Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 90: Chapter 90
You are reading Sold to the Night Lord, Chapter 90: Chapter 90. Read more chapters of Sold to the Night Lord.
Cassian
I want to convince myself that this is the right thing to do. My enemies seek me out more and more frequently, and they use her as a weapon against me. I can't afford it, not someone like me. She is a weakness I must eliminate, like a bad splinter. That is why I’ve acquired a new feeder. I don’t need her, but I know this will hurt Elara, and that’s what I’m after.
The differences between them are very noticeable—one has black hair, the other golden. She has an angelic face that steals your breath. Nothing like Elara’s raw beauty, a melancholic beauty that absorbs color and turns it grey. Soft features against sharp ones. Sky blue eyes versus absorbing grey eyes.
I pour myself a glass with the new feeder’s blood, and as I bring it to my lips, it tastes like all the others. The door opens without knocking, and I know immediately who it is. Behind the haze that clouds my vision every time I feed, I can see Drystan with his arms crossed over his chest, his black hair brushing his shoulders, and his lips pursed in disapproval.
"You shouldn't be doing this, Cassian."
"I stopped taking orders a long time ago, my friend."
"It's not an order. It's advice," he says with emphasis.
"Oh? Do tell me more," I reply mockingly.
He sighs, visibly tired of my behavior.
"We've already made her suffer too much by tearing her from her home. Her life has been shit her entire existence, always thinking about the moment one of us would take her. She seemed to be starting to fit in here, to enjoy herself—why make her suffer again?"
"I'm tired." I shrug. "You know how I am."
"Precisely because I know how you are, I know these past weeks haven’t been meaningless to you," he scoffs. "You’ve never gotten involved with humans, but she’s different, isn’t she? Even I feel different around her—she makes me appreciate life a little more. It’s pleasant having her nearby."
"Stop spouting sentimental nonsense, Drystan. I thought you were serious."
"You’re going to regret this," he declares. "I just hope it won’t be too late by then."
He doesn’t wait for me to dismiss him; he leaves the room as silently as he entered, leaving me alone with myself and my decisions. Someday the weight of them will fall on me, but now is not the time to think about that. Between shapeshifters and rebellious Diluted, I have too many things on my hands. Elara cannot be a distraction—much less a weakness.
As dinner approaches, I go down to the hall where I used to meet with her. I take my usual seat and wait patiently for Maryse. I must admit that when she sits beside me, I feel nothing—not even the urge to torment her. She doesn’t react when I cut her wrist with my ring and fill my cup with her blood. Her wound begins to heal when I pass my tongue over it, and soon we're both absorbed in our thoughts. She eats in silence while I run my fingers along the rim of the cup.
It’s then that I feel a sudden chill—something I’m not used to. I don’t feel temperature changes the same way a human would. I have a bad feeling that makes me dive into my powers and search for Elara’s mind, but it’s locked shut. I push my chair back and plant my hands on the table, startling Maryse. I say nothing as I leave the hall and head swiftly to Elara’s room.
The strange sensation of absolute cold lingers in my chest. I brush my fingers over the doorframe, hesitating to enter, thinking about what I’ll say if my suspicions are wrong. Deep down, I know they aren’t. I’m not someone who is driven by feelings—this is something else.
I open the door and find everything empty. I know she’s not there even before heading to the bathroom to confirm it. A slight tremor shakes my fingers, and I throw several items to the floor—perfume bottles, bath essences. No one comes to check what caused the noise—I’m sure no one wants to risk their life at this moment.
"Elara!" I shout, knowing I won’t get an answer.
The improvised rope tied to the bedpost mocks me from its place. I bite into my own fangs from clenching my jaw so hard, furious. With fists clenched, I leave her quarters, knocking over the stool at her vanity and making the doorframe tremble as I slam the door shut. At the end of the hallway, around the corner, I catch a glimpse of the unmistakable pale hair that has settled among us these past few days. I run toward it, determined not to let her escape. I quickly reach her back—her haste tells me she’s not eager to see me. I grab her by the nape and turn her around to face me.
"Where is she?"
"Where is who?" she replies through clenched teeth.
"Don’t play dumb with me, banshee." I narrow my eyes as I tighten my grip. "You’ve never given me a good feeling—I know you helped her."
"Is it so strange to think she might have left on her own, by her own will?"
I let out a sarcastic laugh.
"Talk now, before I break every bone in your body and then enjoy tearing your mind apart just for fun."
"I hope she’s far away from you," she spits.
I squeeze so tightly my knuckles turn white and I feel the skin stretching painfully over bone. The banshee’s jaw trembles, but she never lowers her gaze.
"Where is she?"
"I don’t know." She shrugs. "And I hope you never get your claws on her again—I don’t care what fate says."
"Evanora, you’re going to regret this."
The invisible fingers of my gift are already toying with the strings that make her mind hers and not an empty shell. I pluck them like harp strings. She trembles beneath my hand—she knows what I’m going to do, yet she doesn’t step back or beg for mercy. I’m about to strike when Drystan steps in.
"Stop, Cassian."
I turn my face toward him, unable to believe he’s challenging me.
"Leave," I snap.
"No."
"You’ll never have her, Drys." I curl my lips into a malicious smile. "Do you think you'll earn her favor by saving her from my wrath?"
The seconds we spend staring each other down are what Evanora needs to gather her courage and risk my gift going wild and damaging her irreparably. She doesn’t seem to care, not if she opens her mouth. I know what’s going to happen before it does. Her scream tears through the air, the walls tremble, and my ears feel like they’re about to burst. I squint, take a step back, and she uses the opportunity to slip away. I want to catch her again, use her as a target for my rage, but her scream is powerful and keeps me frozen in the hallway. Kneeling, Drystan covers his ears as if that would make any difference. A hot liquid trickles down the side of my neck—without touching it, I know it’s blood.
I want to convince myself that this is the right thing to do. My enemies seek me out more and more frequently, and they use her as a weapon against me. I can't afford it, not someone like me. She is a weakness I must eliminate, like a bad splinter. That is why I’ve acquired a new feeder. I don’t need her, but I know this will hurt Elara, and that’s what I’m after.
The differences between them are very noticeable—one has black hair, the other golden. She has an angelic face that steals your breath. Nothing like Elara’s raw beauty, a melancholic beauty that absorbs color and turns it grey. Soft features against sharp ones. Sky blue eyes versus absorbing grey eyes.
I pour myself a glass with the new feeder’s blood, and as I bring it to my lips, it tastes like all the others. The door opens without knocking, and I know immediately who it is. Behind the haze that clouds my vision every time I feed, I can see Drystan with his arms crossed over his chest, his black hair brushing his shoulders, and his lips pursed in disapproval.
"You shouldn't be doing this, Cassian."
"I stopped taking orders a long time ago, my friend."
"It's not an order. It's advice," he says with emphasis.
"Oh? Do tell me more," I reply mockingly.
He sighs, visibly tired of my behavior.
"We've already made her suffer too much by tearing her from her home. Her life has been shit her entire existence, always thinking about the moment one of us would take her. She seemed to be starting to fit in here, to enjoy herself—why make her suffer again?"
"I'm tired." I shrug. "You know how I am."
"Precisely because I know how you are, I know these past weeks haven’t been meaningless to you," he scoffs. "You’ve never gotten involved with humans, but she’s different, isn’t she? Even I feel different around her—she makes me appreciate life a little more. It’s pleasant having her nearby."
"Stop spouting sentimental nonsense, Drystan. I thought you were serious."
"You’re going to regret this," he declares. "I just hope it won’t be too late by then."
He doesn’t wait for me to dismiss him; he leaves the room as silently as he entered, leaving me alone with myself and my decisions. Someday the weight of them will fall on me, but now is not the time to think about that. Between shapeshifters and rebellious Diluted, I have too many things on my hands. Elara cannot be a distraction—much less a weakness.
As dinner approaches, I go down to the hall where I used to meet with her. I take my usual seat and wait patiently for Maryse. I must admit that when she sits beside me, I feel nothing—not even the urge to torment her. She doesn’t react when I cut her wrist with my ring and fill my cup with her blood. Her wound begins to heal when I pass my tongue over it, and soon we're both absorbed in our thoughts. She eats in silence while I run my fingers along the rim of the cup.
It’s then that I feel a sudden chill—something I’m not used to. I don’t feel temperature changes the same way a human would. I have a bad feeling that makes me dive into my powers and search for Elara’s mind, but it’s locked shut. I push my chair back and plant my hands on the table, startling Maryse. I say nothing as I leave the hall and head swiftly to Elara’s room.
The strange sensation of absolute cold lingers in my chest. I brush my fingers over the doorframe, hesitating to enter, thinking about what I’ll say if my suspicions are wrong. Deep down, I know they aren’t. I’m not someone who is driven by feelings—this is something else.
I open the door and find everything empty. I know she’s not there even before heading to the bathroom to confirm it. A slight tremor shakes my fingers, and I throw several items to the floor—perfume bottles, bath essences. No one comes to check what caused the noise—I’m sure no one wants to risk their life at this moment.
"Elara!" I shout, knowing I won’t get an answer.
The improvised rope tied to the bedpost mocks me from its place. I bite into my own fangs from clenching my jaw so hard, furious. With fists clenched, I leave her quarters, knocking over the stool at her vanity and making the doorframe tremble as I slam the door shut. At the end of the hallway, around the corner, I catch a glimpse of the unmistakable pale hair that has settled among us these past few days. I run toward it, determined not to let her escape. I quickly reach her back—her haste tells me she’s not eager to see me. I grab her by the nape and turn her around to face me.
"Where is she?"
"Where is who?" she replies through clenched teeth.
"Don’t play dumb with me, banshee." I narrow my eyes as I tighten my grip. "You’ve never given me a good feeling—I know you helped her."
"Is it so strange to think she might have left on her own, by her own will?"
I let out a sarcastic laugh.
"Talk now, before I break every bone in your body and then enjoy tearing your mind apart just for fun."
"I hope she’s far away from you," she spits.
I squeeze so tightly my knuckles turn white and I feel the skin stretching painfully over bone. The banshee’s jaw trembles, but she never lowers her gaze.
"Where is she?"
"I don’t know." She shrugs. "And I hope you never get your claws on her again—I don’t care what fate says."
"Evanora, you’re going to regret this."
The invisible fingers of my gift are already toying with the strings that make her mind hers and not an empty shell. I pluck them like harp strings. She trembles beneath my hand—she knows what I’m going to do, yet she doesn’t step back or beg for mercy. I’m about to strike when Drystan steps in.
"Stop, Cassian."
I turn my face toward him, unable to believe he’s challenging me.
"Leave," I snap.
"No."
"You’ll never have her, Drys." I curl my lips into a malicious smile. "Do you think you'll earn her favor by saving her from my wrath?"
The seconds we spend staring each other down are what Evanora needs to gather her courage and risk my gift going wild and damaging her irreparably. She doesn’t seem to care, not if she opens her mouth. I know what’s going to happen before it does. Her scream tears through the air, the walls tremble, and my ears feel like they’re about to burst. I squint, take a step back, and she uses the opportunity to slip away. I want to catch her again, use her as a target for my rage, but her scream is powerful and keeps me frozen in the hallway. Kneeling, Drystan covers his ears as if that would make any difference. A hot liquid trickles down the side of my neck—without touching it, I know it’s blood.
End of Sold to the Night Lord Chapter 90. Continue reading Chapter 91 or return to Sold to the Night Lord book page.