Hunger in His Blood (Brides of the Kylorr Book 3)
Hunger in His Blood: Chapter 1

There was a hallway within the High Lord of Vyaan’s keep that seemed as if it was painted in starlight.

The narrow hallway was located in the North Wing of the grand ancestral home, tucked away in a quiet section that led to a private sitting room, one that I regularly dusted and scrubbed.

The mysterious hallway presented an array of different-sized windows, and no two were the same. One was circular, another was arched. One was rectangular with silver metal panes running through it, another oval shaped. One appeared faceted like a gem, another had sharp, angular lines that comprised into the shape of a diamond.

The only thing all these windows had in common was the glass. Stained the darkest shades of blue, with navy and indigo, the glass was cut and assembled within each window until they made a stunning display of patchwork colors. Imbedded within the blue glass were silvery star-shaped gems.

This hallway was a stained-glass kaleidoscope of a starry night, as if it was perpetually bathed in moonlight. Even on the sunniest of days, this part of the keep felt like the calmest of nights.

That day, there was pelting rain pattering outside on the glass as my feet dipped into the blue pools of light, the silvery shafts of the stars stretching toward me.

Heaving out a long breath and sweating as I moved to the next window, I lugged my heavy stepladder to reposition it. I climbed back up, balancing on my tiptoes to reach the highest point of a crescent moon–shaped pane. If only I had wings like the Kylorr, then this would be easy, I thought.

Washing windows was one of my least favorite tasks, but I never minded in this part of the house. It was quiet, if a little drafty, and I could hum to myself without Maudoric shooting me a sharp look in disapproval, though I was somewhat convinced that was just how she always looked. I’d never seen her mouth not pinched down into a severe line.

As I polished the glass, my mind drifted. I thought of Kavelyn and her adventures, of the story I was currently working on. I thought of sparkling crystalline caves, deep in the wild night jungle, and I wondered how she would feel, surrounded by shimmering gems that shone like the stars in this hallway. Would she be tempted to take them? To bring them back to her poor village, even if theft was against Noxillian law, punishable by death? I wondered what I could call the gems in the cave. Or were they crystals? Were gems and crystals the same thing? Could they be considered as such in the kingdom of Noxily? They could be the same, I supposed.

That was the beauty of stories—I could make anything possible in them.

I frowned. How would the cave light be captured in my illustrations? What expression would be on Kavelyn’s face? One of awe? Or one of sadness? Her heart had just been broken, of course. Most terribly.

I sighed. I draped the window rag over my shoulder and dug my hands into the deep pockets of my apron. Velle never understood why I wore such a “bulky, ugly thing” as I cleaned. But it was because the ordinary keeper’s uniforms didn’t have pockets at all, only a belt, and I could hardly keep my notebook and my pencils secured there. Maudoric had called my apron “sensible,” especially when I’d told her it was to help carry cleaning supplies and spare cloths. And so the Head Keeper had given me leave to wear it.

I pulled out my notebook and unwound the leather cord. The material was so worn that it felt supple and smooth beneath my fingertips. I flipped to one of the back pages—for this notebook was nearly filled up—and under my existing list titled Things to Ask Syndras I wrote: Are crystals and gems the same thing?

I stared down at the growing list. Then, after a small moment of deliberation, I added another: What does heartbreak feel like?

Syndras would know that. Surely. She was nearly eighty. And if she didn’t…then perhaps more research in the library was due.

I flipped the page, glancing over a sketch I had done that morning, as dawn had broken over the territory of Vyaan, creeping its fingers beneath my frayed window curtain.

It was a messy sketch, half-drawn in desperation as I’d chased a dream. But I could see him in the smudged lines of it. His proud nose and cheekbones like daggers. The softened shadowed divots beneath them that made them all the deadlier. His curving, thick horns like black steel. The rugged scar that ran from the middle of his outer cheek down to his mouth. The charming smirk of his full lips, his sharp fangs poking into the bottom one.

I bit my own, feeling a pulse of longing, and sighed again. Pulled into the vision of him, I sat down on the top step of the ladder, plucking out a pencil from my pocket before absentmindedly shading in the outline of his black wings behind him—something I hadn’t been able to finish this morning before breakfast had been called. I’d only drawn him from the waist up, since the small pages of my notebook wouldn’t have been able to do the rest of him justice.

He might not have been in color, only a charcoal sketch with my pencils, but his eyes, shaded with a light hand, were relatively close to the real thing. Eyes like silver pools. Eyes like zylarrs, which restless souls could feed from. Only, whenever I spied his eyes, it felt like they were feeding from me. Taking a bit of my soul, a bit of my heart, every last time—though it was in my imaginings only.

Kaldur of House Kaalium. The High Lord of Vyaan.

The Kylorr male that I was in love with. A foolish, silly, hopeful kind of love, one that had struck me at first sight two years ago. On a rainy day—much like this one—when I’d come to work in his keep.

I darkened the outline of his irises, lingering on them before I forced myself to look away.

I flipped back to the last page, to my list for Syndras, my eyes running over the last question I’d jotted down.

What did heartbreak feel like when the male you loved didn’t even know you existed?

“What are you doing, Erina?” came the soft hiss. I jerked my head up, snapping my notebook closed out of reflex, already wrapping the cord tight as I regarded Velle. “You were meant to help me in the west library, remember?”

“Oh!” I said. “I’m sorry—I thought that was after lunch.”

“It is after lunch. You missed it.”

I blinked, noticing that my stomach was rumbling now that I focused on it. Another thing about being in this hallway was that it made time seem to slow. I strongly suspected there were many souls in this part of the keep, that the placement of a zylarr, even within this hallway, would be beneficial.

“I lost track of time,” I said simply, maneuvering off the stepladder until I was on my feet as Velle approached. I shoved my notebook into my apron, watching her eyes narrow on the movement.

Her dark blue hair was pulled back into a loose braid. My fellow keeper and friend was a hybrid—her father was half-Kylorr but her mother was fully human. The beautiful color of her hair was the only thing she took from her father. Velle had no wings, her eyes were a human brown like mine, and her horns had budded when she’d been an infant but had never grown. I knew that she was self-conscious of the still-present bumps, which she tried to hide with a fabric scarf she used as a headband.

“And you haven’t even finished with the windows,” Velle grumbled, inspecting the glass like how I imagined Maudoric might: with discerning displeasure. “You’re going to get in trouble if you don’t focus.”

This was about the dinner party next week, I knew. Nobles of Vyaan, close family friends, and a few chosen guests came nearly every month to dine with Kaldur of House Kaalium. Maudoric always handpicked the keepers to help with these events, and Velle always made it her mission to be chosen. Because she would be seen…by some of the wealthiest and most influential individuals within Vyaan.

We both had aspirations for love, I supposed.

Just a vastly different kind, I thought, staring at the hybrid beauty.

“I’m sorry about the library,” I said, feeling the heavy weight of my notebook within my apron. “I’ll finish here and then come replace you.”

“Don’t bother,” Velle said, the words barbed. “But I’m not covering for you again with Maudoric.”

A soft sigh escaped me after I watched her turn on her heel and retreat as swiftly as she’d appeared. I did feel bad. My distracted daydreaming often got me into trouble. Luc, my dearest friend, had always joked that I should endeavor to keep my feet firmly planted to the earth or else I might float away into the unforgiving atmosphere of Krynn. He would tell me to wave at the stars as I drifted past.

A smile tugged at my lips, though it was coupled with a dull tinge of melancholy, of missing Luc, as far away as he was.

I glanced down the starlight hallway, glad to see I was nearly done. If I hurried to finish, perhaps I could help Velle with whatever tasks she had left for the day. Maybe then she would forgive me for breaking my promise.

Determination pushed my shoulders back, and I lugged the stepladder over to the next window. Just as I got it into place, however, I heard something shatter.

The unmistakable sound of glass shooting across the floor came from the direction of the private sitting room. I frowned, my heart giving a lurch, because no one was ever in this part of the keep at this time of day.

Maybe a draft knocked something over, I thought next, already cataloguing all the items in that room as I strode toward it, hoping it wasn’t the forest-green vase with hand-painted flowers and vines I often admired as I cleaned. Dismay that it could be made my steps quicken, and when I reached the closed black door, I didn’t hesitate to push it open.

I was so preoccupied scouring the floor for broken shards of pottery along the opposite wall that I didn’t realize my grave error before it was too late. My eyes went wide on a fully intact green vase, still perched on its round table, the moment I heard a breathy moan, followed by a throaty laugh.

I swung around, an apology already perched on my lips. But it died in my throat as my tongue went bone dry.

I met silver eyes.

A flash of a moment passed as I took in the scene.

Her name was Lydrasa. The eldest Kylorr daughter of House Azola, one of the old legacy families in this region. She was strikingly beautiful with pin-straight black hair, dark gray skin, and luminous blue eyes. Her lips were painted a dark indigo to complement her complexion, and it was those same lips that curved into an amused smile now as we watched one another.

Behind her was Kaldur of House Kaalium, High Lord of Vyaan. His pants were shoved down below his hips. Lydrasa was bent over the back of the velvety black chaise lounge, Kaldur’s fingers digging into her hips from behind, her dress bunched just below her wings.

A shattered decorative glass orb was beside them on the floor, an unlucky victim to their hurried and eager activity.

I felt the burn start in the middle of my chest, and I blinked rapidly, feeling my heart restart, throbbing at a thunderous pace. My tongue felt twisted in my mouth, and I was desperately trying not to cry.

Kaldur’s silver eyes were on me. I couldn’t read his expression. Gone was his usual disarming charm, a mask he seemed to wear at all hours of the day. He was neither smirking—like Lydrasa was at being caught—nor did it seem like he particularly cared.

And why would he? I was only a lowly keeper, one who cleaned his floors and windows and did everything she could to stay out of sight.

Lydrasa’s hands moved. She gripped one of Kaldur’s large palms and moved it to one of her exposed breasts. Another moan tumbled from her throat as she pinched his fingers around her nipple, and she bucked her hips back.

“I doubt she’s ever seen this before, the little thing,” Lydrasa purred, her eyes still on me. “Shall we give her a show?”

“Get out,” Kaldur’s roughened voice commanded me, thick with his desire.

Then his eyes left me, and I realized I was already forgotten to him. He lowered himself over Lydrasa’s back, resting his forehead above her wings. A strong surge of his hips followed, the guttural catch in his throat making my eyes sting.

“Raazos, her perfume is strong,” Lydrasa laughed, followed by a breathless moan.

I fled.