Each gust of wind that rattled the window hinges sounded like the wailing of ghosts. The tension in the room was palpable, like a silk thread stretched to the point of snapping, or thin ice ready to shatter. In the heavy silence, only the metallic stench of blood clinging to Vlad was tangible.
As the Emperor’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the shadow of Vlad’s vast, pitch-black wings. He cradled Ingrid in his arms in an instinctive display of paternal affection.
Duke de Winter had changed greatly from what the Emperor remembered. His appearance was similar, but the overpowering aura he exuded was nothing like before. It was as if a once-docile hound had transformed into a beast that now feasted on human flesh, no longer held back by its leash.
“May I fold my wings, Your Majesty?”
Everyone except Liliette flinched at the deep, resonant voice. In the darkness, Vlad’s glowing red eyes fixed on the Emperor, whose throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed hard.
