Author's Preface
Cold Rain and Silver Blood
Breathing heavily, Evelyn gripped her phone. Call 911 , every instinct shouted in her head. Call the police. Call an ambulance . Her thumb hovered over the call button. She began to dial, then canceled it, putting the phone on her lap and taking a deep breath.
Finally, she gathered her courage and raised her eyes to the windshield. The man was sprawled across the asphalt. She glanced down at her phone screen, then looked through the glass again. Dark blood pooled around silver shoulder plates that looked forged in another century. Her headlights glinted off the intricate high-elven runes carved into his chest armor—runes that were faintly pulse-glowing with the last dying wisps of violet light.
If paramedics showed up, if the police saw him, he wouldn't go to a hospital. He'd end up in a government facility.
"Damn it, Evelyn," she swore under her breath.
She jammed her phone into her coat pocket, unbuckled her seatbelt, and threw the car door open.
She walked toward him slowly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Hey, can you hear me?"
She reached out, grabbing his uninjured shoulder. The moment her bare fingers touched his skin, a sharp, electric jolt zapped her fingertips—like static, but humming with a deep, resonant frequency that vibrated straight up her spine.
He didn't open his eyes. His skin was as pale as marble, cold to the touch, and drenched in a mixture of rain and blood that smelled faintly of copper and ozone.
***
Deep beneath his dark consciousness, Auberon was not in the freezing rain.
He was standing in the Solarium of the Sunken Throne, surrounded by the towering marble pillars of House Vaelorian. The scent of blooming night-jasmine filled the warm air, catching the silver light streaming through the arched windows. It had been a quiet night. A good night.
Auberon had spent it reviewing the harvest treaties for the outer realms, his crown resting heavy on his brow. Elden had been at his side, as he had been for two centuries—smiling, pouring wine, speaking of peace.
"You carry the weight of all our kingdoms on your shoulders, old friend," Elden had said softly, handing him a silver goblet.
"One who wears the crown should bear its weight alone," Auberon replied with a tired, genuine smile.
Then came the sharp, agonizing bite of silver steel beneath his ribs.
The goblet shattered on the marble floor. Auberon stumbled back, gasping, looking up into the eyes of his closest ally, his brother in all but blood. Elden's face wasn't twisted in madness—it was cold, calculated, and carved from stone.
"Forgive me, my King," Elden whispered, tearing the blade free as dark portals of forbidden shadow magic tore open behind him. "It is time for the House of Vaelorian to step aside."
***
"Wake up! Please, you have to help me!"
Evelyn's frantic voice dragged a gasp from Auberon's throat, breaking the memory. His eyelids fluttered, but his body remained heavy, trapped in the crushing gravitational pull of this dead, magicless realm.
Evelyn hooked her arms under his armpits, hauling with everything she had. "God, what do they feed you in whatever ren-faire you came from?!"
She gritted her teeth, muscles aching as she dragged him inch by inch across the slick asphalt toward the open passenger side of her car. Every movement tore a low, pained groan from his lips. He was absurdly heavy—the dense armor wasn't helping—but pure adrenaline powered her legs.
With one final, desperate heave, she managed to hoist his torso onto the passenger seat, swinging his long, boot-clad legs inside.
He slumped sideways against her console, his rain-soaked silver hair spilling across the gear shift.
Under the soft ambient car light, she finally managed to see his face clearly. He was astonishingly handsome. She had never in her entire life seen a man look like this. She gazed down at him, momentarily under some kind of spell. Thick, dark lashes cast long shadows over his high cheekbones, framing a face cut from sharp, regal angles.
Clearing her throat to break the trance, she slammed the passenger door shut and ran around to the driver's side, diving into the warm cabin. She slammed her door, locking it instantly. Inside, the car filled with the metallic smell of blood and the strange, lingering scent of ozone and night-blooming flowers.
Hands shaking violently on the steering wheel, she checked her mirrors, threw the car into drive, and peeled away into the roaring storm. As she got farther from the location, the headlights flickered twice, and for a moment the rain against the windshield seemed to fall out of rhythm with the storm behind her. She focused on the road.
She drove straight home, her hands locked on the steering wheel in a white-knuckled death grip.
Yeah, take him home, and then what? her mind screamed over the roaring engine and sloshing rain. You're a librarian, Evelyn! You know how to categorize books, not patch up a bleeding, ancient warrior who looks like he dropped straight out of a myth!
Every red light felt like a test. Every time she glanced at his slumped, motionless form—his silver hair clinging to her center console, his blood slowly soaking into her fabric seats—her heart rattled against her ribs.
By the time her car tires crunched into the gravel of her apartment complex's parking lot, the rain had backed off to a heavy, steady drizzle.
Taking a deep breath, she thought about her course of action. She killed the headlights and the engine. Sudden silence descended on the car, heavy and suffocating.
"Okay. Okay," Evelyn whispered, slapping her cheeks to force herself to focus. "Step one: get him up to the elevator without Mrs. Gable seeing."
Mrs. Gable was her nosey, insomniac neighbor on the second floor who peered through her blinds at every creak in the hallway. If Mrs. Gable saw a six-foot-four man in bloodied silver armor being dragged up the steps at midnight, the police would be at Evelyn's door in five minutes flat.
"Damn it," she cursed. Why did the stupid elevator have to be broken tonight of all nights? Evelyn unbuckled her seatbelt and threw open her door, stepping out into the chilly night air.
She ran around to the passenger side and yanked the door open. Auberon shifted slightly, a low, guttural groan breaking from his throat as his heavy eyelids flickered open just a crack.
Under the ambient light of the car cabin, his eyes caught hers. They weren't blue, brown, or green—they looked like molten lead, a heavy, metallic liquid dark gray that swirled with an unearthly intensity.
He wakes up disoriented, delirious from pain, and slips back into his native Elven tongue, murmuring " A'mael ?"—the Elven word for "woman"—as he looks at her through those molten-lead eyes.
Evelyn blinked at the strange, melodic word. "A woman?" she caught herself thinking, though she had no idea how she understood the cadence of it.
"I'm a librarian, actually," she hissed gently, grabbing his good arm and draping it heavily over her shoulder. "And we need to move before someone sees you. Can you stand? On three. One... two... three!"
She heaved upward with all her strength.
Auberon let out a sharp gasp of pain, his boots scraping against the damp pavement as he forced his legs to bear some of his immense weight. He was towering—head and shoulders above her—and the metal plates on his chest pressed cold and hard against her side. He smelled overpoweringly of rain, copper, and that bizarre, sweet scent of night-jasmine.
"Hold on to me," Evelyn gritted out through her teeth, wrapping her arm firmly around his waist.
Together, they stumbled out of the parking lot and toward the rear entrance of the building. Every step was an agony of slow, shuffling movement. Auberon's breathing was shallow and ragged, his head resting heavily against the side of her neck, his cool skin sending shivers down her spine.
They slipped through the back door, the heavy metal slamming shut behind them with a loud CLANG that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.
Evelyn winced, holding her breath.
Step. Drag. Step. Drag.
They reached the foot of the carpeted staircase. Three flights. Thirty-six steps.
"Just a little further," she murmured, more to convince herself than him. "Don't die on my stairs, okay? That would be really hard to clean up."
She didn't know if he understood what she was saying, but somehow, it didn't matter. She needed to keep talking anyway.
Auberon gave a weak, breathless chuckle that turned into a grimace of pain, his molten lead eyes tracking her face in bewilderment. " Nir'a... " he muttered softly under his breath, shaking his head at her strange words.
They made it past the first floor. Then the second landing.
Just as they passed Mrs. Gable's door on the second floor, a sharp click echoed in the hallway.
Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks, her heart vaulting into her throat. Through the tiny peep-hole of door 2B, a shadow moved. The brass doorknob began to slowly turn.
She swallowed hard, heart pounding, mind racing. She leaned him against the wall, covering his bloodied side and masking her face, bracing herself for that damned nosy woman.
The door creaked open, revealing Mrs. Gable standing in the threshold. She wore a fuzzy floral bathrobe, her gray hair locked in bright pink curlers, and a look of deep suspicion etched into every wrinkle on her face.
She narrowed her eyes, her sharp gaze darting from Evelyn straight to the giant, silver-haired man slumping heavily against the hallway wall.
"Evelyn?" Mrs. Gable asked, her voice shrill and accusatory. "What on earth is all this racket at this hour? And who is that?"
Evelyn forced a bright, exhausted smile onto her face, shifting her body just enough to shield the dark, wet stain on Auberon's side from view.
"Oh! Good evening, Mrs. Gable," Evelyn said, keeping her tone light, though her pulse was hammering against her ribs. "I am so sorry about the noise! My... uh, my friend here had a bit too much to drink at the medieval convention downtown."
Mrs. Gable squinted, leaning forward to inspect Auberon's intricate silver chest plate and torn tunic. "A convention? In this storm?"
"Yes! A comic convention," Evelyn lied smoothly, praying the dark hallway carpet hid the drops of blood near his boots. "His costume won first place, but he took the celebrating a little too far. He can barely walk." She swiped a hand across her dripping hair, forcing a laugh. "Sorry — we really need to go. We got caught in the downpour walking back. I'm drenched."
Auberon let out a low, gravelly groan, his heavy lids fluttering as he muttered something incomprehensible in high-elven. His molten-lead eyes drifted toward Mrs. Gable, dark and unseeing.
"See?" Evelyn added quickly, letting out a forced chuckle. "He's completely out of it. Can't even speak English right now. We're just heading up to my apartment so he can sleep it off."
Mrs. Gable clicked her tongue in disapproval, crossing her arms over her robe. "Honestly, young people these days. Dressing up like knights and drinking in torrential downpours. Keep it quiet, Evelyn, or I'm calling the landlord."
"Will do, Mrs. Gable! Goodnight!"
Before the old woman could ask another question, her door slammed shut, followed by the sharp sound of three deadbolts clicking into place.
Evelyn let out a massive, shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her knees nearly buckled with relief, but she didn't have time to collapse.