Page 48 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

The heavy curtains fell shut, sealing them inside—conspirators bound by whispers too grave for my ears.

Their secrets evaporated before they could reach me, carried away in the cold night air.

The horses snorted impatiently, their breath curling into the darkness, and with the snap of the reins, the carriage rolled away to some clandestine rendezvous.

Let them scheme.

Let them believe they were untouchable.

They had no idea what I was preparing in their absence.

I turned from the window, my pulse even, my resolve honed to a deadly edge.

There was work to be done.

My gaze swept the corridors until it landed upon her.

The maid.

The one who eagerly warmed Lord Winston’s bed, her laughter too free, too bright for this house of horrors.

She was the perfect offering.

And I felt no guilt.

None.

I approached her, my voice smooth, coaxing. “Come.”

She hesitated, brow furrowed.

“There are items we require from below.”

The others followed.

Lord Winston’s newly-arrived staff—filth from a decaying estate.

They exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions flickering between ignorance and suspicion.

One of them, braver than the rest, cleared his throat. “We know not the way to this vault you speak of.”

A pathetic attempt at resistance.

I tilted my head and let my lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. “Follow me.”

My voice was not a request.

It was a summons.

And so they obeyed.

We descended.

Down the spiraling staircase, deeper and deeper into the bowels of our home.

With every step, the air grew thicker.

Darker.

The flickering torches cast shifting shadows along the damp stone walls, an eerie waltz of light and dread.

They did not yet know—did not understand where I was leading them.

Not to some harmless vault of treasures.

But to something far worse.

At last, we reached the heavy door—a barrier between the living and the damned.

I rested my palm against the cold iron, my pulse thrumming in anticipation.

On the other side, Amir waited.

And tonight, he would feed.

“In here.”

My unwavering voice carried through the dungeon as I gestured toward the cell where Amir was held.

They hesitated.

Lord Winston’s men—wolves in their own right, now fumbling, uncertain.

Their gazes flickered between one another, searching for some unspoken assurance, some silent order that would not come.

They did not yet understand.

But they would.

“Inside,” I commanded again, the finality in my tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, they obeyed.

I stepped in behind them, and before the last of them could turn, I slid the heavy bolt into place.

Locked. Sealed.

Their fate was set in iron and stone.

A shudder raked through my hands—not fear.

Something far more potent.

Something wild.

As the last echo scuffle on stone faded, I turned.

To Amir.

His chains dangled loosely from the wall like serpents waiting to strike, and in the dim glow of flickering torchlight, I saw the slow rise and fall of his chest.

A predator lying in wait.

“What are you doing?” one of the men stammered, his voice brittle with unease.

“Silence,” I snapped.

They huddled together now—frightened sheep, sensing the wolves closing in.

“Amir.”

His name was a whisper, a call.

I stepped forward, closer to the shadows within shadows.

And then—his eyes found mine.

Dark. Hollow. Waiting.

A flicker of life burned there, an ember within the abyss.

His voice was rough, edged with exhaustion, but beneath it, there was something else—admiration.

“Elizabeth.”

The way he spoke my name sent a pulse through my veins.

“What have you done?”

I pushed them forward.

Trembling. Weak. Prey.

“I’ve delivered Lord Winston’s forces,” I declared, my voice strong with purpose.

“I want you to kill them.”

They stiffened, the truth dawning upon them.

“You’re getting weak, Amir. You need to regain your strength,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice as worry coiled in my chest. “The success of the masquerade depends on you.”

But more than that—I could not bear to watch him suffer another day.

The pain in my chest was an ache too deep to name.

“And, truly, I cannot live knowing how you are suffering, my love.”

A slow, satisfied exhale left him.

“Ah, my sweet darling venom.”

His voice slithered through the dungeon, a sound both affectionate and lethal.

He struggled to rise, his movements slow, strained.

But in his eyes—anticipation.

Hunger.

A promise of strength renewed.

And then—he smiled.

Not a cruel smile. Not entirely.

But something dark still lurked behind it.

“I have never met such a determined woman,” Amir murmured, his voice bouncing off the stone walls.

“I do not deserve your kindness.”

“Don’t say that,” I countered, my tone hardening like tempered steel.

“I would do more,” I whispered, the words catching on the edge of a breath. “Whatever it takes.”

I stepped forward, brushing my fingers along the rough stubble of his cheek before pulling a small, hidden key from my pocket.

The key to his freedom.

I pressed it into the iron lock, meeting his gaze.

“Be free,” I whispered.

The metal clinked.

He rose.

Unsteady at first, his body was a battlefield between hunger and weakness.

But his eyes?—

His eyes were alive.

Smoldering.

And then—he moved.

The first to fall was the woman.

Her lips parted in a breathless gasp—but it never became a scream.

His hands closed around her throat.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Her body convulsed, the death rattle barely leaving her lungs before the silvery coil of her essence began to rise.

Drifting from her skull, curling, shimmering.

Amir breathed it in.

His muscles tightened. Swelled. Strength surged through his veins.

His hunger was no longer a whisper.

It was a storm.

And he was just getting started.

The remaining staff stumbled backward, their faces carved in sheer terror.

But I did not move.

I stood still—watching.

Captivated. Entranced.

This was no mere slaughter.

This was art.

Every motion of Amir’s body was precise, the embodiment of lethal grace.

And when he fed?—

It was reverent.

A ritual long-practiced—devotion to the darkness within him.

And something within me…

Stirred.

In the farthest corner of the dungeon, two figures huddled.

The last of them.

One was slight and ugly, his body curling inward like a worm trying to burrow itself into stone.

The other, a heavier man, his breath wheezing from lungs filled with too much fear.

The slight one begged.

His voice was frantic, fractured, pathetic.

“Someone help me. This demon is going to kill me.”

His plea hung in the air.

Unanswered.

Because no one would save him.

Not the gods.

Not fate.

And certainly not me.

I could not move.

But it was not fear that rooted me in place.

It was something else.

Something unnamed.

Something that pulsed beneath my skin, warming me from the inside out as I watched Amir advance.

There was no hesitation in his steps.

Only certainty.

The certainty of death’s embrace.

Like a harvester reaping his yield, Amir took their lives.

Their silvery, fragile essences unfurled from their flesh, drawn forth by his touch?—

And he drank them in.

Their souls coiled into him, binding with his own.

And as the last wisp of life faded from the air, Amir stood transformed.

No longer weakened.

No longer starved.

But reborn.

Silence filled the dungeon.

The only sound was our breath—his, steady and whole. Mine were uneven, shaken by what we had done.

And as the weight of it all pressed against my chest, I realized?—

We had crossed the threshold.

There was no turning back.

Our freedom would be bought in blood and darkness.

The last echoes of deathly silence shattered under the weight of something primal, something insatiable.

Amir turned to me, his dark eyes alight with a hunger that hadn’t been there before.

Power rippled off him in waves, a force both intoxicating and dangerous.

I was still drowning in the aftershock of his resurgence when he stepped closer, erasing the space between us with a predatory grace.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety rasp that slid over my skin like silk and steel. “Your aid is… invaluable.”

Before I could respond, his lips crashed against mine, searing, consuming, a kiss that decimated the hesitation and left only raw, aching need.

It was not tender. It was possession—fierce, unrelenting.

His fingers tangled in my hair, tightening just enough to steal my breath, to make my pulse hammer with something wicked.

He tasted of dark promises and whispered sins, of power barely leashed beneath the surface.

I melted into him, my hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it could anchor me against the storm of his desire.

He pressed me back until I was trapped between him and the cold stone wall, his body a furnace of heat against mine.

Every shift and movement sent sparks racing across my skin, stoking the smoldering fire between us.

I wanted more. More of his darkness, control, and touch’s dangerous allure. But with a gasp, I forced myself to break away, my lips ghosting over his in a lingering tease before I spoke.

“I’m going to release you and?—”

Amir pulled back quickly, his grip on my arms firm and unrelenting yet not cruel. The air between us cracked with something heavy, something unspoken.

“No,” he commanded, his voice low and final, laced with a force that struck like a blow. That single word sent a tremor through me, igniting something deep and primal. His voice had once rallied armies—a sound that allowed no rebuttal.

His gaze locked onto mine, dark and demanding.