Page 32 of They Call Me Blue

“No elgrew shall bite or kiss another elgrew; this is our most sacred law. We are born into freedom and shall die in it. A mark of ownership is punishable by death.”

—City of Kariss, The Great Charter.

S arvenna rolls off the bed, disentangling her legs from mine.

Breaths heavy, cheeks flushed, she steps into a puddle of tight leather pants and shimmies them up her thighs.

Lazy afternoon sunlight streams through the bamboo shutters, lighting the bruises on her patchwork skin—the bruises on mine.

Twisting her hair into a bun, she looks herself over in the vanity before tugging on a long-sleeved linen shirt.

“You were too rough this time,” she says, inspecting the purple bruises on her collarbone. “People will talk.”

“You weren’t exactly gentle, Sarvenna.” Blue bamboo sheets slide down my legs, the bed creaking as I join her by the mirror. My fingers ghost over a patch of superficial bite marks and she shutters, goosebumps pebbling her skin.

“Lyrick,” she moans, her nipples pricking through the flimsy shirt.

My exhausted cock twitches, not quite ready for round three but more than open to the suggestion .

. . if only we had time . Cupping between Sarvenna’s legs, I back her into my erection so she can feel just how much I crave her.

My head dips, teeth grazing over a pale yellow splotch near her shoulder.

She spins on me faster than I can blink, her violet eyes blazing. “I mean it. Keep your mouth to yourself.” Sarvenna pushes on my chest and the world flips. The mattress bounces as I fall backward onto it.

“If you want someone to mark, take a myrie,” she spits. “I can’t risk you breaking skin. It’s illegal. If they found out I let you kiss me—”

“No one’s going to find out.” Groaning, I prop myself up on my elbows. She’s so fucking serious all the time; it’s exhausting. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you kiss me too. You can even bite me if you want.”

Sarvenna glares. “Can’t you just . . .?”

“Just what?” I ask, snatching my clothing off the floorboards.

“ Behave . Eat like the rest of us. Take a myrie. Stop kissing elgrew. It’s not normal, Lyrick.”

I cringe at the disgust in Sarvenna’s voice, my cock flaccid by the end of her little speech. I’m not normal— I fucking know that —but why should I have to lower myself to their standards?

Jaw clenched, I yank on black silk trousers and a matching tunic, shrugging Sarvenna off when she tries to cup my shoulder.

I don’t need her to placate me. I don’t need her to fill my bed either.

Dozens of other elgrew would be more than willing to accommodate my strangeness if only to jump the social hierarchy themselves.

“Lyrick, I’m only looking out for you,” Sarvenna says. “The Politic will search you for weaknesses. They can’t find one.”

They already did.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I hold them back. I still haven’t told Sarvenna about the scene I made at the arena earlier this week. She has no idea the depths of my depravity, my hunger, and I have no plans to enlighten her.

Leaning against the wall, I watch her don leather armor.

First, a brigandine, then pauldrons and bracers, followed by a pair of thick military boots with grooves at the bottom for hiking.

She’ll be gone by the end of today. Who knows for how long.

Her last hunting trip took her away from the city for well over a month.

Sighing, she leans against the wall opposite of me and glances at the door. “I wish you could come with us. Pel and Eleesy are much more tolerable when you’re around.”

“It’s for the best,” I say, forcing a smile. Even if Azerin would permit it—which he never would—our team still needs time to depressurize after the incident with Morcai and the gambling hall. “I think Conrin would burst a blood vessel if I showed up.”

She scrunches her brows together in confusion. “Conrin isn’t coming. No one’s heard from him in days.”

Strange. It’s not like him to blow them off.

“I’m surprised you’re leaving without him,” I say. “Who’s stepping in as team leader?”

“No one. We’re joining up with Eleesy’s cousin, Bolzeik, and the rest of his hunting party. They’re getting close to finding Blue, and we want in on the reward money. It’s going to be so gratifying to catch the bitch after all this time.”

My spine stiffens at the word, though it has no reason to. Bond or not, Arden is an animal—a bitch meant to be bred, killed, or eaten—and nothing more. It’s not an insult; it’s a fact. Still, I work my jaw, this unidentifiable rage coiling inside me, turning my veins to molten fire.

“I’m sorry I’ll miss it,” I say, painting on a mask of indifference. “Maybe next time. Azerin can’t keep me here forever.”

The floorboards squeak as she crosses the room, boots thumping with each footfall.

Sarvenna extends her hand, and I accept, squeezing her fingers in mine.

It’s the closest thing to hugging most female elgrew get.

On good days, I can hold her in my arms and she’ll pretend to be okay with it. But today clearly isn’t a good day.

Still, Sarvenna squeezes back. “I’ll miss you,” she says.

I believe her. She cares for me more than anyone else.

“Same.” My throat swells with emotion. Coughing, I pull my hand away, raking fingers through my hair. “You should go. My father will be here this afternoon to plan the Ring Day celebration. It would be better if he didn’t see you.”

Of all my friends, Azerin loathes Sarvenna the most. Every interaction they have is tense.

I think because he assumes my disinterest in taking a myrie stems from her warming my bed.

Most days, they avoid each other, which has been increasingly difficult now that I’ve been living at the estate.

Perhaps it would be better to mend relations with Conrin sooner, if only so I can move back into the apartment.

Sarvenna grimaces. “If you manage to get away from him, we’ll be hunting near the Lycean Marshes this time. Eleesy says Blue’s been spotted in the area.”

Arden. I feel this intense urge to correct her but hold my tongue.

Nobody can know that I’ve marked the creature—not even Sarvenna.

If my father doesn’t kill me for Claiming what’s his, others might for my negligence.

Sixty-four elgrew are dead because I released her, a fact that weighs heavily on my conscience, even as my heart burgeons with pride.

Hunting her, killing her before anyone finds out will be all the more gratifying knowing she’s as powerful a fighter as the members of my team.

“If Azerin allows me to leave the city, I’ll be sure to find you,” I promise. “Good luck on the hunt.”

“Thanks.” Snatching her duffle from the entryway, she swings it ‘round her shoulder before exiting my bedroom. Like always, Sarvenna doesn’t look back. She doesn’t linger. The hunt is infinitely more exciting to her than my company ever could be.

The resulting silence is unbearable.

I shoot a warning to Arden down our bond, telling her about the search party so no one catches her before I can, but there’s no answer. Just the stillness of my empty bedroom that reeks of sweat and sex.

Beyond the shutters, damp rainforest and dusty mining land extend for miles—the Grand Overseer’s estate sits on Rayna’s largest supply of cold iron.

Compared to the city, it’s quiet here. Occasionally, the faint clanking of chisels against stone or the garbled commands of the Butchers to their slaves will come through, but the thick limestone walls keep almost everything out.

Combing fingers through my hair, I tie it back, then finish dressing. No boots for me. Nothing nearly so practical. I slip into a pair of silk sandals with ornate patterns sewn into the straps. Pretentious. Impractical. My father will almost certainly approve.

My stomach growls as I exit my palatial childhood bedroom. It never stops growling. Were it not for muscle transplants and herbal supplements, I’d be entirely useless. Feral. Even now, the grip on my sanity feels featherlight.

In the hallway, blue bamboo floors and blue mosaic walls greet me.

Butchers guard the stairwells and exit points, keeping tabs on the slaves’ comings and goings as well as mine.

Ignoring them, I descend a winding servants’ staircase that leads into the drawing room, where my father waits on a plush, blue cushioned couch, his feet propped onto a shiny blue table made from a celestite geode.

At his side, his myrie kneels on the floor.

Thud. Thunk.

Thud. Thunk.

Thud.

The sound of a hammer striking wood fills the foyer.

Craning my neck, I see a Butcher nailing something to the wall.

A shadow box of some kind. My stomach knots.

Through the glare of its glassy, freshly polished frame is a sheet of mounted gray skin with purple scars running through it. Morcai’s payment.

Azerin waves me over, gesturing to the matching blue couch across from him. “Do you like my new trophy? I was quite impressed with your decision to obey me. It seems your loyalties finally lie with whom they’ve always belonged.”

“Take it down,” I hiss. If Conrin sees that, it’ll squash any chance at reconciliation.

“No. I like the way it looks, and so will our guests at the Ring Day celebration. They should know how you earned your place at my side.”

“What are you talking about?”

High heels click across the waxed bamboo floorboards.

Feminine humming follows. A moment later, Colette—the Karesai of Trainers—appears near the entryway carrying rolls of folded silks.

Her ribbony yellow dress is a stark contrast to the rest of the room.

It’s a wonder she can breathe in it. A tight corset binds her breasts and stomach while a hoop skirt makes the bottom billow out like it’s stuffed with hot air.

Trainers never dress for practicality. They dress for sensuality. Dramatics.