Kaelen pulled.
The girl came off the throne easily, too easily. Her small body was light in his arms, her nightgown damp with something that was not sweat. Her yellow eyes remained fixed on his face, unblinking, and her cold fingers tightened around his hand.
She was truly human.
[Warning: Host in imminent danger]
[Core sees host as prey]
Then her mouth split.
The seam of her lips tore apart at the corners, widening, widening, until her jaw hung at an angle that no human jaw could achieve. Inside, her teeth had changed grown long, needle-fine, arranged in concentric circles like the mouth of a lamprey. Her tongue, black and forked, lashed out and tasted the air.
The siren's cry that emerged from her throat was not loud. It was sweet, a lullaby played backward, a melody that made Kaelen's bones ache and his vision blur. The cultists clapped their hands over their ears. The young man fell to his knees, blood trickling from his nose.
Kaelen tried to drop her. His arms would not obey. The girl, the thing,wrapped her legs around his waist, her thighs cold and strong, and pulled herself up his body with an agility that was deeply wrong.
Her mouth closed around his neck.
The pain was immediate and immense. Kaelen felt her teeth sink through skin, through muscle, scraping against something that might have been his carotid artery. She bit down, and the sweet cry became a wet, sucking sound, and he could feel his blood leaving him, pulled into her throat in greedy gulps.
I really need to reevaluate my decision-making skills. He thought as his conscious was leaving.
The fragment in his palm flared. The amber on his neck blazed. But he was too weak, too slow, the blood loss already making his thoughts sluggish and grey.
Then her entire body exploded.
Into mist. A fine, red-black spray that hung in the air for a single suspended moment before dissipating into nothing. The teeth in Kaelen's neck dissolved with her, leaving only the wounds, deep, ragged, pulsing blood in time with his failing heartbeat.
He staggered. Fell to his knees. His hand went to his neck, came away red.
The cultists were screaming. He could hear them distantly, as if through water. Silvara was shouting something, pointing at Lysander.
Lysander.
The Duke stood where he had been, his pale eyes fixed on Kaelen.
Around him, the Watcher's body lay in pieces, dissected, sliced into a dozen segments that were already crumbling into dungeon dust.
"You should really stop," Lysander said, and his voice was quiet, almost gentle. "Stop being kind to dungeon cores. No matter how human they look, they are still beasts."
He crossed the chamber in a single stride. His hand cupped Kaelen's chin, tilting his head back to expose the wounds. The touch was firm, with a hint of possessiveness that even Lysander did not realize.
Then he pulled Kaelen into an embrace.
It was not a gentle hug. One arm around Kaelen's back, holding him upright, the other hand pressing something cold and smooth against the wounds. A balm, Kaelen realized groggily. Scented with herbs he did not recognize, cool against the burning pain.
Lysander's chest was warm. His heartbeat was steady, slow, inhumanly calm. His breath stirred Kaelen's hair.
If it were not for the complete indifference in his pale eyes, anyone watching would have thought them lovers.
The balm worked fast. Kaelen felt his skin knitting, the wounds closing, the blood slowing. Within seconds, the pain had faded to a dull throb. Within a minute, the wounds had sealed into pink, tender scars.
Lysander's hand left his chin. The Duke's arm remained around his back, holding him close.
"Better," Lysander murmured.
Then he bent down.
His mouth pressed against the scars on Kaelen's neck, a kiss yet not quite. His lips were warm, dry, and they lingered for a moment that stretched too long. Kaelen's breath caught. His heart, already racing from blood loss, stumbled into a new rhythm.
Then Lysander's teeth sank into the wound.
Hard enough to puncture, reopening the scars, drawing fresh blood. Kaelen gasped this time not from pain, but from the mana that flooded into him with the bite. It was not just Lysander's mana. It was a mixture of his and the dungeon's, the core's, the mist of the exploded girl refined, purified, forced into Kaelen's veins through the Duke's mouth clearing the venom.
The fragment in his palm screamed. The amber on his neck blazed. His pathways, still cracked and healing, overflowed with power they could not contain. His vision whited out. His body convulsed. He heard his own voice cry out, distant and strange.
Lysander pulled back. His lips were red with Kaelen's blood. His pale eyes had gone dark a sort of hunger. He looked at Kaelen then licked his lips as if savoring the taste.
Then the mana surge, crested, and Kaelen's body gave out.
He fainted.
The last thing he saw was Lysander's face covered in blood, handsome, no beautiful, watching him fall.
The last thing he felt was the Duke's arm catching him before he hit the ground.
Then nothing.