I turn to the door and slip out into the hall. She’s already gone, leaving only light traces of her scent; jasmine and cherries. Destructively sweet. Her face pops into my mind as I breathe her in. Grey eyes wide, brows quirked with fright, her lips parted and wet. A shiver trails up my spine and I purse my lips. Perhaps I pushed her too far too soon. My cruelty must be followed by affection, and only be inflicted lightly or I’ll turn her against me entirely. I curse myself internally for acting so rashly.
The sight of her naked, dripping wet had me wrestling with my darker urges. It was a challenge to control myself, and the pent-up passion became aggression easily. I feel that tickle down my spine again as I think of her.
“Domestic troubles?” Willem asks, appearing around the corner. He grins, clearly enjoying the tension in the air.
“Nothing that can’t be remedied,” I say smoothly.
He leans against the wall, stretching his swings slightly as he yawns. “Then you won’t mind if I pay your betrothed a little visit? Perhaps I can cheer her up—pave the way for her forgiveness.”
I study him intently. Though Willem is closer to me than any other creature in this realm or above, we aren’t without our petty competitions. Even over women. But he’s earned my trust tenfold. I wave a lazy hand even though my chest burns at the thought of Briar with Willem. “Do as you wish,” I say, keeping my tone carefully relaxed and perfectly precise.
He grins cruelly. “Excellent.”
My Second disappears back around the corner in the direction of Briar’s room and I grind my teeth. Images of the two of them coiled together on her bed flash through my mind and I gnash my teeth. Fists clenched, I pivot on my heel and stalk away. The further I get from her, the better off I will be. But no distance makes the visions of Briar leaning into Willem disappear. They get stronger, more persistent, more detailed the further I go until my rage is brimming. It spills out of me with a roar, and I lash out at the nearest target; a painting. I tear my fingers through it, my nails elongating into razor-sharp claws.
The small bureau nearby is next, smashed to pieces by my heels. I leave a wake of destruction and fury behind me, letting it ooze from my being like a fog. It curls through the halls, seeking targets for pain and injury. The glass in the windows tremble with the force of it. The carpet melts under my heel as I stride down the hall, singeing everything I touch. Only when the acrid smell of burning fabric reaches my nose do I stop. I inhale deeply, harnessing my power and anger again before I do more damage. Only five times before have I let my fury get this far, and only one of those times resulted in the death of innocents.
But I won’t let it happen again.
I press my claws into my chest, pushing until I pierce the skin. They recede back into well-trimmed nails and I sag as the spark of anger burns into nothingness; just a wisp of memory. My eyes slip closed and I steady myself in darkness. Sharp footsteps reach my ears and I open them in time to see a messenger round the corner. Nothing more than a mortal soul, his gray eyes flit over the hall, taking in the destruction.
“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing.
“What is it?” I ask, waving a hand behind me and sending my magic to repair the broken bits of furniture and singed flooring.
“There’s been a murder,” the messenger says, his voice laced with fear. “The body was found without a soul.”
My jaw twitches at the news. Another victim of the Nephilim. “Show me,” I demand, striding towards the messenger.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he stammers, turning back the way he came.
I follow the messenger out of the castle walls and into the city. Built of gray stone and black obsidian, the city is a hodgepodge of different architectural styles. Its eccentricity is part of its beauty, and we move purposefully through the wide streets and boulevards, down through the different levels of the city. The people here don’t bother me, they don’t gawk and stare. I can smell the fear rippling over them, but they don’t let it stop them from bustling through the streets on their errands.
We jog down another staircase, this one worn and crumbling, into the narrow streets of the Moarte district. Here, the homes are tall and thin, with curved roofs and arched windows. The streets are narrow and rambling, but the messenger seems to know his way. I can smell the body before I see it. We round a corner into an alley with a dead end. There's a crowd of city guards near the end, staring silently at the ground.
I let my power ooze towards them, alerting them to my presence without speaking a word. The guards shudder as tendrils of my dark power coil around their necks. They move aside, standing at the ready as I pass between them. The corpse is a woman, a Fae by the looks of her ears and fanged canines. Her mouth is open, gaping, her tongue stiff and jutting out of her mouth in rigor mortis. I crouch beside the body. She’s splayed on the ground, her hair flowing out around her head like a halo. Blood is caked beneath her nails, as if she put up a fight.
But it’s her eyes I focus on. They’re empty, blank, and dry. The pupils have dilated to cover the entire iris, but there is no richness to the black. It’s as if nothing were there at all. I sit back on my haunches. This is the third corpse, the third soul-leeched victim in my
