The infirmary of the Northern Citadel was not a place of healing; it was a chamber of slow, agonizing death. The air was thick with the cloying, sweet scent of rotting flesh and the metallic tang of dried blood. It reminded me too much of the Blackwood borders, of the night Kaelen had looked at me with cold, indifferent eyes while I bled out for his mistress.
"He's my best commander," Caspian rumbled, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling. He gestured toward a cot in the center of the room. "General Silas. He took a hit from a Shadow-Stalker's blade protecting the western pass. My healers have tried everything. Three of them are already in the morgue, their own life force sucked dry by the infection."
I approached the cot. Silas was a mountain of a man, but the "Rot" had turned him into a husk. Black, pulsating veins crawled up his neck like a spiderweb, disappearing into his hairline. His skin was the color of wet ash, and every breath he took was a wet, rattling struggle.
The Shadow Hunger, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. I could feel it, the dark energy inside the man was calling out to the Serpent in my chest. It wasn't a disease; it was a living, breathing curse.
"Get back," I told the acolytes hovering nearby. They scrambled away, their eyes wide with a mix of pity and horror.
I reached out, my fingers hovering just inches above Silas's bared chest. The moment I felt the heat of his fever, the Serpent woke up. It didn't just stir; it lunged. A cold, oily sensation flooded my throat, and for a second, my vision blurred into a sea of violet.
"Elara," Caspian's voice warned from the shadows. I ignored him.
I pressed my palms flat against Silas's sternum. The reaction was instantaneous. A jolt of pure, freezing electricity shot up my arms, so powerful it nearly knocked me off my feet. I gasped, my back arching as the darkness from the warrior began to flow into me.
It didn't feel like the gentle, draining warmth of my old healing light. This was violent. It was a vacuum. I watched, fascinated and terrified, as the black veins on Silas's neck began to throb and then migrate. They moved like ink in water, flowing down his throat, across his shoulders, and disappearing into my fingertips.
My skin began to itch, a thousand tiny needles pricking my veins from the inside out. My own arms turned a bruised, sickly purple as I absorbed the curse.
More, the voice in my head hissed. It wasn't my voice. It was deeper, hungrier. Drink it all. He has so much life left. Take the light with the dark.
My fingers curled into Silas's flesh. I could feel his heartbeat, a frantic, fluttering bird. It would be so easy. One more pull and the pain would stop for him, and I would feel like a goddess. The power was intoxicating, a drug that made the years of Kaelen's abuse feel like a distant, petty dream.
"Elara! Stop!"
A massive, warm hand clamped onto my shoulder, yanking me backward. I collapsed against Caspian's chest, my lungs burning as I fought for air. The connection was broken, but the darkness was still swirling in my system, looking for a way out.
I snapped my head around to look at the King. My eyes were no longer hazel; they were glowing with a predatory, violet light. Caspian didn't flinch. He gripped my arms, his Alpha aura flared to its full, golden height, acting as a shield against the shadows I had just inhaled.
"Look at him," Caspian commanded, his voice a low growl.
I looked. Silas was no longer grey. His breathing had leveled out, and the black web on his skin was gone. He looked like a man waking up from a long, peaceful sleep.
"You did it," Caspian whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips. "But you almost took him with you."
I pushed away from him, my hands trembling. The hunger was still there, a hollow ache in the pit of my stomach. "I told you, Caspian. I don't give. I only take. If you want a saint, go back to the Blackwood. If you want a monster, stay close to me."