Liora's POV
Cassiel and I barely make it ten steps down the hallway before I hear footsteps behind us.
Fast. Predatory. Coming closer.
"Keep walking," Cassiel mutters, his hand tightening on my arm. "Don't look back."
But I do.
Lady Morgana glides toward us through the shadows, her black dress flowing like liquid darkness. Her beautiful face is twisted with rage, and her eyes—those black diamond eyes—are getting darker. Actually turning black, like ink spreading through water.
"Cassiel." Her voice is honey over poison. "I need a word with the mortal. Alone."
"The prince ordered her taken directly to her chambers." Cassiel's voice is respectful but firm. "No stops. No visitors."
"The prince doesn't need to know." Morgana moves closer, and the temperature drops. "Just a few minutes. Girl talk."
"Morgana—"
"It wasn't a request."
She's suddenly in front of us, moving too fast for my eyes to follow. Before Cassiel can react, she grabs my other arm and yanks me away from him. Her grip is crushing, sending pain shooting up to my shoulder.
I cry out, trying to pull free. But it's like being held by a steel trap.
"Let her go," Cassiel warns, his hand moving to the sword at his hip.
"Or what? You'll fight me?" Morgana's laugh is cruel. "You're barely two hundred years old, boy. I was ancient when your grandfather was born." She drags me backward down the hallway. "This will only take a moment."
Cassiel's face twists with indecision. He's loyal to Theron's orders, but he's also no match for Morgana. I can see it in his eyes—if he fights her, she'll kill him.
"It's okay," I gasp, even though her grip is making my arm go numb. "I'll be fine."
Cassiel looks tortured. "Liora—"
"Go tell the prince what happened. I'll handle this."
It's a lie. I can't handle anything. But I can't let Cassiel die trying to protect me.
He hesitates one more second, then runs back toward the throne room. His footsteps echo and fade.
Leaving me alone with a very angry vampire.
Morgana's smile widens, showing too many teeth. "Smart girl. Stupid, but smart."
She drags me down the hallway and shoves me against the wall so hard my head cracks against stone. Pain explodes through my skull. Black spots dance in my vision.
"Listen very carefully, mortal." Morgana's face is inches from mine, her breath cold and smelling like old blood. "I'm going to explain something to you."
Her hand moves to my throat. Not squeezing yet. Just holding.
"Prince Theron is mine," she says quietly, each word dripping with venom. "He's been mine for three hundred years. I was engaged to his older brother. When the family was slaughtered, Theron should have married me. He should have made me his queen."
"But he didn't," I choke out.
Her eyes flash pure black. "Because of the curse. Because he believed he couldn't let anyone close. But I waited. Three hundred years, I waited for him to see that I'm the only one worthy of him."
"Then why hasn't he chosen you?"
Wrong thing to say.
Morgana's hand tightens on my throat, cutting off my air. "Because he's stubborn. Because he's drowning in guilt over those worthless sacrifices. But I've been patient. I've watched him kill two hundred ninety-nine women. I've watched him grow colder, more isolated, more likely to eventually turn to me."
She leans closer, her fangs showing. "Then you walk in. One dying mortal girl. And he looks at you like you're sunlight after centuries of darkness."
Can't breathe. Need air.
"I won't allow it," Morgana hisses. "You're just food with an expiration date. You'll be dead in thirty nights—probably sooner with that blood sickness eating you alive. So let me make this very clear: if you touch him, if you try to seduce him, if you make him feel anything—I will kill you myself."
She releases my throat. I collapse against the wall, gasping and coughing. Blood fills my mouth from biting my tongue.
"Understand?" Morgana asks sweetly.
I should agree. Should nod and apologize and promise to stay away from Theron. That's the smart choice. The safe choice.
But I'm so tired of making safe choices.
"Funny," I rasp, my voice raw. "He doesn't act like he's yours."
Morgana goes completely still. "What did you say?"
"I said he doesn't act like he's yours." I straighten slowly, my legs shaking. "He barely looked at you in the throne room. When you threatened me, he put himself between us. Told you he'd remove your head if you touched me."
"He was protecting his property—"
"No." I meet her black eyes despite the terror singing through my veins. "He was protecting me. And you know it. That's why you're so angry."
For a heartbeat, Morgana just stares. Then her face contorts with pure rage.
"You little—"
She lunges.
I throw up my arms, knowing it's useless. She's going to rip my throat out right here. Theron won't even get his sacrifice because Morgana will kill me first.
But the killing blow never comes.
A hand catches Morgana's wrist inches from my face. I blink, confused. Then I see him.
Theron.
He's moved between us so fast I didn't see it coming. His hand is wrapped around Morgana's wrist, holding her frozen mid-attack. His silver eyes are blazing with fury.
"I believe," he says quietly, his voice more dangerous than any shout, "I gave very specific orders about no one touching her."
"My prince, I was just—"
"Threatening to kill my sacrifice?" Theron's grip tightens, and I hear bones cracking. "Assaulting her in my own castle?"
Morgana's face pales. "She provoked me."
"I don't care." Theron's voice drops lower. "Touch her again, Morgana, and I will end three hundred years of tolerance. Am I understood?"
"You're protecting a mortal over me?" Morgana's voice breaks. "After everything we've been through?"
"We've been through nothing." Theron releases her wrist with a shove. "You were my brother's betrothed. When he died, that engagement ended. I never promised you anything."
"But I waited—"
"I never asked you to wait." His words are brutal. "Leave. Now. Before I forget centuries of companionship and remove you from this castle permanently."
Morgana looks between us, her expression twisted with hurt and rage. Then she straightens, her mask of cold beauty sliding back into place.
"Of course, my prince. Forgive my presumption." Her black eyes lock on mine. "Enjoy your thirty nights, little mortal. I'll be counting down every single one."
She glides away, disappearing into the shadows.
Leaving me alone with Theron.
He doesn't look at me immediately. Just stands there, his shoulders tense, breathing hard like he's fighting for control. When he finally turns, his silver eyes are still blazing.
"Are you hurt?"
The question surprises me. "My throat hurts. And my head where she slammed me against the wall. But I'm fine."
"You're bleeding." He reaches out, his cold fingers touching my lip where I bit it. "And you have a bruise forming on your throat."
His touch is gentle. Too gentle for someone who claims I'm just food.
"Why did you save me?" I whisper.
"Because you're mine to kill." His voice is harsh, but his fingers are still soft against my face. "No one else gets that privilege."
"Liar."
His jaw clenches. "Stop calling me that."
"Then stop lying." I meet his burning gaze. "You protected me because you care. Admit it."
"I don't care." But his hand cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "I can't afford to care."
"Why not?"
"Because in thirty nights, I have to drain every drop of blood from your body." His voice breaks slightly. "And if I let myself care, it will destroy what's left of me."
We stare at each other, his cold hand against my warm skin. The hallway feels too small, the air too thick.
"Then maybe you should let it," I say softly. "Maybe being destroyed would be better than being empty."
Something flashes in his eyes. Pain. Longing. Terror.
Then he jerks his hand away like I burned him.
"Cassiel will take you to your chambers. Stay there. Don't wander. And for the love of everything holy, stop provoking ancient vampires who want you dead."
He turns to leave.
"Theron."
He stops but doesn't look back.
"Thank you for saving me."
His shoulders tense. "Don't thank me. In thirty nights, you'll curse my name."
He disappears into the shadows, leaving me alone.
Cassiel appears moments later, his face pale with worry. "Are you hurt? I told the prince what happened and he—"
"I'm fine." My legs are shaking so badly I can barely stand. "Just take me to my chambers. Please."
He supports me as we walk. My body is crashing from adrenaline and fear and exhaustion. The blood sickness is making everything worse, stealing what little strength I have left.
Finally, we reach the ornate door. Cassiel unlocks it and helps me inside.
"Get some rest," he says gently. "I'll have Elena, the healer, check on you in the morning."
"Will Morgana try again?"
"Not tonight. The prince made his position very clear." Cassiel pauses. "But Liora? You should stop antagonizing her. She's dangerous. Ancient. Powerful. And now she sees you as a threat."
"I didn't mean to—"
"I know. You were just being honest. But honesty can be deadly here." He squeezes my shoulder. "Be careful. Please."
He leaves, locking the door behind him.
I'm alone again.
I stumble to the bed, too exhausted to even change. My throat throbs where Morgana grabbed me. My head aches where she slammed it against the wall. And my chest burns with the blood sickness eating me from the inside.
I should be terrified. Should be planning escape or begging for mercy or crying.
But all I can think about is Theron's face when he saved me. The way his hand felt against my skin. The pain in his voice when he said caring would destroy him.
He's already half-destroyed.
And somehow, impossibly, I want to help him.
Even though he's going to kill me in thirty nights.
I close my eyes, letting exhaustion pull me under. Sleep comes fast, dragging me down into darkness.
But just before I lose consciousness completely, I hear something.
Scratching.
Soft. Rhythmic. Coming from inside the walls.
My eyes fly open. I sit up, my heart pounding.
The scratching comes again. Closer now.
Then I see it.
Words carved into the wall beside my bed. Deep gouges in the stone, like someone clawed them there with their fingernails.
He remembers us all
We died screaming
Run while you still can
The curse is stronger than love
Number 299 was here
He cried when he killed me
My blood turns to ice.
Two hundred ninety-nine women have died in this room.
And they all left messages.
The scratching sound comes again, louder now. I scramble off the bed, pressing my back against the far wall.
A new message is appearing on the stone.
Being carved by invisible hands.
Letter by letter, the words form:
Number 300
He's already falling
That's why you'll hurt most
The scratching stops.
And somewhere in the walls, I hear something that sounds like crying.
Or laughter.
I can't tell which.