Chapter 8 Knew

They surged forward together.

And then—silence.

The slamming stopped. The scratching stopped. The heavy breathing vanished.

The door didn't open. It hung there, slightly askew, held by a single bent hinge.

I held my breath, the bucket raised.

A sound of something heavy and wet hitting the floor outside.

Another one.

I waited. One second. Two. Ten.

"Hello?" I whispered.

Nothing.

Then, a shadow fell across the crack in the door.

It wasn't a frantic shadow. It was still. It blocked the light completely.

The door didn't burst open. It was pulled.

A gloved hand wrapped around the edge of the wood. With a slow, deliberate creak, the door was pulled open.

I lowered the bucket, my arms trembling.

Standing in the doorway was a man.

He wasn't wearing the tattered rags of the dungeon keepers. He was dressed in black leather that seemed to absorb the dim light, tailored to fit a frame that was lean, wiry, and terrifyingly graceful.

It was the man from the throne room. The Shadow Lord. Vasilis.

He didn't look at me. He was looking at the floor of the corridor.

I leaned forward slightly.

At his feet lay the two dungeon guards.

They weren't moving. Their heads were at unnatural angles. One of them was missing an arm; the limb lay three feet away, dissolving into black smoke.

There was no blood. Just… darkness. The shadows around Vasilis’s boots were writhing, like snakes made of ink, lapping at the bodies.

Vasilis stepped over the corpses. He entered my cell.

The air temperature dropped ten degrees instantly. He smelled of rain, ozone, and something sharp, like cold steel.

He stopped in the center of the cell. He looked at the bucket in my hands. His lip curled slightly.

"Put that down," he said. His voice was soft, raspy, like dry leaves skittering over pavement. "Unless you plan to clean the floor with it."

I dropped the bucket. It clattered loudly on the stone.

"You killed them," I whispered.

"They were defective," Vasilis said, dismissing the bodies with a shrug. "They forgot their station. A kennel dog does not eat the master's prize."

He turned his gaze to me.

His eyes were storm gray, swirling with a faint violet light. They weren't frantic like the guards’ eyes. They were cold. Calculating. Dead.

He sniffed the air. A subtle, elegant inhalation.

His gaze snapped to the floor. To the single drop of blood I had spilled.

He stared at it. His pupils dilated, swallowing the gray until his eyes were black pits.

"One drop," he murmured. "One drop drove two centuries-old vampires into a feral frenzy."

He looked up at me. "Do you have any idea what you are, Victoria?"

"I'm a barista," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm nobody."

"Nobody?" Vasilis took a step closer. The shadows on the floor moved with him, reaching out toward my feet. "Nobody does not bleed mana. Nobody does not heal in seconds."

He was too close. I backed up, hitting the wall.

He reached out.

I flinched, turning my face away, expecting a blow.

He caught my hand. The one I had cut.

His fingers were cool, dry, and calloused. He didn't squeeze. He held my hand up to the dim light coming from the corridor. He inspected the healed skin of my thumb.

"Perfect," he whispered. "Not even a scar."

He brought my hand closer to his face. He inhaled the scent of my skin.

I felt a shiver rip through me. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was a strange, paralyzing magnetism. He was a monster but his touch was… gentle.

"You smell like trouble," he murmured against my palm. "You smell like a war waiting to start."

He dropped my hand.

"We cannot keep you here," he announced, stepping back. "The scent is already traveling through the vents. If I leave you here, the entire lower garrison will tear this door down to get to you. And I do not feel like executing a hundred guards tonight. It is messy."

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, hugging my arms to my chest.

"To the King," he said. "He has woken. And he is asking for the spoon."

"The spoon?"

Vasilis smirked. It was a terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes. "You. The utensil that feeds the hunger."

He gestured to the door. "Walk. And stay close to me. The shadows are hungry tonight, and they are not all mine."

I walked.

I stepped out of the cell, trying not to look at the twisted bodies on the floor. One of the dead guards had his eyes open. He looked surprised.

I followed Vasilis down the corridor. He moved silently, his boots making no sound on the stone. I scuffed along behind him in my bare feet, my silk dress fluttering in the draft.

"Why did you save me?" I asked. The question tumbled out before I could stop it.

Vasilis didn't look back. "I didn't save you. I preserved you. There is a difference."

"You killed your own men."

"They were tools," he said simply. "Tools that malfunctioned. You... you are an asset. For now."

We reached the spiral staircase. He paused, looking back at me. His gaze swept over my torn dress, my dirty feet, my pale face.

"You are trembling," he noted.

"I'm cold," I snapped. "And I'm terrified. And I'm pretty sure I'm having a psychotic break."

Vasilis tilted his head. "Psychosis would be a kindness in this place. But you are sane, Victoria. Unfortunately for you."

He unclasped his leather cloak. It swirled around him like liquid night. He pulled it off and tossed it to me.

It hit me in the chest. It was heavy, lined with silk, and still warm from his body. It smelled of him.

"Put it on," he commanded. "The King dislikes shivering. It distracts him."

I pulled the cloak around my shoulders. It engulfed me, dragging on the floor. But the warmth was instant. I pulled the collar up, burying my nose in the scent of it. It made me feel slightly less naked. Slightly less like a piece of meat.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"Don't thank me," Vasilis said, starting up the stairs. "I just don't want you freezing to death before the interrogation. Frozen meat loses its flavor."

I followed him up the stairs, clutching the Shadow Lord’s cloak.

I wasn't safe. I knew that.