Slaying Vampire Conqueror by Carissa Broadbent EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Carissa Broadbent
- Language: English
- Genre: Dark Fantasy Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I didn’t miss sight anymore. Sight was an inefficient way to perceive the
world around you. It was a crutch. What I was given instead was far
more useful.
Take this moment, for example—this moment when my back was pressed
to the wall, dagger in my hand, as I waited to kill the man on the other side.
If I was relying on sight alone, I would have to crane my neck around the
doorframe. I would have to risk being seen. I’d have to go by whatever I
could make out in the darkness of him and his lover, squint into that writhing
mass of flesh, and figure out the best way to make my move.
Inefficient. Room for error. A terrible way to work.
Instead, I felt. I sensed. Through the magic of the threads, I could still
perceive the boundaries of the physical world—the color and shape of the
scenery, the planes of a face, the absence or existence of light—but I had so
much more than that, too. Crucial, in my work.
My target was a young nobleman. Six months ago, his father died. Within
weeks of him receiving the keys to his father’s significant cityscape, he began
using all that newfound wealth and power to steal from his people and build
more wealth for the Pythora King.
His essence now was slick with desire. The Arachessen could not read
minds, not truly, but I didn’t need to see his thoughts. What use were his
thoughts when I saw his heart?
“More,” a female voice moaned. “Please, more.”
He mumbled something in response, the words buried in her hair. Her
desire was genuine. Her soul shivered and throbbed with it—her pleasure
spiking as he shifted angles, pushing her down to the bed. For the briefest of
moments, I couldn’t help being jealous that this snake had better sex than I
did.
But I drove that thought away quickly. Arachessen were not supposed to
mourn the things we gave up in the name of our goddess—Acaeja, the
Weaver of Fates, the Keeper of the Unknown, the Mother of Sorcery. We
could not mourn the eyesight, the autonomy, the pieces of our flesh carved
away in sacrifice. And no, we could not mourn the sex, either.
I wished they’d hurry up.
I pressed my back to the wall and let out a frustrated breath through my
teeth. I blinked, my lashes tickling the fabric of my blindfold.
{Now?}
Raeth’s voice was very quiet in the back of my head—she was nearly out
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