Edge of Oblivion

his eyes once more, thinking that of all the things her father could have done to torture him, this was by far the worst.

Forbidden fruit was always the most tempting.

The clock on the wall, ticking, the low drone of fresh air that was pumped through the catacombs, Lix and Constantine flirting unabashedly with the Servus at the other end of the room.

Then Eliana’s voice, low and tentative. “I...I’ll need to clean the wound first, before I can suture it. It will hurt, but I’ll try and be as gentle as I can. All right?”

He nodded, then because he didn’t want her to think he was being cold, added, “Yes. Please.

Thank you.”

He hissed a breath through his teeth. What a disaster.

She worked on him a while in silence, wiping away blood and raindrops with soft towels, cleaning shallow scratches with pads dipped in alcohol, trailing her bare fingers over his skin. Pain and yearning lashed through him hot as the sun, and he wondered if she knew exactly what she was doing to him as she leaned over him, warming him with her scent and her nearness, addling him as if he’d had too much to drink.

He stiffened with a thought: Was this a trick? Was Dominus using her to—

“Here come the sutures,” she murmured. “Please hold as still as you can.”

The pain of the needle was nothing compared to the pain of lying half-naked next to her, thinking illicit thoughts, wondering if she was, even now, manipulating him. A little noise escaped his throat, and she froze, misunderstanding.

“I’m fine,” he said, jaw tight. He nodded to emphasize it. “Solid as a rock. Go on.”

She did. It was quiet between them for a moment, but not peaceful. He managed to keep his breathing even with an astonishingly difficult exertion of will.

He said, “When did you learn to do—this?”

She made a sound in her throat. Though sardonic, it was low and feminine and sent a rash of gooseflesh up his spine.

“Caesar used to pick a lot of fights when he was younger. He never won. But he didn’t want Dominus to know, so I had to be the one to fix him up. I learned early on to make sutures so fine they’d never even leave a scar.” Her voice took on a melancholy edge. “Learning new things has always helped me pass the time.”

There was a beat as he processed that. His regard for her stood in exact opposition to his loathing for her brother, who, though highborn, was unGifted. And the kind of coward that had to pick on others to make himself feel bigger. He wondered what it had been like for her, kept like a prized, exotic bird in a cage her entire life, cleaning up her brother’s messes.

“You call your father Dominus?”

“Not to his face.”

He cracked an eye open to gauge her expression. Her shell-pink lips were twisted in a little, secret smile. She caught him looking and her smile deepened. “No one calls him anything to his face, isn’t that right?”

He let his silence be his answer.

She shrugged, a movement that seemed both casual and full of meaning. “I know. You can’t talk to me. No one can talk to me. I don’t blame you, I know what he’s like.”

“Do you?” he said harshly, before he could think. The minute it left his mouth he bit his lip, cursing himself. Her smile vanished.

“I...actually, no,” she said, very softly, surprising him. “He’s my father, of course I love him, but...” She trailed off, biting her lip. “But over the last few years he’s seemed so...he seems...” She glanced up at him, questioning, and he found himself wondering again if this was some trick to get him to reveal himself.

“He is as he has always been to me,” he said coolly.

Her expression soured. She cinched one of the sutures tight, and he sucked in a breath, surprised—it hurt.

“I’m going to tell you a little secret, Demetrius,” she said through stiff lips, looking askance at him through her lashes as she continued to sew up his arm. “You can trust me. I can’t make you believe that, of course, but—” She sat up a little straighter. “Wait, no, I can!” She sounded excited. “If I tell you something that no one else knows, something that would get me in trouble— serious trouble —if it’s found out, will you trust me?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Whatever you’re about to say— don’t.”

She leaned in, so close she could have kissed him, so close he saw every detail of her poreless skin, the line of her dark lashes, the perfect Cupid’s bow of her upper lip—

“I’m not a virgin,” she whispered, staring deep into his eyes.

He suddenly felt as if he were conducting fire through his veins. Hearing that word on her lips — virgin—was like an alcoholic hearing the words happy hour. His mouth literally watered.

Then his rational mind kicked in: Was she toying with him?

“I’m not in the mood for games, little girl,” he growled low in his throat.

At that, her brows lifted. “Little girl?” She smiled again, a woman’s smile, knowing and mysterious. “I’m twenty-three, only eight years younger than you.” Her voice dropped an octave.

“And you’re not looking at me like you think I’m a little girl, Demetrius.”

Face flaming, he sat up abruptly, the last of his patience shredded. “What is this?” he hissed.

“This is me being honest with you,” she said, unperturbed, surprising him again. This time because she wasn’t afraid of him. Everyone was afraid of him. “I doubt you get much of that, so you might be unfamiliar with it, but, quite frankly, I think you could use a little more honesty in your life.”

“You do realize just talking to me like this could get me killed.” Anger threaded through his voice, though he was careful to keep it low so the others didn’t hear.

“And me?” She was defiant under his fierce gaze. Unblinking. “You don’t think there’s any danger for me?”

“You’re the King’s daughter,” he snapped, livid now. “You’ll be given a slap on the hand. I’ll have mine cut off.”

Inexplicably, her gaze dropped to his lips. “No, you won’t.”

He stared at her, waiting.

She met his gaze again and softly said, “I would never let him hurt you. Seeing you is the only thing I have to look forward to around here.”

His heart dissolved to his toes.

“Stop this,” he said through gritted teeth.

She went on calmly as though he hadn’t spoken. “I was seventeen. It was one of the Legiones.

Varro was his name. He was twenty. It was after the Christmas Purgare. He was killed a week later in a street fight; they said he was drinking—” D suddenly realized what she was talking about. “Jesus!” “—which made sense because he liked to drink. He was a troublemaker—” He seized her wrists. “Stop!” he hissed close to her face.

“—and I was probably attracted to that because I’ve always had to be such a perfect little princess, so sheltered and doted over even though I wasn’t born a boy, the eldest—” He jerked from the bed and planted his boots on the ground, towering over her, shocked at what was coming out of her mouth, helpless to stop it. “Please—”

“—even though I killed my mother coming out when I was born—”

“Eliana!” he begged.

“—I was still put on a pedestal and given every privilege, but if it was ever known that I’d given away my virginity to someone outside my own caste I’d probably be floating down the Tiber on the next Purgare with all those other unfortunates who didn’t make the Transition.”

He couldn’t breathe. He stared down at her, frozen.

“So now you know something about me.” She was breathing a little too hard, her head tipped back, her eyes glittering dark. “Now you know a secret that could get me killed. And don’t fool yourself, Demetrius. He would kill me. I’m his favorite, I’m his prize, but there is nothing more important to him