Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Nadje froze.
Another beat. The sentries shifted. Listening?
Footsteps again, receding. Nadje relaxed a fraction, not relief, just borrowed time. She hissed to Inkletter, “You have to go.”
He crossed to her bed and reclined with his arms behind his head, brazen, as if this ward belonged to him. “Not without my cut or an explanation for that gold. I don’t like unsolved mysteries.” He plumped her threadbare pillow. “Otherwise I shall get very comfortable.”
He looked deliciously demonic in her bed. Her mind turned to the passion they’d shared there. And on the floor. And against the wall.
Well, passion on her side; he’d been unaffected except for a brief time when she’d been sobbing with the need for release. In that moment, he’d seemed about to lose himself as well.
She’d repeatedly imagined him succumbing to his lust. His hips jerking as he came, his claws digging into her flesh, his pointed demon tongue twining against hers as he groaned…
Gods, that thought got her going. She’d masturbated so much in the last couple of days her fingers were sore.
She gazed up warily, commanding herself not to replay her fantasy. He’d be able to scent her arousal! She needed to put him off the scent, literally. And she needed him gone before the guards returned. “If you’re so keen on coin, incubus, I could help you make more. Instead of blackmail, consider smuggling. You wanted to know about my chest. That’s how I’ve earned it.”
Figuring he’d turn her down, she’d led with this offer. Yet having uttered the words, she warmed to the idea. His ability to trace would be invaluable. And it would help her control him better. Right now, this loose end could get her executed. “I have a job, but I need someone who can teleport.”
“You can’t at all?” When she shook her head, he said, “Back in Gaia, vampires often spontaneously developed that talent when they needed it most.”
“Not here then,” Nadje murmured noncommittally. Countless dicey situations should have triggered her ability.
She stifled a shiver, recalling the morning the strigoi had taken out an entire encampment of her fellow vampires. The sun had risen in the desert, but the strigoi’s fur and raised wings had protected them as they’d slashed at the tent shading eight-year-old Nadje and her mother.
Mamă became my shade. Her last embrace turned to ash.
Nadje could still taste it.
“To where do you smuggle?” Inkletter asked, drawing her from memory.
Inner shake. “All over the Skein.” Sensing his genuine interest, she decided to divulge more. “I move everything from witch sigils to fey poisons.”
He frowned. “Witches trade? Their coven disdains selling magic. They conjure their own gold now and loathe their Gaian commerce past.”
Inkletter would know all about the history. But Nadje knew about the present. “Yours truly cultivated a nice relationship with rogue witches. With my connections and your tracing, we could clean up.”
Would partnering with a cold and calculating male like this be a risk? Absolutely. Yet the seed, now planted, grew.
“Why hasn’t anyone else established these trade routes?”
“Demon gangs have, but we could undercut them. Plus, they get sloppy and tend not to return from various jobs.” Her old gang had. She’d watched them vanish into the Helter and never return.
On the sentries’ next round, Inkletter said in a low tone, “Why would you stay here after your coup? You have enough gold to leave and enjoy many years of comfort.”
“I could potentially live forever, and I plan to. I need hundreds of those chests, and the nobles here are some of my best customers.” They purchased intoxispells and glamours and luxuries like the blood of rare cryptid beasts.
“You’re taking a lot of risk.”
If the royal family found out she’d helped Emilia, they wouldn’t kill Nadje, not for a long time. Since full immortals could regenerate without the mercy of death, she might be tormented for centuries.
Devising tortures for regenerating bodies was a passion for some in the Skein. Still, she said, “I’m accustomed to risk and can tolerate it. Can you?”
“I can if the rewards are commensurate. What job do you need my help with?”
A precarious one. He would either die—problem solved—or survive and prove himself a worthy partner. Without a teleporter, she’d given up hope of completing it herself. Inkletter offered a chance, but not a great one. Giving him one-in-ten odds of making it back from this fiery area in the Skein, she smiled at him, flashing her sharp fangs, and teed up his scenario.
Chapter 12
Inkletter
“This task didn’t require two of us,” Nadje muttered with irritation as she and Ink approached the Firis River, also known as the River of Hell. Even from a distance, its molten current cast a dull crimson light across the night and radiated a sultry heat. Voice sharp, she added, “I expected you to go alone, to demonstrate what you’re capable of.”