Bad—this was bad. Stolas would never let her help him unless . . . unless he was in serious trouble. Maybe not dying.
Some of the tension lifted as they crested a soft rise and she spotted a long stretch of multicolored tents. The makeshift town converged on a black river that led straight into the city. The river was wide enough to accommodate barges and smaller vessels, and they cut across the twin moons dancing on the water’s surface.
Stolas touched her arm and nodded toward a collection of scarlet tents off to the side. “There.” A pause. “Haven, do you understand what I have to do?”
Her heart ratcheted into a hammering pace as she recognized the weakness in his voice. “You need a lightcaster to feed from.”
His brow furrowed. “Yes, but here there’s only one way to drain a lightcaster.”
Only one way? Oh—oh. “You need to blood-let.”
It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway, his haggard features stilling as he studied her reaction.
“You don’t need my permission.”
“You say that, but the act itself is . . . barbaric. My basest nature will be released. I will try to keep it contained but . . . your body will instinctively react in ways that may alarm you.”
She held his stare. “You don’t have to hide what you are around me, Stolas.”
“Remember that later,” he murmured as, together, they staggered down the dune, grunting and gasping for breath. Sweat rivered down her spine and pasted strands of hair to her forehead. A soft rushing sound drew her focus to Stolas’s wings as they dragged along the sand, carving twin lines in their wake. Between the lines unspooled a thin dark ribbon of blood.
His injured wing wasn’t healing. A sense of urgency spurred her faster. Stolas was fastidious about keeping his feathers preened and would never let his wings touch the ground.
By the time they reached the scarlet tents, most of his impressive weight was resting on her shoulder. She swung her head side to side, panic eating away at her vision. The tents were arranged in a circle around a courtyard. Divans and pillows were scattered in various places, and people lounged in every available space. Fires roared from gravel pits.
A sweet, metallic scent haunted the air, and something about it made her go cold all over.
“What is this place?” she whispered.
Stolas slowly managed to lift his head. His eyes were faded slits. “Demonai.”
That one word meant nothing to her. Demonai? Was that different than the Demon Lords? Shifting on her feet, she glanced around. Patrons were beginning to stare, but no one came forward to offer help.
Anxiety turned to anger as she swiveled around, stumbling, searching for someone to offer assistance.
A female wearing a sheer silver gown uncurled from a large magenta cushion and approached. Black hair fell to her waist, a pair of misshapen horns twisting around her head. Her eyes were purely feline, the slashed pupil surrounded by a startling yellow.
“Let me guess,” Haven whispered to Stolas. “This is a demonai.”
The demonai’s disturbing eyes lingered on Stolas. “Drenat immortium da moi taiga.”
Haven frowned as she tried to place the melodic language. Even the way the slippery words trickled from her lips, melded together like a whispered chant, felt foreign. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” Haven grunted as she shifted Stolas’s weight, bracing against the pressure. “He needs to feed. Feed. Now.”
“Mortalisium or Solisati?” The female’s eyes glinted with a newfound cunning as the female realized Haven didn’t speak her language. “Mortal or Solis or both?”
The demonai’s command of Solissian was paltry, at best, her thick accent jumbling the words. But Haven understood her meaning.
As far as how to answer the demonai, Haven was completely clueless. The truth was, she didn’t know how any of this worked. She didn’t know what Stolas needed or if he had a preference.
She hated how powerless that made her feel, but she hid her emotions behind a casual smile. “Whoever has the strongest light magick.”
The female lifted a dark brow as she appraised Haven. Then she said in her thick, choppy accent, “That would be you, blood slave.”
Blood slave? So that was their cover. Haven would have a discussion with Stolas about that later . . . after he survived.
“Sorry, I’m all out of magick to give.”
The female shrugged and nodded to a nearby tent. Then she grinned darkly at Haven, revealing a mouthful of sharp silver teeth and two larger incisors. “I can join you—”
“Rasati corath!” Haven flinched at Stolas’s gravelly voice.