Lucian, by contrast, was the guy who punched through Salister's battalions before breakfast.
Selis's eye twitched.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
She was supposed to make the villain win . . . while accidentally being rescued by the hero of the world. She had glitched herself right into an epic contradiction.
"Fantastic," she whispered. "Just peachy. The literal hero of humanity is a scowling short king who murders vampires in five languages, and I—I—am stuck on Team Evil Emo Prince."
This would have been hilarious if it wasn't a cosmic disaster.
Lucian strode past her again, flicking vampire blood off his blade with a practiced snap of his wrist. His coat barely rustled. His boots didn't make a sound.
Selis followed behind him, slipping twice, nearly choking on the scent of iron, and definitely getting some undead goo on her cheek.
He didn't look back. Didn't offer a hand. Just said, without turning, "Keep up, or you're dead."
