Valerick pulled Zezi against him, his hands shaky as he pulled out the stake and tossed it away. His heart had already broken long before he even got here; something had repeatedly nudged against his chest and told him that it would lead to this.
His body trembled with grief, rage burning in his veins. The web of darkness spread rapidly beneath his skin, his eyes dark hallows with endless depoths, while his fangs elonged and in a swift move, despite how illogical it was, he sank them into her neck.
He pulled away, his lips coated in blood, the metallic liquid dripping down his fangs.
“Zezi?” He begged, his voice barely a whisper. But he got no response; in fact, it didn’t seem like anything was happening.
He heard a quick movement behind him, and he quickly turned to Lord Rosil, who had just gotten there. At a glance, she understood what had happened, and her eyes filled with sympathy.
“My condolen—”
