Page 46 of Blackheart

Zain’s face lit up. "Your friend was so concerned about returning to you, I had to meet you myself.”

I did not like the sound of that at all, and judging by how pissed Riven looked, it was safe to say he shared the sentiment.

“Care for a drink?” the self-proclaimed Warlock offered, strolling towards me. Fury danced in Riven’s eyes, but he stood still in front of the door.

“I’m actually rather tired, and we need rest. It’s been a shit day,” I said.

Zain downed his drink in one long gulp, then started on the one he’d made for me. When he finished both, he shook his head.

“Very well. Do you wish to hear the ransom price for your friend now, or after you’ve slept?”

I took a step back, eyes darting to Riven. Every time he tried to step forward, an invisible force stopped him.

He was paralyzed by magic. We had walked right into a trap.

“Interesting for you to think I need him more than I need gold,” I said coolly.

“The ransom doesn’t include gold. Please, take a seat.” He waved me to the white couch across from him, entirely calm.

I could be unbothered, too. I strode over, settling down on the couch like I’d bought it myself. The orb at my hip glowed faintly.

Deceptively beautiful and stoic, the Warlock swirledanotherdrink. “There is a cost for me to live in such luxury, as I’m sure you know.”

I didn’t know shit about living in luxury, actually. Glancing around the gaudy room of golds, whites, and occasional silver, I wasn’t sure I liked luxurious things.

“This is all blood magic. You’re a Sapphire, living on Drakington lands. If your request is my blood, I’m afraid we won’t be making any deals tonight,” I said, tracing my finger along the curve of my orb.

Zain chuckled.

Riven’s brows pulled together, tattoos rippling as he flexed his arms, trying to break free of the invisible chains.

The Warlock wiped a dribble of liquor from his chin. “I am no Sapphire, and I have nothing to do with that reckless cult. As I've told you, I’m a Warlock. The last one in Drakington, no less.” He snapped his fingers at Sitara. She came quickly to grab the empty glasses from him before hurrying to refill them.

She had referred to him as the master, but I’d hoped it was more title than truth.

Grimacing, I crossed my arms. I didn’t escape one cage to be placed into another. Moreover, Riven was the only one of us who knew how to wield a sword, and if I lost him, I might never make it to Castivian. Walking back up to the gates of the Waywards, knowing I’d doomed everyone in them wasn’t an option either. The deed had to be delivered. Too many lives depended on it for this wanna-be-lord to be wasting my time.

I kicked my feet up onto a glossy rock coffee table. “So you’re a blood-drinking Warlock? Not to be confused with Sapphires, who do the same thing, but are more successful. Is that right?” I asked.

He smiled, lifting his glass. “Never blood, only vodka.” Sipping again, he gestured with his free hand to the bar cart in testimony.

“Takes the entire cart to satisfy you?”

Sitara placed an entire tray of full glasses in front of him, dangerously close to my boots. The poison within me marveled. What reaction might I get if I were to kick the entire tray? Glass would shatter. Someone would need to clean it up. All the attention in the room would be on me—bad attention, but attention no less.

Stop it, I snapped at myself.

When I was a child, it was more difficult to control my unwanted thoughts. Sometimes I would misbehave, knowing I would be in trouble. A lonely child who sought punishment. Any attention was better than none at all.

Zain shrugged. A piece of flaming red hair fell from his bun and brushed over his brow, just like the frizzy curls on Trista’s head. I wish I had said goodbye to her. Hopefully, I would see her again on the other side of the Sea of Blades.

He chugged down another two glasses. “Unfortunately, it has little effect on me these days. I drink for the flavor.”

“You drink straight vodka for the flavor? Sounds dangerous.”

Zain nodded, looking over his glass with a sly grin. “I have a taste for dangerous things. Perhaps I’ll have an appetite for you, too.”

My treasonous cheeks may have flushed, but my sane stomach coiled. I sank further into the couch, wincing as a sharp pain shot down my leg. Riven’s eyes bulged. My thigh needed to be healed, or at least redressed.