His lips parted, and I wanted to recoil from the sight of his fangs—a reaction that was nothing like when I saw Casteel’s. “You cannot even begin to comprehend why you were Chosen, but that’s neither here nor there. You’ll learn soon enough.”

“And what is it that I will learn?”

His eyes, a kaleidoscope of red and black, fixed on me—on my neck. “That you will usher in a whole new era of Ascended.”

Disgust rippled through me. “Do you think I don’t already know that?”

“I don’t think you can even possibly begin to understand what that means. But be that as it may, you were right. I am a bit more wounded than I let on. If it hadn’t been bloodstone, it would be healing by now. I’ve said to the Queen and King, time and time again, that all the bloodstone needs to be destroyed. But without it, she worries that the Craven would then overwhelm the people.”

“Can’t have your food source being destroyed now, can you?” I said before I could stop myself.

“The Dark One has obviously been whispering in your ear.” His tongue ran along his bottom lip. “He’s obviously been doing more than that.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s been doing.” I smiled just as coldly as he. “What does matter is that I know why I’m the Queen’s favorite. I know what you all plan to do with me. I know you won’t touch me. I’m needed alive so that I can either keep the Atlantian you have held in captivity fed or be used to make more Ascended.”

His head tilted. “You’re right about one thing. We do need you alive. That’s about it.”

Before I could even process what he said, that I was only right about one thing, he rose and moved toward me.

And I reacted.

Leaning back, I planted my booted foot in his chest and kicked him back to his bench.

His eyes widened as he laughed. “Dear Maiden, that was unnecessary. I just need a sip. The King and Queen never need to know. It will be our secret. One you would be wise to keep—”

I kicked out again, catching him in the chest once more.

He hissed in pain. “That wasn’t very nice,” he snarled as I shifted, reaching for the knife. “That actually hurt.”

“That was the point.” I unsheathed the blade, holding it steady. “If you know as much as you think you do about me, then you’ll realize I know how to use this. It may not kill you, but I can make you wish it would.”

His burning black eyes widened as he held up his hands. “Now. Now.” His tone was placating. Patronizing. “There’s no need for threats of violence.”

“There’s not?” Keeping an eye on him, I scooted across the bench, toward the door.

He tracked my movements. “Did you forget about the speed in which we’re traveling? The knights?”

“I’d rather take my chances of being trampled to death. At least I’ll go to the grave knowing you’ll probably be right behind me once the King and Queen learn that I’m dead because of you.” I reached for the door—

Chaney struck.

I expected him to go for the knife. I reared back. The moment his hand reached around my ankle, I realized I had made a fatal miscalculation. He yanked hard, pulling me off the bench. My back cracked off the edge of the seat, sending a jolt to my already aching head as I went down hard in the cramped space.

He pulled me toward him, over the rough, dirty, wet floor, laughing the whole while. “There’s no point in fighting—”

Gripping his knee, I sat up, swinging the knife with all my might into his chest—into the angry, seeping wound.

Chaney howled, lashing out. His fist caught my jaw, snapping my head back. Bright bursts of light crowded the sides of my vision as he fell back in his seat, clutching at his chest. I struggled to my feet. The carriage jerked, pitched me back and then forward. Grabbing his shoulder for balance, I climbed onto him. He twisted under me, moving onto his back and then rolled, throwing me to the side. I crashed into the back of the bench, hitting the cushions and then fell to the floor. Air punched out of my lungs in a painful rush. I started to sit up, but Chaney dropped on top of me.

“I don’t know how the Teermans managed to be around you, knowing what you truly are. Not without stealing just a taste. You may only be half-Atlantian, but your blood is potent.” His weight and the stench of his cologne was unbearable, suffocating as he gripped my left arm, yanking it to his mouth. “I just need a little bit. Then the damn throbbing in my chest will stop—”

“No!” I shouted, struggling wildly beneath him. All my years of training disappeared in a flood of panic. I kicked the bottom of the bench with the leg that wasn’t pinned. I kicked him, the floor, the seat—

But it was no use.

The vampry’s teeth shredded my skin, sinking into the flesh of my lower arm.

Chapter 16

My arm was on fire.

The flames blazed through my body, so intense and all-consuming, I feared it would stop my heart.

I was scared that it already had because I was burning alive, screaming as I pressed against the floor, trying to escape the pain, get away from what was happening, but it invaded every part of me. I could feel it—him drawing my blood into him, breaking off pieces of me with each swallow. It was nothing like when Casteel had bitten me. The pain did not ease. It didn’t go away. It ratcheted up with each passing heartbeat.

He moaned, biting harder, digging his bottom teeth into my skin. Just like a Craven. Just like before. Like that night when I was too small and too young to fight back, too helpless.

The carriage screeched to a grinding halt, knocking Chaney loose. A moment of reprieve came where the burning ebbed enough for my brain to work again. My breath wheezed as my fingers spasmed around the handle of the knife. The knife. I still held it. I wasn’t a child. I wasn’t helpless any longer. Move, Poppy. Move.

Chaney latched on to my arm once more, and the pain was a hot coal against my skin, shoving me past the shock of pain before it could drag me under again.

I swung the knife down, driving it into his back, over and over until he finally felt it, finally reacted with a bellow of rage as he tore his mouth free. He lurched backward and to the side, reaching for the knife. Clutching his shoulder, I held on, jabbing the knife into the wound, into his chest, his face—anywhere I could reach, and he went wild—as wild as me. A new wave of pain exploded along my arm, my cheek, and bright, dazzling lights once more danced across my vision. I screamed as something seemed to rip open inside me. My senses stretched out, attaching to the Ascended. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing but my pain, my rage. It pulsed and throbbed inside me, through me, down the cord, and through the entire carriage, becoming a tangible, third entity as I sliced the knife through his cheek. Chaney jerked back, yelping. Blood sprayed and spurted, running from his eyes and ears. I didn’t stop. Not even when a crash sounded from the roof of the carriage. Not even when I thought I heard shouting from outside. I stabbed as many holes into the Lord as I could, until he sprang so many leaks, my hands were slick with his blood, my blood, and I kept thrusting the knife into him, over and over—

The carriage door ripped open, torn from its hinges. Cold air rushed in with the night, and the night was enraged. It washed over me, its intensity so stunning, it overwhelmed me, shutting down my senses.

And then Chaney was gone, along with the crushing weight and the heavy, too-sweet cologne, but I couldn’t stop. Blinded by rage, pain, and an old, all-too-familiar panic, I kept stabbing at the air, at the night, at the shape that filled the gaping doorway, and then at what appeared above me. Until a hand caught my wrist—

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay, Poppy. Stop. Look at me,” a voice demanded. “Look at me, Princess.”

Princess.

The Ascended wouldn’t call me that.

Breathing ragged, my wild gaze swiveled around the carriage, stopping when I found him. He hovered over me, cheeks spotted with blood. “Hawke,” I whispered.

“Yeah. Yes.” He sounded shredded and windblown. “It’s me.”

“I..I didn’t want to go with him,” I told him, needing him to know that I understood—that I really saw the Ascended for what they were, even before I woke up in the carriage. “He had a boy, and I—”

“I know. I found the wolven dagger by the stables. I knew you wouldn’t have left that behind if you’d had a choice.” Gently, he pried the knife from my hand, placing it on the bench. The normally striking lines of his face seemed fuzzy. “And here I thought I would make this grand entrance, rescuing you. I’m not sure you needed rescuing.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. My rolling gaze landed on the bloodied knife. Even as dazed as I was, as much as my thoughts were muddied, I knew I wouldn’t have killed Chaney. I wasn’t even sure how badly I’d wounded him. He would’ve recovered quickly, and he would’ve bitten me again. He would’ve kept biting me, feeding off me, and—

“Hey, stay with me.” Casteel’s soft voice intruded, ending the spiral of panic before I realized I was even falling down it. His fingers touched my chin, drawing my gaze from the knife. His eyes roamed over my face, lingering where my jaw throbbed viciously, and then his gaze dipped. Tension crept into his jaw. “He hurt you.”

Lifting my head took more effort than I thought it would. It was strangely heavy as I looked down. The front of my tunic was ripped, streaked with red.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, his voice rough as he touched the skin below the corner of my lip. That too ached, but then his hands carefully peeled back the left sleeve of my tunic. He became as still as the statues inside Castle Teerman, as if he too were fashioned from the limestone they were made of.

His eyes were like shards of brilliant amber. “Did he bite you anyplace else?”

“No.” I swallowed dryly, the rigidness seeping out of my muscles. “It hurt. It felt like a Craven’s bite.” A tremor rocked me. “It felt nothing like—”