Page 4 of Hunger in His Blood (Brides of the Kylorr #3)
CHAPTER 4
ERINA
“ A re you all right?” I asked Kaldur, staring at him with quizzical concern even though I was the one bleeding everywhere.
Oh . Maybe it was rude to bleed in front of a Kylorr? No, that couldn’t be right. I’d seen my fair share of cuts at the orphanage, and I remembered a particular incident with Syndras where I’d received a nasty gash from decorative swords I’d been dusting. She’d helped me bandage it up without once blinking her red eyes.
Maybe it was rude to bleed in front of a Kyzaire , then?
I didn’t know. I didn’t make it a habit to bleed in front of Kyzaires , Kaldur being the only one I’d ever interacted with.
I squeezed my hand into the fabric of my apron, the side of my enclosed fist bumping into the notebook beneath the folds.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, quickly.
Kaldur stood abruptly. As if my gaze was pulled by magnets, I saw that his white fangs were poking into the bottom of his lip. I’d been around enough Kylorr in my life—full-blooded Kylorr—to know that he must’ve been exceedingly hungry for such a response to happen. Or on the verge of a berserker rage, which was uncommon among their race unless threatened. I’d never seen one myself, but I had heard stories.
The Kyzaire turned, giving his wings a small pump to propel him toward the door more quickly. My heart was pounding as I slowly stood. The cut over my palm felt like it throbbed with my heartbeat.
At the threshold, he turned back to look at me. The expression on his face was one I could only describe as torment . His brows were furrowed low over his mirror eyes. The lines of his face had deepened, especially around his mouth, though his lips were in a firm, unyielding press. One of his fangs had pierced the flesh of his bottom lip, a bead of black blood appearing before he licked it away. His body and movements were so tight and stiff that he resembled one of the gray marble statues I dusted regularly in the front atrium.
He stared at me as if…disappointed? I couldn’t understand why.
And yet… those eyes . I felt the back of my throat burn at the intensity in that gaze, pinning me into place like I was an unfortunate specimen that was being studied. Now I knew that his eyes made me feel like shivering. I hadn’t known that before because they’d only ever skimmed over me, never settling. I knew he had the smallest silver scar over his chin, shaped like a crescent moon, a detail I was itching to add to my sketch from this morning, though it felt like I shouldn’t know that.
Forbidden, I thought. Everything about him felt forbidden.
Those eyes pierced me, and then a rough sound grumbled up from his chest. He turned, pushing through the doors hard enough that it made me jump.
Then he was gone.
It took long moments for my heart to calm as I stared at the empty doorway. Then I looked down at the shattered vase at my feet.
I pulled my notebook from the folds of my dress, careful not to get blood on the soft material. I flipped open to my sketch from this morning. With my charcoal pencil pinched between my pointer finger and thumb, I added a small crescent scar to Kaldur’s likeness.
A drop of my blood from the small gash across my palm landed on the sketch. I hurriedly tried to wipe it away, but it smudged the lines of charcoal, leaving a red hue right over his left eye. I stared at the red. Berserker red.
I snapped the notebook closed, my eyes flickering back to the door.
What had just happened?
Later that night, shortly after my nightly bath so my skin was still warm and my hair damp, I was tucked in the small window seat of my room, having drawn back the sheer curtain to look over Vyaan. It was a beautiful night, the moon a crescent—which I tried to ignore—and the lights of the city were shimmering. Candles in windows, the blue glow of the orb lights throughout the winding streets, the fires that glowed from within the taverns and inns.
My gaze trailed over the roads, a beautiful organic pattern that I’d drawn too many times to count from this very place. I had one of Luc’s letters open in my lap, one I’d reread hundreds of times. It was the first letter I’d received from him shortly after he’d moved to Laras. He’d promised to write me, to let me know he’d arrived with his traveling caravan safely.
His handwriting was a messy scrawl, rushed most likely. He’d always hated writing, though Wrezaan had insisted that we learned, a tutor appearing every week like clockwork for our lessons. Though, now that I was older, I knew it was Vyaan law for orphanages to provide a weekly tutoring session for all children, at minimum. And Wrezaan had only decided on the minimum.
I loved writing, and so the weekly lesson had always been the highlight of the week for me. For Luc, they’d been horrendously long and infinitely boring.
Luc’s letter conveyed his excitement at being in Laras, the capital city of the Kaalium. It had been a dream of his for so long. It was there he was determined to build a life, a fortune. I never knew where his obsession with Laras had begun, but Luc had consumed anything about it, whether it was stories from travelers at the merchant square he frequented or a book that he brought home from the archives for me to read to him.
Luc was a dreamer, perhaps even more than I was, and I’d always thought that a steep impossibility.
But for Luc, Laras was a glittering beacon of hope, a fresh start to acquire everything he’d ever wanted as an abandoned, poor child. He aspired to wealth, to status so he would never be overlooked or ignored again.
And he’d promised to send for me once that happened.
There was a small worry pressing more and more firmly at the back of my mind these last two years. Luc’s letters had become more infrequent. The last one I’d received had been three months ago, though I had sent many since.
I worried he would forget his promise. I didn’t care about wealth or status. I only cared to see my brother again, though we were not related by blood. But we shared a family name—Denoren, the name he’d come up with for the heroine of our shared story, and one we’d vowed to take together as mere children—and we were family in every sense of the word except in blood.
Luc was my brother, and I knew he wouldn’t forget about me. He would never . A part of me felt intense guilt for beginning to wonder if he had, if he remembered his promise.
I folded Luc’s letter carefully. I liked this one in particular. It sounded most like the Luc I remembered, all starry-eyed optimism and an unshakeable determination.
A sharp rap came at my door, but before I could answer, Velle was pushing the door inward, the hinges creaking.
“What did you do now?” she demanded quietly, peering at me from the doorway, an unhappy frown on her features.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my brow furrowing as I tucked Luc’s letter away in the drawer next to the window as I stood. “Is something wrong?”
Velle was angry with me. Maudoric had apparently made her wash up the dishes from the afternoon meal after she’d given me a scolding in the starlight hallway. Velle had told her I’d been “doodling” when I’d meant to be cleaning…but Maudoric hadn’t appreciated Velle’s “childish tattling.” I could never understand that female.
Even at this hour, Velle looked like she could go to a party. Her dark blue hair was freshly brushed and dried, with her hairband in place, the ends slightly curled. Even her nightdress was wrinkle free, with little gold bead details at the hem, something that looked like it cost a full week’s wages. It was stylish, with a deep V that ended in the middle of her breasts—shorter than I would ever dare.
Whereas I had my damp hair piled and tied on top of my head and an old pale blue shift dress that Syndras had given to me years ago. It had been one of her daughter’s, and I’d had to sew up the long slashes in the material at the back meant for wings. It was the nicest nightdress I owned, however, and no one ever saw the back anyway.
“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” Velle said, her words edged in a sharp bite. But I knew Velle well enough to know she’d eventually forgive me and we’d go back to being friends. “Only that the Kyzaire has requested your presence in his study. At this hour!”
My heart leapt. “Right… now ? The Kyzaire ?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “What did you do? Maudoric looks like she’s about to start spitting fire. And I swear, Erina, if I have to wash up in the kitchens again tomorrow because of you, I’ll…”
But I didn’t hear whatever she said next. My heart had begun to beat thunderously in my chest, remembering the intensity of those mirrored eyes and the drop of black blood at his lip.
I stood. Velle was staring at me.
“What is going on?” she demanded.
“I have no idea,” I answered honestly. Excitement, wariness, and fright all mingled together inside me at the thought of speaking with him again. “But I’ll go find out.”
Beneath my fresh bandage, the cut over my palm gave a small throb, as if in warning.