The blade slid in easier than it should have.
Eli's finger tightened on the handle as the tip pierced through the slender neck as if crossing through a wet parchment.
Dark and syrup-thick blood welled, rolling down Isobel's throat and soaking into the velvet collar of her dress.
Most of it slipped onto Elijah's hand and dripped down onto his clothes.
With a shaky breath, he pushed her away.
The lady bobbed on her seat. The dark mist swirled faster, and under the heavy curtain of darkness, her eyes widened. Though not in fear, or pain, but in something closer to disappointment.
She sagged against the throne, lips twitching as though to form words she never spoke.
The rot in the room thickened. The scent hit him like mold-ridden air after breaking open a crypt.
Elijah's grip trembled on the knife hilt. Although he was very sure this creature wasn't mortal, his gaze still remained fixed on how her body twitched.
