Page 2 of Consume Me (Immortal Vices and Virtues: All Hallows’ Eve #4)
Noctan
T he rune inked on my forearm hasn’t burned like this in nearly half a century.
It started two months ago as nothing more than a flicker.
A phantom pulse beneath my skin, nudging me toward my quarry.
In the fae realm, I could almost forget it was even there.
But now that I’ve followed it into the Earth realm, the flicker has become a constant pain. No, more than pain.
It’s a dark heartbeat.
A tether pulling taut.
A summons.
Which is why I’m standing in front of a woman I swore I’d never ask for a favor again. To end this quest for vengeance once and for all.
Vaelora looks the same as when I left her court centuries ago: nails painted the color of blood, dark curls swept up to reveal pointed ears, silver gaze honed like a blade. Only, now, she smells like power.
And secrets .
I’m not surprised about the latter; she’s made it her business to collect everyone else’s, as if doing so will somehow distract her from her own.
Now, her sharp eyes are drawn to the glowing rune etched onto my skin by magic so potent, no force in this world or any other can remove it. Not until my vow is fulfilled.
“It’s the daggers,” she says knowingly. “They call to you at last.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The rune flares white-hot at her words. As if the symbol itself is sentient. Maybe it is. I’ve often wondered about it myself.
“What do you know about them?” I ask as rage surges in my veins.
Sometimes the force of it surprises me. My thirst for vengeance has not dimmed, even after four centuries. If anything, it has grown more consuming over the years. More potent. I wonder if I’ll be so empty once it’s finished that I’ll simply cease to exist.
“Why do you think I know anything?” Vaelora asks, but her feigned innocence drags a growl from me.
“You’ve made this territory your home. And we both know you don’t settle in a place without learning everything about its inhabitants first.”
Her eyes glimmer like I’ve complimented her somehow.
“Fair enough. As you say, I know more about the daggers’ servant than I do the objects themselves,” she says coyly.
But I refuse to fall for her tricks. I care nothing for the evil creature who has taken up the blades’ dark dealings.
After centuries of hunting their various lackeys, I know all I need to: Some poor, miserable soul has once again succumbed to the power the daggers possess and probably thinks they can somehow wield that power for themselves.
Soon enough, they’ll realize that power flows one way only.
Until that thirst for power eventually gets them killed and then the daggers move on to another fool.
“The Whispering Daggers are much more than mere objects,” I warn. “You’d do well to remember just what they’re capable of. Their power could end even you.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of their true power, darling. But, this time, I think you’ll find it’s not what you think.” Her wink boils my blood. Of course she’s not taking any of this seriously.
“I don’t have time for games,” I snap.
Coming here was a waste of time.
I turn for the door.
“What if I could guarantee to put you in the same room as the daggers and the one who wields them?”
Vaelora’s words stop me.
I turn back to her, wary. “In exchange for what?”
“No price.” She smiles. “A gift.”
“Nothing is free, least of all from you.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes. “You wound me, old friend.”
“You forget I knew you before you decided to play Cupid in the Earth realm, Vaelora.”
Her lips form a pout that is as fleeting as the emotion itself. “Fine. The truth is, I owe you.”
I lift a brow at that. “Are you referring to the wine?”
Her smile widens. “Ah, so you do remember. ”
“How could I forget?” I cross my arms, my voice low with warning. “More than half the court was drunk off their asses because you were foolish enough to smuggle in a shipment of vintage laced with a curse. I believe you called it ‘the finest from Coras Hollow.’”
Vaelora’s laugh is a rich, delighted sound. “It was fine—until the entire hall started hallucinating their deepest desires for all the court to see. Including multiple versions of me naked and prone for various admirers to ogle. I couldn’t show my face for a decade.”
I growl at the memory. “You would have lost more than your reputation if I hadn’t burned the curse out of the wine before the High Regent noticed.”
She lifts her glass in a mock toast. “And for that, darling, I owe you. A debt repaid, nearly a century later.” I don’t trust her, not for a second. But her silver eyes gleam with something close to sincerity, and the words worm their way beneath my stoic armor.
“I’m hosting a party for All Hallows’ Eve,” she goes on. “That is where you’ll find your Whispering Daggers. And their wielder.”
“A party? You want me to take my vengeance in front of all your lovestruck guests? Did the wine teach you nothing?”
“I trust you’ll be discreet. Besides, it’s the only way I can guarantee your quarry will come to you.”
“Why should I bother? This rune will lead me straight to them eventually.”
“That rune will only get you within the vicinity of the daggers, and we both know it. Are you going to search out and interrogate every creature in the Crossroads one at a time, then?”
“If I have to.”
“And risk alerting your target before you can identify them?”
I bite back a curse.
She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make this any less irritating.
In fact, something about Vaelora being right makes this much more infuriating.
Or maybe it’s the way she’s coercing me into coming to one of her stupid parties.
Again. After the wine incident, I swore I would never repeat that mistake.
But for my fallen sentinel brothers and sisters, I’ll do just about anything.
“When is this party of yours?” I ask.
Vaelora smiles brightly—victorious. “Tomorrow evening. You’ll need this for entry.”
She waves her hand, and a piece of parchment winks into existence, hovering in the air in front of me. I snatch it, not bothering to read it before stuffing it into my pocket. Then I turn on my heel.
“Wear something nice,” she calls at my back.
I don’t bother to respond.