“About time,” I heard Kieran say as I walked between two slabs of hanging meat. “I think all my bits are about to freeze off.”
I snorted, knowing Kieran was fine. Wolven’s bodies ran hotter than any I knew. It would take a lot longer for these kinds of temps to do any real damage to him. I reached the pool of yellow light and found Kieran leaning against a bare wooden table, his arms crossed. He was dressed as I was, minus the hood. I left mine up. It had proven scarier that way. My attention shifted to the male slumped in the chair he was tied to.
“I’m pleased to introduce you to Lord Hale Devries,” Kieran announced, following my gaze. “He was arriving from Pensdurth,” he said, referencing the nearby port city. “But he is from Carsodonia, and according to all who had to listen to his insufferable boasting during the trip here, he is well connected to the Blood Crown.”
I smiled as I eyed the unconscious vampry. He was dark-haired and appeared somewhere in his second or third decade of life, but I’d bet he was a few decades older. “Gods, how I love a boaster.” We had Descenters in the Guard and among those escorting travelers among the cities. Not many, but enough that a few Ascended found their way down here. I prowled around the Lord, spotting a nasty bluish-purple bruise on his temple. “How long has he been out?”
“Since he was dumped here. Want me to wake him?”
“Sure.” I came to stand behind him.
Kieran pushed off the table and dipped below to where a bucket sat beneath it. He lifted a large ladle. Sending me a grin, he went to where the Ascended sat limply. “Wakey. Wakey,” he murmured, dumping a cup’s worth of icy water atop the Ascended’s head.
The vampry came awake with a gasp, shaking his head and sending drops of water spraying in every direction. “What the—？” Whatever the Lord had been about to say, it died a hundred deaths when he spotted Kieran standing in front of him.
“Hello.” Kieran tossed the ladle onto the table. “Did you have a nice nap?”
“Who…who are you?” the Lord demanded as he turned his head left and right, his body going rigid as he saw the slabs of hanging meat. “Where am I?”
“I think it should be obvious where you are.” Kieran’s face was devoid of emotion, but his eyes were a bright, luminous blue. “And you shouldn’t be concerned with me. You should be asking about the one behind you.”
The Lord’s head jerked to the side. “Who’s there—？”
Planting my hand on the top of his head, I stopped him. “I’m so glad to make your acquaintance, Lord Devries. I have a few questions for you that I do hope you can answer.”
“How dare you?” he sputtered.
I grinned as I pressed my gloved fingers into his head. “How dare I?”
“Do you know who I am?” the Lord demanded.
“I believe that’s been established,” Kieran stated.
“I doubt you understand—”
“Look at him when you speak,” I turned his head so he faced Kieran.
The Lord fought but lost. He ended up looking right at Kieran as he warned, “I’m a Lord, a member of the Royal Court, and you have made a grave mistake.” Devries spat on the floor. “Descenter.”
Kieran raised a brow.
“What is it you want that has driven you to make such poor choices?” Devries demanded in that annoying air of haughtiness all Ascended seemed to come equipped with. “Land? Coin?”
“We have no need of your coin,” Kieran said. “The land, though? Yes, but that will have to wait.”
I chuckled.
“You laugh now, but you risk the wrath of the gods,” Devries hissed, pushing his head against my grip as he tried to turn toward me. “You risk bringing the Crown down upon your head.”
I bent so I was close to his ear as I whispered, “Fuck the Crown.”
“Bold words from the coward who stands behind me,” the Lord snapped.
Grinning, I shoved his head and stepped back. He cursed as he and the chair toppled forward. Kieran caught him with a boot to the chest, and I prowled around him, setting the chair to rights.
“You stupid heathen. You will burn…” He trailed off as I came into view. Pitch-black eyes widened as he watched me stand in front of him.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He took in the black cloak, the heavy hood that hid my features, and my gloved hands. That alone would not be of concern, but combined with the predicament he found himself in, it took no time for him to figure it out.
The Lord’s head snapped forward, and his lips peeled back over his teeth, all pretense vanishing in an instant as he bared sharpened canines. “Dark One.”
I bowed. “At your service.”
“Dramatic,” Kieran muttered.
Smiling, I straightened. “As I was saying before you had your little meet and greet, I have questions for you.”
“Fuck your questions,” he snapped. “You’re going to die.”
“Let me cut in here since it’s fucking cold and it stinks,” Kieran interjected. “You’re going to threaten us. We’re going to laugh. You’re going to swear you won’t answer our questions, but we’ll make you.”
The Lord’s head swiveled in the wolven’s direction.
“And right now, you think there’s no point in cooperating since you know you’re not walking out of here,” Kieran went on. “But what hasn’t sunk in yet is that there is a difference between dying and a very long, drawn-out, and painful death.”
Devries’ nostrils flared as his gaze darted between us.
“And if I have to stay down here longer than necessary? I can promise you will beg for death,” Kieran continued. “You have a choice.”
“He speaks the truth,” I said, my eyes narrowing on Devries. “I want to know where they’re keeping Prince Malik.”
“I know nothing about Prince Malik,” he growled, his arms flexing.
“But you told everyone on the journey here you were well connected with the Crown,” Kieran said.
Vamprys were strong—strong enough to break the ropes holding him in place.
I sighed. “He’s going to choose unwisely.”
The bindings snapped, and the vampry came out of the chair faster than a mortal could move.
But not faster than a wolven.
Kieran caught him by the shoulders, holding the vampry back. “Why do they always do this?” he asked as his chin dipped.
“Maybe they think it’s fun,” I mused.
“It’s not.” A growl rumbled up from Kieran’s chest as his nostrils flattened and the skin of his features thinned. The hand on the Ascended shoulders lengthened, the nails growing and sharpening, plunging deep into the vampry’s shoulder.
The Lord howled as Kieran clawed through flesh and muscle. He threw Devries to the cold, stone floor, sending him skidding back into a hunk of meat. “You’re a…” He gasped, clutching his mangled shoulder. “Wolven.”
“You can call me that.” Kieran inhaled deeply, reining himself back in. His skin filled out, his hand returning to its normal size. Blood and tissue dripped from his fingertips. “Or you can call me death. Whichever you’d prefer.”