Page 82 of Dhampira

I ducked behind the screen, a flush spreading down my neck. She couldn’t know about Vander, could she? He’d used Veradorn’s magic to conceal his presence…and everything that came after he arrived.

Like how I came after he arrived.

My fingers were clumsy as I pulled my nightgown over my head. What was he playing at? And how was I supposed to face him again? How could I face Lorcan, knowing the two of them were involved?

Except I didn’t know that for sure. Possibly I knew less now than when I crossed the Feyline. Every time I thought I had something figured out, new information showed up. Like Lorcan warning me the werewolves would attack seconds before they did.

Like Lorcan kissing me in front of the whole court—and then threatening to put me over his knee unless I released my prey. My skin burned hotter. It was embarrassment, nothing more. And Lorcan had a lot of nerve.

Clothes appeared over the top of the screen, undergarments and stockings dangling against the silk panels. “We should move quickly,” Delphine said on the other side. “Prince Lorcan just left his chamber.”

I scrambled into my clothes and then tried not to fidget as Delphine styled my hair. A servant brought pastries and a steaming pot of tea. I ate standing, frosting coating my fingers as I willed myself to stop thinking about men and their confusing kisses.

“Did you sleep well, Your Highness?” Delphine asked as she made the bed. Straightening, she rested a hand on the headboard. “I’m always falling asleep in the oddest places. Anywhere but my bed, really. Lately, I nod off while reading in a chair next to the window.” Her tone was lighthearted, but her gaze was steady. “It’s probably not the most restful place to sleep, but I don’t have as many bad dreams that way. At least, I don’t remember them. I used to talk in my sleep. It drove my younger sister crazy. She swore I talked so much that she felt like she’d watched my dreams unfold right there with me.”

I paused with the pastry halfway to my mouth. Delphine’s chatter hung in the air as we stared at each other. Sunlight fell in thick bars over the bed, dust motes suspended in the beams. The light stopped before it reached the headboard with its carved serpent.

Rasimir’s serpent.

“The prince is here,” Delphine said.

A knock rang out.

I put my pastry back on the plate as Delphine went to the door. Lorcan stood alone on the threshold, his expression cool as I dusted crumbs from my hands and crossed the room. He wore black again.

“Shocking,” I murmured before I could think better of it.

His face didn’t change. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He gave me one of his unreadable looks. “You have frosting on your bodice.”

I jerked my chin down. He was right, damn him. As I brushed at the fabric, I noticed more frosting on my finger. My cheeks heating, I licked it off. When I looked up, Lorcan stared at my mouth.

His dark eyes snapped to mine. “Let’s go,” he said, irritation lacing his voice. “We’re late enough as it is.”

I followed him from the room, my own irritation rising. Apparently, the tentative bond we’d formed at the ball had been pretense like everything else. “If you had a specific departure time in mind, you should have mentioned it last night.”

“Good point,” he said without looking at me. “I’ll try to remember that the next time werewolves attack the castle and start trying to kill everyone.” He increased his pace.

Clenching my jaw, I did the same. But it was a struggle to keep up with him as we moved down the Drakhold’s endless corridors. Servants moved about, their eyes averted and their movements brisk. The occasional knight stood at attention against a wall or inside a doorway. To my relief, we didn’t pass any courtiers. Probably they were still sleeping off the night’s excesses. When we neared the passageway that led to the courtyard, Lorcan suddenly flicked out a hand.

Blue danced over his fingers.

I slowed. “What are you—?”

He grabbed my arm and tugged me to a nearby door. Shouldering inside, he yanked me into a shadowy space, shut the door behind us, and pulled me close.

“Change of plans,” he said in my ear. “Your father has knights searching the forest for more wolves. We can’t risk leading them to the Everless. We have to get to Vander another way.”

My heart pounded, the skin under my ear tingling. “Where is he now?”

Lorcan drew back. Black started to bleed across the whites of his eyes. “Not here.” Gripping my hand, he pulled me to a spiral staircase. Narrow and made of stone, it looked old enough to have been carved when the Drakhold was built. Lorcan drew me upward, taking the steps much faster than I would have on my own. It seemed that racing up staircases was one of his favorite pastimes. By the time we reached the top, I was breathless and dizzy. With a firm grip on my hand, he led me through an ancient-looking door and onto a stone rooftop. Light assailed me and fresh air flooded my lungs. Nocta’s pink sky spread overhead. The crenellated wall of a tower loomed a short distance away. Beyond it, mountains pierced the sky.

“Come here,” Lorcan said. When I turned toward him, he’d removed his shirt and jacket. His chest was smooth, the muscles in his arms as well-defined as those on the courtyard’s statues. Rippling abdominals flexed as he sucked in a deep breath. He exhaled, and his eyes flicked to solid black. Enormous purple wings rose above his shoulders. Sunlight illuminated the web of veins and white speckles in his wings.

Shock tripped through me.