Damien Nevermore, The Vampire King
Frustration gnawed at me like a starving ghoul.
Another empty house. Another dead end. The stench of dust and decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of fear that permeated every corner of Mortdevori. Alaric materialized beside me, his face a mask of grim determination.
"Nothing, sire," he reported.
I ran a hand through my hair, the coarse strands damp with the ever-present mist that clung to the city like a shroud. "Four nights," I growled, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Four nights scouring every nook and cranny of the damned city and still, no sign of Nadja."
The m******e at the Convocation still loomed large in my mind. The image of the Elder Council chamber seared into my memory. The crimson stains on the
