Page 26 of They Call Me Blue

Blindly, I reach for the low-lying drink table—an upturned milk crate—in front of me, my fingers coiling around a goblet of ya’esen.

Drinking with them feels more tolerable now that the other options are stewing over Arden or waiting for Conrin to return.

I should have taken sex when it was on the table.

I drink until the edges of my brain feel fuzzy. Another box creaks open and another scent replaces the last one.

“If this doesn’t get him, nothing will,” Eleesy says.

Sighing, I set the empty goblet down and scent the air around me.

Admittedly, this game is only a challenge while drunk, and even then I can run circles around my friends.

The constant starvation heightens my senses and makes me a better Hunter, but they don’t know that.

Nor do they know that when they win, it’s because I let them.

At first, I don’t smell anything. It must be old—either that or the sample is too small.

Leaning closer, I waft the air toward me.

Big mistake.

Venom floods my mouth, sending my salivary glands into overdrive. I swallow again and again and again, fighting the hunger in my stomach as I glare at Elessy and Sarvenna through the dark blindfold. “Elf’s blood,” I bite out. “Hardly a challenge.”

“ Whose blood?” Eleesy prods. “Can you tell?”

I risk another breath, shallower this time, and feel my thoughts slipping, the predator in me begging to be released. The creature’s blood is sweet and metallic. Tangy and rich too, like a dessert wine. But underneath all that is a familiar buzzing in my ears that marks it as mine .

I rip the blindfold off and blink away the blurry brightness of the room. Eleesy and Sarvenna hover over me—Eleesy dressed in an outfit that matches Sarvenna’s, exposing everything. I barely notice her. Instead, my eyes home in on the trinket-sized silver box in her hand.

My heart thuds against my ribcage.

Inside the velvet-lined box is a folded letter dotted with blue blood.

“Told you he couldn’t get it,” Eleesy says, beaming down at me.

I can barely hear her over the blood rushing to my skull, barely see her through my rapidly tunneling vision.

Darkness edges in until all there is is me and that damned letter.

I reach for the bond between Arden and me, needing to see her, to know she isn’t hurt or captured or both, but it remains frustratingly dark.

Rationally, I know Eleesy couldn’t have taken her in the span of a shower. But logic doesn’t matter right now because I know what happens to her if she’s brought here. My claim might not be enough to stop Azerin from breeding her or turning her into another myrie. I might not be enough.

Before Eleesy can close the box, I dart forward and snatch the letter from inside. Unfurling it, I smooth the crinkled edges over my thigh and stare at the contents, my brows furrowing in confusion. It’s a number.

“She marks her kills like we do,” Eleesy says. “And she’s edging in on my record.”

That small girl I spared in the forest has taken down sixty-three elgrew? Shit.

Hunting and killing her will be more challenging than I thought. My mouth waters at the prospect, even as another truth hits home. Owners are legally responsible for the elves we Claim. Her kills are my kills, and the families can demand restitution.

I’m fucked when they bring her in. If they bring her in.

I swallow. “How’d you get this?”

“My cousin Bolzeik was hunting one of your dad’s escaped slaves,” Eleesy says. “Apparently, the blue elf’s taken a liking to it and they’re traveling together. She killed one of the Hunters in Bolzeik’s unit and left that note behind.”

That’s the elf I saw earlier. It must have been.

I turn the paper in my hand, resisting the urge to sniff it— her —a second time.

The front door swings open, and Conrin stomps in covered in what I can only assume to be his father’s blood.

I don’t ask who told him; I made a big enough scene at the gambling hall it could have been anyone.

Hair ratty, eyes dark-rimmed, he crosses the threshold and heads straight for me.

Before I can stand, he grabs me by my loose-fitting shirt and yanks me to my feet.

The letter falls to the floor between us.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Conrin growls. I punch him in the side until he releases me, and he doubles over, coughing. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

Eleesy and Sarvenna glance between us. Sarvenna speaks first, her voice quiet. “Lyrick, what did you do?”

I don’t have time to answer.

Conrin lunges, headbutting me straight in the gut, knocking me back into the couch.

The air goes whooshing from my lungs as he climbs on top of me, pinning me into the squishy cushions.

In a blur of motion, his fists connect with my cheek—again and again and again.

My jaw cracks. My left eye swells shut, half the world going dark.

I squirm beneath him, fighting for a good angle to throw Conrin off, but I don’t get the chance.

Eleesy and Sarvenna grab him by the shoulders and peel him from me, body thrashing, teeth bared. In the corner of the room, Pel rouses from sleep, groggily rubbing at his crusty eyes. It’ll be a harder fight once he realizes what’s happened and joins in.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Conrin asks. His jerky movements calm the longer they hold him.

Cracking my jaw back into place, I offer a slurry answer. “Your dad’s an asshole and I don’t regret it.”

He spits at me, the glob landing on my cheek. I swipe it away, ignoring the looks of betrayal that flash in Eleesy’s and Sarvenna’s eyes as they piece together what I’ve done. “I want you out of my apartment,” Conrin says.

“That makes two of us.” I straighten my clothes and snap at Sarvenna, pointing to the door. “Are you coming or not?”

Letting go of Conrin’s arm, she glances between him, Eleesy, and me. Quietly, she gathers up her things and follows me outside. “You shouldn’t have done it,” she whispers, hugging her scantily clad body as the cool wind rushes us. “He’s not an enemy either of us want to have.”

“He’ll get over it,” I say. With my swollen tongue, the words don’t come out convincingly. The taste of over-ripened fruit coats my mouth and when I spit, purple blood sprays the sidewalk. “If he doesn’t, I’ll deal with it. I’m not scared of Conrin.”

“Maybe you should be.”