Page 25

“Do you detect any danger ahead?”

She raised her face and inhaled. “I’m picking up a scent: the remnants of some sort of creature. But I’ve never encountered it before.”

“Can you hear a heartbeat?”

“No, and I can usually pick that up from far away. I hear no movement whatsoever.” She shrugged, then winced at the growing pain in her arm. Her normal regeneration hadn’t had any effect on those slashes.

Nights of fighting rabid creatures brought her own transformation into sharp relief. How long did she have before she lost herself?

The sorcerer continued in, and she joined him. Meandering deeper, they found a collection of decaying logs, littered with bones.

He shuffled the bones with his boot. “Looks like an old nest of a basilisk, a dragon. That must be what spooked the wendigos. But I wager it’s long dead.”

She’d read about basilisks, had seen sketches of majestic dragons with golden eyes and iridescent scales. “You’re probablyright. I don’t detect any fresh kills.” She glanced up sharply. “The only blood I smell is yours.” He must have sweated out all those pollutants—because his blood wassublime. Then she recalled that wendigo slicing his coat. “Sorcerer, were you scratched?”

Twelve

Though Silt had traveled through life united with no one, he’d experienced a camaraderie with the leech. Surprisingly for a princess, she’d never complained, giving as much effort as he had. Now he could almost pretend she actually cared about him. “No, I wasn’t scratched. The grip of my improvised sword sliced my fingers. I’ll heal quickly.”

“Good,” she said with obvious relief, before adding in a cutting tone, “As if I’d need another reason to kill you.”

No, she hadn’t complained, but her insults continued. So did his: “The only one of us who’ll ever be a maneater is you.”

“You are a wretched excuse for a . . .” She trailed off, her gaze locking on the flow of blood dripping from his hand.

“It looks good, doesn’t it? You’ve gone at least three nights without drinking. I bet you’d suck my body as dry as a desert right now.” He was exhausted. Starving. Fuming. And now . . . his wayward cock stiffened? “I predicted you’d beg. The words are on your lips.”

She bit out, “Never.”

What is so wrong with me?A thirsty leech wouldn’t even tap him! Her continued refusal made him wonder if she might have another reason for her reddened eyes. Female vampires wererare in the Lore because of the plague; was that the cause of her crimson gaze?

He discounted the idea. A sickened, twentysomething vampire couldn’t have fought as long as she had without dropping. No, she was simply refusinghim.

Silt’s ego didn’t like that. “Never?” He moved in, lowering his voice to say, “Because you know that once you tasted me, you’ll always hunger for me.” He raised his dripping hand. “I could make you a slave for this.”

Her cheeks heated to a warm rose color.That must’ve cost her some blood.Her gaze, trying valiantly not to dart to his hand, had reddened even more. Those eyes signaled danger in every fiber of his sorcerer’s body, yet his cock was hard as stone.

She licked her full lips, and his lengthstrainedfor them. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. “You have no real sorcery, but you don’t fear what I could do to you?”

“Not at all.” Fear it?Do your worst.A dozen concubines hadn’t been able to arouse him. Yet his body reacted to this leech with raw intensity.

Nothing special about this female; the drugs had simply deadened his drive before. Of course. Free of his pipe, he was back to desiring once more. And what he desired was to have this princess bite him. He imagined feeding his member between those lips, her tongue greeting him. Herfangsgreeting him . . .

Sand almighty.As a male who’d chased down every pleasure, had he been missing out on blood play?Two thoughts arose in rapid succession:

You’re reacting this way only because thereissomething special about her.

No. Shut the fuck up.

The last thing he needed to do was let down his guard with Mirceo Daciano’s sister—a female who’d been doomed by hercrimes against the Lore, by the Gaolers’ punishment, and by Silt’s plans for revenge.

Magic.

Within the sorcerer’s blood, Mina scented life, power, and so muchmagic.

She’d bet one drop would fuel her like a thousand Dacian blood fountains—and he was brimming with that nectar! The heady scent of it threaded through her, seeming to take root in her very heart. Had she ever felt so euphoric?

She wasn’t the only one affected. His pupils were blown. Though the irises of most immortals changed shades with sharp emotions, his didn’t. They glowed and shimmered like gold dust. Within his muscled chest, his heartbeat thundered, awakening her every predator instinct.