Page 126 of The Vampire's Mercy

No one knew of what we’d done before his death, which I would keep to myself as a shameful memory to bury in its own grave.

Paris Raine had burrowed into my head, giving me a sense of hope. But my misguidedness led us to this, and the stain of his touch and blood upon me forever.

Ah, yet he’d been a velvet vice for my cock. And his blood had been wonderful.

I folded my arms tightly. None of the lingering sensations of him mattered. They would fade, as would my regret in killing him.

Another terrible burden to sully the deaths of my kin. How dare I regret extinguishing this killer? How dare I want his eyes to flicker open again when theirs wouldn’t?

I miss you, Layla.

I miss you so much.

Poised around the grave were eight thralls, spades at the ready.

“You don’t deserve such a pretty spot,” I told the elf and snapped my fingers.

The first thrall closed the lid, the next two lowering the coffin into the ground. Then the rest of them dumped dirt into the grave, beginning the burial.

I didn’t stay, sweeping out of the garden alone, heading to the top of the tallest palace spire. I was supposed to be having a meeting with Vaughn about the wandering waterborne frostbrood, but I had to be alone.

I pressed my forehead to the window, time moving closer to dawn.

Paris…

I’d been stuck in a nightmare of my own making, close to obsession. And now it was over, leaving nothing more than vicious sorrow lingering on the air.

Paris…

“You filth,” I whispered into the glass. “You utter filth.”

And he’d left me with a mystery.

How did he weave that wooden disk into being? Why did his song do what it did? What were those white rose petals for?

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I breathed, my breath forming a cloud of condensation on the window.

His face filled my head, his blood still roiling inside me. Every time I licked my lips, I tasted honey.

“When will I be free of your taint?”

When the first light of dawn showed itself, I returned to my chambers. Medusa greeted me, her hiss full of sadness.

“You liked him, didn’t you?”

Another hiss, meaning yes.

I didn’t ask why, crawling onto my bed instead. I was exhausted, craving a deep rest.

“At least my people will have greater respect for me now,” I muttered, the bed lowering.

Or not.

In the darkness of my sleeping pit, the elf stayed firmly rooted in my mind, circled by all those questions and the rising sense of doom I’d been feeling since I snapped Paris’s neck.

It took several hours for me to finally drift away into sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT