Page 23 of To Dwell in Shadows (Shadows of Aurelia #2)

S am awoke the next morning with dread in the pit of his stomach over what he needed to do.

Last night, he and Queen Lamia had spent the rest of their meal compiling ideas for the Dark Sovereign Trials.

While Sam pushed for games that required skill and intelligence, Queen Lamia wanted challenges that relied on luck and physical strength.

They came up with a list of twenty-five possibilities, which his father and the Council of Legions would narrow to three.

The trials would be vigorous, but that didn’t frighten Sam. What did was the need to conceal his true motive—finding the competitor most worthy of ruling. For that, he’d need his powers at full strength.

And that meant facing Zaybris.

He didn’t wake Selene. If he did, he’d be tempted to linger in bed, wrapped in her softness. Instead, he slipped from their room and summoned an imp to see if Vanthee was available.

A few minutes later, Vanthee met him outside the Sanctum. Her cheeks were flushed as though she’d been running. Her expression was serious before it shifted into dreamy adoration.

“I am here for you, my prince,” she murmured .

“Do you know where the vampire Zaybris is kept?”

“Of course. He’s in the Vaults of Eternal Torment.

“Can you take me to him?”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “It would be an honor.”

Vanthee led him past the Sanctum and into the Chapel of Mourning. There, behind the dais, she revealed a hidden passage with her tattoo. It was an entrance that opened onto a narrow spiral staircase. She offered her hand, which Sam ignored, and they began their descent.

Sam had assumed Zaybris would be held in the Crypts of the Forsaken, but the deeper they went, the more he realized the Vaults of Eternal Torment made far more sense.

It was a place reserved for the worst, most irredeemable souls—those devoid of remorse, whose crimes demanded further punishment before justice could truly be served.

It was also where the Vengeance demons cast souls they deemed unworthy of reincarnation, even if they sought it in the Afterworld.

They walked in silence for several moments, until Vanthee spoke. “May I speak freely?”

Sam cringed. “If you must.”

“If Zaybris had stolen my child, I would have found a way to destroy him by any means necessary.”

“But then his punishment wouldn’t be eternal.”

“Perhaps. But my rage would be boundless. I would be a protective, devoted mother. If given the chance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you want children?”

Sam’s jaw tightened. “That’s not your business.”

“I ask only because it’s unheard of for a mortal to bear a demon’s seed. The idea that you may never become a father is a sad one.”

Irritation made his already heightened emotions simmer. He and Selene had talked about children, but neither had a burning desire to have them at the moment. “Grieve not. Selene and I can plan our future without your input. ”

“But surely you must want your bloodline to live on. You owe that to your kingdom.”

“Don’t tell me what I owe,” he snapped. His hand tightened on the staircase railing. “Please, I need to prepare myself. I don’t care to chat.”

Vanthee went quiet.

They continued to descend what felt like thousands of steps—far deeper into the Underworld than Sam had ever ventured.

The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the stench of misery and decay.

In the flickering torchlight, a vast labyrinth came into view below them, its corridors twisted at unnatural angles.

The very architecture felt wrong, as though the place had been designed to unsettle.

Most paths led to abrupt dead ends or plunged into darkness, likely crafted to crush any hope of escape.

Moans and distant screams echoed from unseen cells.

When at last they reached the bottom, Vanthee tried to take Sam’s hand again.

“The way to Zaybris is treacherous. Let me lead you.”

“You can lead without touching me,” he said. Vanthee pursed her lips, but she didn’t push further.

He continued following her past cells filled with the depraved and corrupt.

Most ignored them, though a few pleaded for freedom, or simply for attention.

At last, Vanthee’s pace slowed. She stopped before one of the most decrepit cells they’d seen.

Sam peered inside. It was dark, but he could make out a figure lying on a metal cot at the back, staring up at the ceiling.

Zaybris.

A jolt of anticipation surged through him. His fingers trembled at his sides from the overwhelming pressure of everything he had carried for so long now about to pour out.

“Here he is,” Vanthee said. “May I stay to watch you inflict your wrath?”

“I’d like to be alone.” The words came out breathless. This was it, the moment he had envisioned in countless daydreams and nightmares. It was meant to be just him and Zaybris. He didn’t want an audience.

Vanthee’s face fell. “I will leave you then. But call for me when you’re finished, to help you out.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Vanthee walked away with slow, languid steps, obviously delaying her departure. When she finally disappeared around a corner, Sam extended a claw and tapped against the bars of the cell. The sound made Zaybris sit up, though it seemed to take great effort for him to stand.

Sam was shocked by his appearance. When he had last seen the vampire in Aurelia, he’d looked just as Sam had remembered him—healthy, despite his paleness, tall, blond, with a bearing of pure arrogance.

The creature before him now was skeletal.

Only a few strands of hair clung to his scalp where the bonewhite of his skull wasn’t peeking through.

His nose had completely rotted off, leaving two empty slits at the center of his face.

The clothes he wore were tattered and filthy, most likely the same one he had worn when he transported Selene to this realm.

Zaybris shuffled closer to the bars, then gazed up at Sam with sunken, rheumy eyes.

“It’s you,” Zaybris said, his tone was surprised, like he was being visited by an old friend.

“Yes.”

“You’ve come home.”

“I have.”

Zaybris tried to peer behind him. “Is your mother here? Has she mentioned me?”

“No.”

Zaybris curled his fingers, the remaining nails cracked and blackened, around the bars, leaning in. “She is busy with her royal duties, no doubt. Is she not the most glorious queen?”

“Indeed. ”

“I know she’ll be here to visit me any day now. Have you brought me some blood? It’s been many weeks since I received my last drop.”

“No.” A bead of sweat slid down Sam’s temple, despite the chill in the air. He could tell that Zaybris was not in his right mind, but that didn’t change what he intended to do. “Vampire, can you guess why I am here?”

Zaybris blinked, then scratched at what was left of his ear. “Is this a game?”

“It is not a game.” Sam leaned closer to the iron bars. “I am a demon of Vengeance. Had you not ripped me from my home, my role here would be to make the dead feel the pain they caused others in life.”

Zaybris swallowed. “I see.”

“And now it’s your turn.”

Zaybris began to hobble backward. “But that was so long ago. Surely, you’re not still dwelling on such things.”

“Oh, I’ve dwelled on it for decades.”

“Y-you had a perfectly adequate life in Aurelia. Enough food to eat, shelter, and few enemies.” His voice rose with desperation. “And wasn’t it there that you found your beloved human? I did you a favor, taking you from this godforsaken place!”

“A favor?” Sam’s hand shot through the bars and closed around Zaybris’s throat. The vampire’s flesh squelched wetly beneath his grip, fragile and decayed. Sam had to remind himself not to squeeze too hard, not yet.

Just as he had practiced in the Sanctum, he gathered all the pain inside of him into a pulsating ball of energy. He didn’t need to dig deep to access it—it was always there, just beneath the surface. But as it surged out of him and into Zaybris, something strange happened.

His suffering poured out as flashes of searing color.

Black for fear. The fear I felt when I woke up to see Zaybris looming over my bed.

For the terror that consumed me when he grabbed me, then plunged me into the abyss of darkness.

Black for the horror of being abandoned in an unknown realm, not knowing where I was or how to get home.

Black for every moment of blinding panic I ever felt in Aurelia, even after I had escaped the blood wagons.

Blue for loneliness. Icy, bleak, bitter loneliness.

The loneliness of being the only one of my kind.

The loneliness I felt when Aurelians would look at me and quake with fear.

For all the times I watched everyone around me dance and fall in love at Queen Thema’s balls.

Blue for the nights I spent alone in my chambers, comforting myself with texts describing acts of love I was certain I’d never experience.

Blue for the pain of being ripped away from my mother’s affection and denied my father’s guidance.

Red for anger. Blistering, throbbing, vivid anger.

Red for the volatile emotions I still struggle to control.

For the trauma and sheer injustice of what was done to me as an innocent boy.

Red for how my demonic instincts are a burden in Aurelia — a defect I was expected to overcome in exchange for grudging acceptance.

White for hopelessness. The absence of color, light, or meaning.

White for the day I accepted that I would never reclaim what was taken from me.

For all the nights I shivered in the wagon next to Eldridge, unable to imagine a life that wasn’t filled with misery.

White for the many years I lived without joy, comfort, and peace because of one vampire’s selfishness.

Sam’s body trembled, every muscle quivering under the strain of channeling so much heartache. Yet his grip on the vampire’s throat never wavered.

At first, Zaybris had screamed. Long, guttural wails of agony that rang through the dark halls.

The other souls began to wail too, echoing the suffering of both Zaybris and Sam.

But as the tide of Sam’s memories and emotions crashed over him, the vampire’s screams faltered.

They fractured into gasps, choked sobs, and eventually, silence.

Finally, Zaybris just stared, lips parted, eyes wide with something closer to understanding than fear. When Sam felt the last reserves of his power flicker and fade, he released his grip. Zaybris crumpled to the stone floor, thudding against the cold ground.

Sam looked down at him, chest still heaving. He braced himself for the rush of satisfaction he had dreamed of—the thrill of justice fulfilled, the victory of vengeance complete.

But it never came.

There was no triumph. No relief.

Just emptiness.

All Sam could feel now was a cold, aching void.

He rested his forehead against the bars, struggling to reconcile the emotions he’d anticipated with the stark weight of reality. He stayed there for a long time. Then, when he couldn’t bear to be in the vaults a moment longer, he called out, “Vanthee?”

Within seconds, she appeared from around the corner, rushing toward him. Her expression was awed. “Oh, Samael, that was absolutely magnificent. I’ve never seen such?—”

“Were you watching?”

“I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you in your full power!”

“I said I wanted to be alone.”

“I know, but… what’s done is done, and I don’t regret a second of it.” Boldly, she placed a hand on his chest and stepped closer. “Let me take you to my chambers to unwind. I have wine, or perhaps you’d like me to bathe you?”

Sam ripped her hand away. He was tired of being polite, especially to someone who didn’t respect his wishes during such a private moment. “Stop! Selene is my mate and the only one I want to be with!”

The enticement in Vanthee’s gaze shifted to fury. “She can’t love you as I would!”

Sam backed away irritably. He felt too drained to argue with her, especially when he knew a long stair-climb back up awaited them. “Just take me back to my chambers. I need to see Selene.”

“Of course,” she said in a clipped tone. “But at this hour, she’s probably working in the library.”

“What do you mean, working?” Sam snapped. “Did someone dare to assign the princess consort chores ?”

“No, it was her choice. When I took her on a tour of the palace, she was shocked by the library’s poor conditions, so she took on its revitalization as a project. She visits the hounds most mornings and works in the library throughout the afternoon.”

Sam gave a terse nod. Realizing he had no idea how Selene had been spending her time for the past two weeks made his gut churn with shame. What kind of a mate was he for not making an effort to connect with Selene every day?

“Take me to her.”