Blood Bound Page 17

  He never deserved to suffer.

  At the top of the cliff, Miria paused to look at him one last time.

  Azalea, still clinging to Nero’s arm, looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were misty with tears, but she said nothing. She hadn’t known him nearly as well as Miria, but Zephyr had been her friend, too. Perhaps recognizing that Miria needed a moment of privacy, Azalea turned back around to give her space to grieve alone.

  This wasn’t how Miria wanted to remember Zephyr, but at the same time, she never wanted to forget what the vampires had done to him. This image of him, dead and stiff as he hung at the end of a noose, would burn in her memory forever. The wooden beam was tall enough that his bound hands were just in front of her face. She reached out to touch his hand, which she found closed in a cold and lifeless fist. He would never run those hands through her hair or over her body again.

  Just as she was about to pull away, a flash of white in Zephyr’s hand caught her attention. Her eyes flicked upward to the gate, where Nero was chatting with the guards.

  Miria pried Zephyr’s fingers apart and freed a small scrap of parchment. She rolled the crumpled paper open to find one of Azalea’s drawings, the one Zephyr had taken from their apartment. He must have carried it with him. At the bottom, on the corner across from Azalea’s signature, a quick note had been scribbled in Zephyr’s writing.

  Stay smart. Stay alive. I love you, Miria.

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She’d never heard those words out loud from him, and now, she would never have the chance to return them.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, hoping that wherever he was now in the After, he could hear her. She folded the parchment back up and stuffed it into her pocket.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Nero called over his shoulder.

  “I’m coming.” Miria hardened her expression and shoved aside her grief. She would save it for later, when she was away from the vampires’ prying eyes.

  They passed by vampires and elves as they walked through the Second District. Miria couldn’t tell the difference between most of them. She hated them all the same. But she hated none of them more than the vampire who walked just a few steps in front of her, his arm still wrapped possessively around her best friend.

  Their gossiping grew louder as they pushed each other aside to get a better look at the vampire lord and his two elven—

  Consorts.

  Miria’s skin bristled as the word traveled through the crowd around her. She was no such thing. She never would be. Azalea looked the part, dressed in her luxurious gown, but Miria didn’t know how she could be mistaken as such. She stared ahead, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone around them as they completed the walk of shame through the Second District and into the First, until they finally approached Nero’s castle.

  The vampire lord led them inside. Miria couldn’t help but look around, awed by the extravagant decor. Not even in Viridi had she seen such wealth on display. Much of it was foreign, most items looking distinctly elven or human in design. Nero must have traveled out of Terra Nocturne to import the decor in his home from all around the continent, walking through cities and blending in as a mortal being. Miria had imagined that the vampires isolated themselves entirely from the rest of society, never mingling with regular people. When she lived in Viridi, had she ever run into any vampires when she was out at night without knowing what they were? The possibility made her angry all over again.

  A waifish elven woman greeted them with a smile. Her hair fell across her downcast eyes as she dipped down into a curtsy. “Welcome home, my lord.”

  Miria eyed the portrait of the vampire hanging above the landing on the staircase. The ink was a muddy reddish-brown applied in careful, disciplined strokes that she’d recognize anywhere.

  What a waste of Azalea’s talent.

  “Eryn, please accompany Azalea to my study while I show Miria to her new room.”

  “Of course, Lord Nero,” the woman said with another curtsy.

  Azalea shot Miria a quick, reassuring smile. “I’ll meet up with you later!” She disappeared up the staircase and to the left behind the elven servant woman.

  Nero held out his arm, elbow extended toward Miria as though he expected her to grab onto him and allow him to lead her.

  Miria stuffed her hands into her pant pockets. “I’ll follow your lead, my lord,” she said, biting back the disdain she felt at the honorific. Now that she was here, she’d play along as much as she was able. But touching him was a step too far, and she didn’t care if he knew it.

  Nero nodded with a tight-lipped smile, acknowledging her refusal to touch him. If he disapproved, he showed no signs of it, instead starting up the right side of the staircase.

  Her boots sank into the plush carpet as she followed behind him, leaving a trail of dirt caked into the rich fabric.

  The room Nero led her to was larger than the entire apartment she shared with Azalea. The two beds at the center of the room were covered in silky pillows and sheets. There were two wardrobes on opposite ends of the room, one for each bed.

  “You’ll share this room with Irena. She works in the kitchen and will teach you everything you need to know,” Nero said. “Your bed is the one on the left.”

  As soon as she was inside, Nero shut the door behind them and clicked the lock shut. He stood in front of it, barring the only way out of the windowless room. Miria fought down the surge of fear at being cornered with no escape. He wouldn’t bring her all this way just to get her alone and kill her—he could have just left her with Lucian if he wanted her dead. That wasn’t what he was after.

  “I confess, I was relieved when you said you’d rather remain in the Third District. I would have preferred if Azalea didn’t bring a pet along with her.”

  Miria clenched her fists but kept her mouth shut, refusing to give him the response he desired. If Zephyr were here, he’d tell her to stay calm.

  Stay smart, he’d written as his final words to her. Stay alive.

  It was his voice in her head, warning her. For once, she’d heed him.

  “Why did you decide to come? Was it just to save yourself from the fate that awaited you? I could pardon you from that, if that’s the case. You could return to your old life.”

  Miria tossed her bag on the bench at the foot of the bed on the left. “Why invite me to live here at all when it’s so clear you didn’t want me to come?”

  “I’m quite fond of your friend. I wasn’t as fond of the idea of her bringing you along, but I didn’t want her to decide to stay there.”

  “Would you have even allowed her to stay in the Third District if she wanted to?”

  “Of course. She isn’t my prisoner here. Now, answer my question. Why did you come here?”

  Miria hesitated, unsure how to answer that. She suspected Nero wouldn’t believe her if she told him she came along only for her friendship with Azalea, but if she said it was only to escape her circumstances, there was a good chance he’d send her back alone. She settled for the truth, bold as it was.

  “I’m here in case Azalea needs me to protect her.” She ran her fingers along the smooth wood of the bed frame.

  Nero smiled. “Azalea is under my protection, which I’m certain is more substantial than yours.”

  “And if she needs protection from you?”

  “Then one tiny elf girl won’t be able to stop me.”

  Miria turned her back to Nero to hide her fury and opened the door to her wardrobe. With her back to him, she hoped to feign disinterest in the conversation more easily.

  Nero closed the distance, his breath cool on her neck. “Though, I suppose if that tiny elf girl had killed a vampire before, she might feel bolder than is warranted.”

  Miria’s hand froze over the hanger of an emerald green dress. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she breathed out, has
tily adding, “my lord.”

  “I think you do. There aren’t many elves out there with such beautiful, silver hair.” Nero ran his fingers through her ponytail and gave her hair a slight tug. “There were strands of hair found in the tent they were murdered in.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Miria said. “That tent belongs to someone I know. I’ve shopped there often for art supplies for Azalea.”

  “But what were you doing there after curfew that night, I wonder?”

  “I wasn’t there that night,” she said. “And besides, someone was already executed tonight for committing that murder.”

  “Perhaps. But you claim he was innocent, which leaves the obvious question of who the true murderer was.”

  Miria pulled the green dress out from the wardrobe, searching for something to keep her racing mind grounded in the present so it wouldn’t drift to thoughts of the past…thoughts of Zephyr, and the reminder that his death was her fault.

  She would mourn him properly later, when the lord of the city wasn’t quite literally breathing down her neck.

  Miria stepped to the side to look in the mirror next to the wardrobe. The green dress she held in front of her chest was light and thin, spun of fine silks from Viridi. Silver detailing lined the low-cut neckline and trailed down in silver leaves and vines that reached to the hip. She could picture how it would look on her, with the tight material hugging the curve of her thighs and the neckline dipping low between her small breasts. She’d look beautiful in a way she never had before.

  “Perhaps I should have given you to Lucian after all,” Nero said, interrupting her thoughts. “I still could, if you don’t appreciate the opportunity I’ve given you to turn things around.”

  Miria had tried to carry on this conversation the way Zephyr would have wanted her to, to play this unfamiliar game of guarded speech. But if Nero was going to threaten her, that dangerous dance was a game she understood much better.

  “Captivity is ugly, no matter how you dress it up. Every single elf here was brought to Terra Nocturne against their will, and every one of us is a prisoner. No matter how glamorous you try to make it.” Her eyes drifted up to meet his in the mirror. “My lord.”

  “Perhaps when I brought you here, you were too young to remember the state of Viridi and the other cities,” Nero said, his voice carrying a sharp, threatening edge. “It may not seem so now, but I know what it is like to have nothing. To live in poverty in an overcrowded city. In Terra Nocturne, you’re guaranteed three meals a day, a place to live…opportunity to advance your position in society, if you work for it. The elves here have been saved from an early death.”

  “I’d rather starve on the streets and have my freedom than live as a captive for my blood.”

  Nero spun Miria around and shoved her into the wall next to the mirror. The fine, thin silk of the dress ripped with the sudden movement, sending a section of the dress fluttering to the floor.

  “I’m growing very fond of your friend, but do not for a moment think that my fondness for her extends to you. As long as you’re under this roof, you will show respect and gratitude to my status as the lord of this city.”

  “And if I don’t? Do you mean to kill me?” Miria smirked. “Azalea wouldn’t like that.”

  Nero pushed her harder into the wall, his face distorted with rage at the mockery she made of his threat. He raised his arm, hovering the backside of his hand in front of her with a readied strike.

  Miria winced, bracing herself for the blow that was sure to follow, but a sudden click of the doorknob interrupted the assault before it could begin.

  “Miria? Are you in here?” Azalea called out. The door began to swing open with a heavy creak.

  Nero released his grip on Miria and tossed her aside, as though she were no more than a discarded article of clothing he no longer needed.

  Pain seared through her head as she slammed against the corner of the wardrobe and collapsed to the floor.

  19

  The heavy thud drew Azalea’s attention, and she looked over to find Miria sprawled out on the floor near Nero’s feet.

  Nero stood above her, his brow creased with concern. “Are you all right?” He offered a hand to help Miria up.

  Miria ignored him, instead gripping the edge of the wardrobe next to her to pull herself up to her feet. Behind the hand she held tight against her forehead, she wore a furious scowl.

  “What happened?” Azalea hurried across the room to get a better look at her friend.

  Miria swayed to the side, unsteady on her feet. Small drops of red trickled out between the fingers she held against her temple. Her mouth opened like she was about to speak, but she pressed her lips back together as though she’d decided better of it.

  “Miria tripped,” Nero said. “I’m worried she may have been injured in the fall.” He reached out for her a second time, hooking his arm under hers to help her hold her balance.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. She tore her arm away from his grasp and stumbled forward.

  Azalea held out her arms to catch Miria as she fell. “You’re bleeding. You should sit.”

  “I’m fine,” Miria said again, though this time she dropped the bite in her words. Despite her protests, she followed Azalea’s suggestion and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her gaze averted.

  “Let me take a look.” Azalea sat down next to Miria and gently nudged her head to the side.

  Miria removed her red-soaked hand from her head to allow Azalea a better look at the wound. Azalea grabbed a scrap of cloth from the bedside table and pressed it against Miria’s head to soak up the blood.

  When she pulled it away and found only a few drops soaking the white fabric, it was clear that the blood had made the small scratch seem much larger than it was in truth. Azalea bit her lip. She’d seen Miria take a punch better than she was taking this tiny scrape.

  Her eyes darted to Nero, who watched them from the other side of the room. “Does the blood bother you? I mean, do you…”

  His lip quirked up in amusement. “Am I a danger to her while she’s bleeding? I have more control than that. Still, I should probably take my leave. Come along, Azalea.”

  She pressed the ruined doily against Miria’s skin to catch the blood that was starting to pool again. “I’ll be along shortly, my lord. I’d like to help Miria get settled in, if that’s all right with you?”

  Something dark flashed across Nero’s eyes, but it disappeared quickly enough that Azalea couldn’t be certain whether or not she’d imagined it. “Of course. I’ll be eagerly awaiting your arrival.” He closed the door softly behind him.

  As soon as his footsteps faded down the hallway, Azalea looked back to Miria. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, besides the cut on your head?”

  “Can’t imagine why I wouldn’t be okay after the day I’ve had.”

  Azalea looked away. Everything that had happened in the Third District seemed so far away now that they were in the safety and comfort of Nero’s castle, but Zephyr had just been executed. Of course Miria wasn’t okay. How could she be?

  Miria sighed, and a melancholic half smile tugged at her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It was a stupid thing for me to ask.” Azalea pulled the cloth away again. This time, the corner of it came away clean. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  Miria lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

  Azalea lay down next to her and grabbed Miria’s hand. “Do you want to talk about any of it?”

  Miria squeezed her eyes shut tighter and shook her head.

  Though they lay right next to each other, the distance between them had never seemed greater. Azalea hadn’t been there for Miria, hadn’t been the friend she’d needed. And Miria hasn’t been there for her, either. They’d been so wrapped up in their own goals that they’d started to leave each othe
r behind.

  But they had a chance to fix that now.

  “Things will be better now that we’re here,” Azalea said.

  Miria opened an eye just enough to glare at Azalea from the corner of it. “Do you really not see what’s going on here? Are you that blind?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nero is dangerous.”

  Azalea released Miria’s hand and sat up. “Of course he’s dangerous. He’s the most powerful vampire in the city. But he’s been good to me.”

  Miria sat up, too. “You can’t just share a bed with him and let him drink your blood and pretend that’s all okay.”

  “I don’t see what’s so bad about it. I mean, look at this place.” Azalea ran a hand along the smooth silk of the bedsheets. “All this costs is a bit of my blood. I’m happy to pay that price.”

  “It costs more than that,” Miria muttered, then shook her head. “This is all bullshit.”

  “It’s not! I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Nero said you wouldn’t even have to feed anyone while you’re here. No more blood donations! Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you that he’s lying?”

  “He’s not like that.”

  “All vampires are like that!” Miria slammed her fist against the wall. “I can’t do this. I can’t stay here. Not with him, and not with you, if you’re going to defend him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Where are you going to go? Back to the Third District?”

  “Anywhere but here.” Miria grabbed her small bag of belongings, slung it over her shoulder, and started for the door. “Maybe you can live with an evil vampire who preys on our people and enslaves us, but I can’t.”

  “Why did you even come, then?” Frustration crept into Azalea’s tone.

  Miria paused with her hand hovering over the doorknob. “I didn’t want to leave you alone. I came here because you did…and because I’ve lost too much. I didn’t want to be alone, either.”