her in an entirely different way than he had before, like his predator now recognized the one growing within her and wanted to see more of it.

  “So you attacked him previously, then. Why?”

  Miria looked over his shoulder at Azalea, who now refused to meet her eyes. “Azalea came home late one night bruised and battered. I thought he was the one who did that to her.” Her defiant glare settled on Nero. “But that wasn’t him at all, was it?”

  “No,” Nero agreed, his voice sickeningly pleasant. “It wasn’t.”

  “Miria, stop!” Azalea pleaded. “It wasn’t Lord Nero.”

  “Bullshit,” Miria said, holding eye contact with Nero. “It was on the same night you saw him.”

  Nero smiled at that, baring the sharp tips of his fangs. “Did your friend tell you how we met that night?”

  Miria pursed her lips. Azalea had tried to explain, but she’d refused to listen.

  “I found her in a room upstairs at the Blood Den in the Second District, right after she murdered the vampire who attacked her.”

  Miria frowned. That couldn’t be right, could it? Azalea couldn’t possibly have managed to kill a vampire.

  Then again, maybe she didn’t know her best friend as well as she thought she did.

  “So, no. It wasn’t this Aeidan who harmed Azalea, and it was certainly not me. She didn’t need protection. She was perfectly capable of defending herself on her own.”

  Maybe she doesn’t need you. The message was clear enough, though the words remained unsaid.

  “Please, Lord Nero. She won’t give you any trouble,” Azalea repeated, though this plea was higher pitched and more desperate than the last had been.

  “Very well. She will accompany us,” Nero said. His tone was friendly enough, but with his back to Azalea, his cold, stormy eyes were only for Miria. “I can spare a room for her in the servants’ quarters, provided she works for it.”

  The bricks behind her were cold and hard, unyielding as she pressed against them, wishing she could fade through the wall and escape from the monster in front of her. But there was only one escape.

  “No.”

  Lord Nero’s dangerous smile flashed a pair of fangs. “No?”

  “I won’t give you my blood.”

  “That won’t be a problem. None of my servants are expected to donate their blood at all, let alone present their veins.”

  Even if that were true, she would be expected to be a servant for the vampire who had just ordered Zephyr’s execution. How could she shit on his memory like that?

  “I won’t go.”

  “Have it your way, then. I’ll leave you in Lucian’s care. I trust he has plans for you.”

  Air filled the void Nero left as he backed away from Miria, allowing her to breathe again. Her breaths came quick and heavy as she watched him approach Azalea. His arm slipped down her torso, gliding until it rested at the small of her back.

  Miria hated the familiarity and reverence Azalea showed him as she inclined her head and leaned closer into his arms. She glanced back over Nero’s shoulder at Mir
ia, eyes still wide and pleading.

  Azalea was about to head willingly into the lion’s den. Even if Nero’s story about how he’d first met Azalea were true, and she really had killed a vampire, could she really be expected to defend herself against the lord of Terra Nocturne if—or when—his gentlemanly mask fell away to reveal the monster beneath?

  No. She would be alone in the castle, far in the distance where Miria couldn’t reach her. Somewhere she couldn’t save her.

  Miria wouldn’t even know when Azalea needed her help.

  And for what? So she could waste away in the mines without anyone who cared enough for her to dull the pain? Or be executed by Lucian as soon as Nero left?

  She couldn’t stay in the Third District alone, and she couldn’t abandon Azalea to an uncertain fate. That left her only one option.

  “Wait.”

  Azalea spun around, and Nero stopped with her. He looked over his shoulder at Miria, an eyebrow arched high.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Miria followed just behind Azalea and Lord Nero as they passed through the Third District for the last time. She trailed behind the pair of them like a working mule, carrying both her bag of belongings and Azalea’s. Everything Miria owned fit in just one small backpack, but Azalea’s belongings were heavier, her bag stuffed full with various art supplies and completed drawings. Azalea wanted to leave all of it behind, so Miria had insisted on packing the bag herself.

  It hadn’t taken them long to pack, and once they’d finished, Nero allowed them no time for goodbyes.

  Not that there was anyone Miria wanted to say goodbye to. Maybe Eldrin, but he wouldn’t want to see her after Zephyr’s execution, anyway. Maybe it was better this way—leaving without saying a word to anyone.

  By the time they reached the stairs up to the gate at the edge of the district, the crowds that had gathered to watch the execution had dispersed. But far above them, Zephyr’s body remained, left as a warning to all. Every step brought her closer to him, and though she wanted to, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. From her angle, his long hair obscured his face. His head drooped at an impossible angle, his neck broken. Miria hoped his death had been instant. Painless.