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The trio’s eyes lit up at Skartovius’ proclamation. Mine narrowed—it was not a word I’d heard before.

Loreblood?

“I can see by the expression on your pretty face you have more questions,” the nobleblood said. “I will answer them. First, I must dine. I am famished from the events of last night, and Lukain’s intrusion meant I didn’t get supper.”

My neck hollowed and I tensed.

Skartovius broke into a smirk. “I won’t be dining on you, temptress.

Fear not.” He walked to the one curtained window of the room, pulled it aside, and squinted past the gray with a wince, clearly trying to beat back his weakness from the sun.

“My carriage should arrive shortly with my meal. There’s enough for you, Vallan, should you need sustenance.

” His chin dipped over to the large newcomer.

The man grunted. He rested up against a wall, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Was a hard night’s work. I could drink.”

Garroway asked him, “Are we any closer?”

Vallan nodded. “Closer every day, cub.”

My eyes swiveled between them. They had stopped looking at me, essentially ignoring me as they carried on a conversation I knew nothing about.

It was oddly relieving. Being the center of their perverse attentions was a nerve-wracking experience. Maybe I can slip out once they’re . . . dining.

A new fear struck a chord inside me because I knew what a vampire meant when they had to “dine.” They’ll be draining the blood of some poor human. I grimaced at my next thought. Probably someone from the gala who didn’t manage to escape. Shit . . . maybe even someone I know.

Minutes later, Lord Ashfen let the curtain fall. “Ah. There we are.” He marched toward the door, opening it but not stepping outside.

A woman with an alabaster face came down from a carriage. She was hooded, bundled up, and shockingly beautiful.

A note of familiarity filled me at the sight of her face in the doorway.

I recognized her from the crowd at the shadowgala.

She had been wearing a snug gown that accentuated her narrow build, with expensive gold jewelry adorning her arms and neck.

Now, she looked little more than a guttergirl, like me, hiding her true beauty behind rags and tattered clothes.

A rustling sound followed in her wake. I stepped to the side to look around Skartovius and saw she dragged a bound man with a rope across the street, effortlessly hauling him into the room as he writhed and cried out in a muffled voice past the gag in his mouth.

Please don’t be Rirth or Culiar . . .

Skartovius took the man, lifted him easily, and shoved him against a wall on his ass. The woman nodded to the nobleblood and left without a word, giving me a quick, curious glance before departing.

The door closed, leaving us alone with this poor victim. I got a good look at his face and was sickened by the wave of relief that filled me. I didn’t know this man, yet I felt awful knowing his fate.

The man stared up with bulging, fearful eyes at the three approaching monsters who circled him. He whined past his gag, kicking his legs out to keep them at bay.

When he saw me standing behind the vampires—the color in my cheeks, the terror in my gaze—his eyes only grew wider and his piteous sounds more incessant.

He’s begging for help. To free him.

I worried my lip.

Garroway turned and fixed me with a sympathetic frown. “You should go upstairs for this, lass.”

My nostrils flared at his gentle tone—the horror he wished to spare me. “No,” I announced. “I must be reminded constantly of the kind of creatures you are.”

Garroway sighed. “Very well.” His voice was resigned.

I wasn’t sure why the fuck he cared. He had already betrayed me once by putting me in the same room as the murderer of my master. Now he wanted to act like he was doing me a kindness by sparing me the indignities vampires engaged in nightly?

Skartovius crouched in front of the man and pulled out the gag. He slapped him lightly, silencing his whining. “Tell me what you know of the vampires who attacked me in my home.”

Genuined confusion twisted the man’s features. He sputtered a few times. “F-Fuck you, bloodsucker! I don’t know nothing ‘bout no Buvers. You’re all sick bastards!”

Skar remained unmoving—

Even when the man spat in his face.

Lord Ashfen didn’t react as the spittle dripped from his chin. He reached out calmly and stabbed a long fingernail into the man’s tunic. There was a quick splitting sound, a red splotch stained the dark green tunic near the man’s stomach.

The man gawked, writhing in pain. “Agh, fuck, it hurts!”

“It’ll be over soon if you answer me, cur. Your outfit,” Skartovius said. “What was the purpose of bringing so many stinking gutter-rats to my shadowgala, when only one of you was scheduled to fight in the pit?”

“I d-don’t know!” His face was drenched with sweat now, the red stain growing larger as Skartovius kept his finger pierced in the man’s belly.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. I refused to look away. Truth was, I wanted to know the answer to that question also.

“You h-have to ask Dimmon!”

“Your liege.”

“My what?”

Skartovius sighed. “Your boss.”

The man’s head bobbed profusely. “Or Bay, if y-you bloodsucker’s hadn’t killed him first.”

The vampire lord glanced up and over at Garroway, who simply shook his head and shrugged.

For once, I had an answer they didn’t have.

“The vampire’s didn’t kill Baylen,” I said from the back in a grim, clipped tone. “I did.”

All four pairs of eyes turned to me. The huge vampire looked indifferent, but Skartovius and Garroway seemed bemused. Their dinner just looked awestruck.

“Traitorous banshee bitch!” he cried out, more spittle flying past his short beard.

I crossed my arms under my chest. “Trust me, sir, you would have killed him too if you shared the same history with the Diplomats I do.”

He snarled when I fell silent. I would say nothing more on the matter—I owed this prisoner nothing.

He was growing rabid and red-faced. Skartovius unplugged his wound, making the man gasp and whimper while blood trickled down Lord Ashfen’s finger.

“We can’t learn anything from this swine,” Garroway said.

“You’re right,” Skartovius answered easily.

Without preamble or warning, the nobleblood dipped his chin and tilted his head. A cavernous sound left his mouth as he bit into the side of the man’s neck.

The man howled. He writhed, staring past Skartovius and the others to me. I grimaced, ready to turn away from the gruesome feeding frenzy, but I knew I had to keep watching and complete my oath to myself.

The man’s eyes began to roll wildly as, I suspected, he succumbed to the lustful sensation a victim felt while being drained by a vampire. Grotesquely, I noticed an erection beginning to build against the man’s pants.

Garroway kneeled on the other side of him and bit into an equidistant spot on his neck. Vallan watched for a moment before coming at him from the front, completely blocking my view of the Diplomat as he gasped and cried for his mother.

These True-fucking monsters.

I was relegated to watching the man’s legs kick through the legs of Vallan. The struggle slowed, and then stopped completely. The sounds of sucking filled the space, making my skin crawl.

When the three vampires stepped aside, the man’s face was slack and rubbery—bloodless, with gray eyes still open in horror, mouth ajar in an eternal shout of agony.

Blood trickled down the lips of Garroway and Vallan. Oddly, Skartovius looked no different than before. He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand, but I saw no blood on his lips.

He dines how he lives, with regal efficiency.

With a heavy sigh, Skartovius turned and faced me. He pushed his auburn hair out of his face, over his shoulders, and joined his hands together. He looked more energetic, with a light in his eyes not there before. His dark pupils were dilated. “Now then, ask your questions, little temptress.”

I stammered for a moment, unable to tear my gaze away from the man lying dead behind them against the wall. He had slumped over, and I could only imagine what had gone through his mind as these three animals feasted on his blood until his heart stopped getting enough of it to keep beating.

“The Loreblood you claim I possess,” I said, trying to bury my emotions. “What is it?”

“An ancient blood theorized to cause great harm to vampires. That is why so many are after you.”

“Theorized?”

“We don’t know its specific properties. There are others more learned on the subject. For now, you are safest with us.”

I glanced down at the dead man. “I doubt that,” I said dryly. “Who is after me?”

“I’m assuming the vampires who showed up at Manor Marquin and attacked my court. I don’t know who they were in cahoots with. I have some ideas.”

My eyes narrowed. “You killed a vampire. Turned him into living fire. He was not one of these vampires that attacked your court. He was part of your court. I saw him earlier in the night.”

“Yes,” Skartovius said, “sitting with Lukain Mortis. Odd, isn’t it?” A hint of a smile played on his lips.

My focus shifted with the mention of my master. “I still say you’re lying about Master Lukain. You said he tried to assassinate you. Why?”

Skartovius stepped over to the cot where I had slept.

He sat on the edge, crossing his legs and leaning back in a relaxed stance with his arms stretched behind him.

“Lukain wished to get close to me to avenge past . . . transgressions he blames me for. We don’t need to get into that.

He succeeded in getting close to me but failed to achieve his revenge. ”

My lips firmed. I wanted more than that. He spoke so easily about death—about a grayskin man I had known for five years, the man I had gotten closer to than anyone before him.

“Use your cunning, girl. I know you’re more than a beautiful face.” Skartovius tilted his head in an infuriating way that told me he was toying with me. “Why was Lukain not with his little humans, helping them escape?”