Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I can assure her there’s no one to hear. I’ve never seen another soul in the castle, except Gorsky lurking here and there. And what hides even deeper, the husks. I shudder involuntarily and ask, “So Valen must do what Gregor says, but if Gregor actually uses the compulsion hardcore to make it happen—that’s bad?”
“Come.” She moves more quickly, taking the stairs with unearthly grace. “We’re only prolonging the inevitable.”
“Is compulsion their only power?” I ask.
“No,” her clipped reply as we reach the level that sends a shiver through me.
I follow. Several times along the way I wish I’d brought the knife with me. I left it concealed under my mattress right beside my journal. It wouldn’t be of much use against Valen or Whitbine, but it might come in handy if I ever make it free of this place. And—a darker part of me whispers—I could use it to end all of this once and for all. If it comes to that.
“My favorite patient.” Whitbine grins from his spot just inside the door, a spider waiting for its prey to walk into its web. Valen glowers at him from deeper in the room, the green flames sending odd shadows across his face. Healed now. The gash is completely gone.
“Open for me.” Whitbine offers me a capsule. “I’ve created a new delivery method to make quicker work of my subjects, though, of course, I’m more than happy to do it the old-fashioned way with you.” His fangs lengthen as he brings his wrist to his mouth.
“No.” I grab the capsule. My gorge rises, but I force myself to swallow it. There’s no point fighting. This is going to happen—and quite regularly it seems. I’ll survive it the same way I survived it when I was still in the cell.
“There we are.” Whitbine gestures toward the same sofa as before. “Let’s have a chat.”
He goes through the same questions, asking me about my time at the castle. When I recount Valen biting me, his eyes narrow.
“Did you enjoy his bite?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “Yes,” comes out directly after, self-loathing burning like acid in my heart.
“Mixed emotions, I presume?” He clucks his tongue. “Did you ever enjoy my bite?”
“No.” My answer is flat. No other word pushes past my lips. The no is final.
Valen growls low in his throat. “Get on with it.”
Whitbine scowls and continues his interrogation for long moments. My voice grows hoarse as I narrate every bit of minutiae. He listens raptly, his focus never wavering. I hate his gaze on me, his attention, the way he sometimes brushes his hand against mine. “I’d very much like to see this journal of yours.”
“No.” My mouth snaps shut after I spit the word.
Whitbine gives me an indulgent smile. “No secrets between us, Georgia, remember?”
“Yes.” The compulsion forces my answer.
“Good. I’d hate to think something as small as a journal could shake our trust in each other.” He raises his hand to my cheek as if to stroke it, but I shrink back.
He hides his disapproval in another question. “Lord Dragonis hasn’t questioned you again about his brother’s death?”
“No.”
“Curious.” He lifts his gaze to Valen. “My lord, I would think you’d be far more interested in learning the truth of what happened to beloved Theo.”
“Perhaps it’s slipped your mind, Whitbine, but I’m High Lord Dragonis’s Specter. While you’re frittering your nights away playing with your human subjects, I’m wiping them off the face of the earth city by city, town by town. Do instruct me when I should abandon my duties fighting Gregor’s war to return here and ensure this single human—who very well may have no information whatsoever—is properly questioned to your standards.”
The Specter. I should’ve realized it before now—it’s Valen. He’s Gregor’s executioner, the vampire whispered about by all newcomers to the cell. The one whose bloodlust rivals only that of his master. A creeping horror spreads through my veins, and it must show on my face because Valen’s sneer only grows as I stare up at him.
Whitbine bows his head. “Lord Dragonis, I meant no offense.”
“None taken.” Valen’s tone says otherwise. “Now if we’re finished here, I have duties to attend to.”
“Of course, my lord.” Whitbine brushes his hand along mine again, his fingers lingering at the scars he left on my wrist. “However, I would like to ask her about Theo’s—”
“Perhaps if you’d wasted less time spying on me through your questioning of her, you could’ve done your job and gotten the information our high lord seeks. However, you chose a different path. As such, we’re done here.” Valen is behind me, his presence like a looming wave set to drown me.
“Yes, my lord.” Whitbine dips his chin even lower as Valen pulls me to my feet.
“Let’s go,” he orders.
Though I’m under no compulsion from him, I put as much distance between myself and Whitbine as possible, only slowing once I’m safely back in my room. I’m shaking, but it’s not as bad as before. I feel as if I’ve dodged a bullet, but I have no doubt Whitbine will more than make up for it at our next interrogation. The thought sends me reeling, and I pull out the small dagger from beneath the mattress. Just having a weapon—even one as ineffectual as this—gives me a sliver of comfort. Or perhaps it gives me the slightest sense that I might have some sort of control over my future, however short it may be.