The study itself was overwhelming—rows of high bookshelves towering along the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and scrolls. Golden and crimson fabrics draped the chairs. There was a quiet luxury that glowed around every object almost like it had been infused to ensure that everything looked like it belonged to a King.
But Aira's eyes stayed on him.
She opened her mouth to speak. "You wanted to speak to me…" Her voice was quiet, careful. Just in case he had forgotten. Especially since, instead of responding, he kept his back turned to her. Calm. Distant. Detached.
He went ahead to pour himself a drink—something she was confident wasn't blood simply because she knew how he liked to drink his. The scent was faint and spiced, not coppery.
Finally, he turned.
His mouth parted slightly, just enough for her to see the sharp gleam of his fangs as he sipped from his cup. Then he spoke.
The ritual is tonight!" he said.
Aira didn't let him continue.
