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)
“Ditch is sending two containment spells to reinforce the cages.”
Lowell blinked. “Pardon? We’re to trust an enemy faction’s magic?”
“She’s motivated to keep me and Straegan imprisoned. If I show her trust, she might return it. It’s a risk, but I’m no’ exactly swimming in options. Straegan nearly broke free outside the moon’s pull.”
The prince had dented bermetal bars as if they’d been twigs. “Verra well. We’ll trust magic.” Had Lowell really just said that?
Thane nodded. “Aye then. I’ve much on my mind. We’ll speak more come morning.”
Lowell stood at once, leaving half a glass of the finest whiskey in the Skein, which Thane would have to notice. As he turned, he forced himself to appear casual, taking measured steps toward the door.
“One more thing.”
Lowell paused, gritting his fangs before turning back. “Aye?”
Thane’s eyes glimmered blue as he said, “Take a week off from your witch. I’ll have Jastorgh send your regrets.”
Lowell froze. “My liege?”
“A cooling-off period will clarify your feelings as nothing else will. Concentrate on kingdom affairs for now. I need you sharp for our preparations.”
A week? Fucking hell. He opened his mouth to argue, but every defense sounded desperate in his mind.
I need her. Think I’m falling for her. Matehood is no’ for me. What she and I share is different from anything a Lykae has ever experienced before.
It’s better.
More…evolved.
Thane’s gaze searched Lowell’s face, waiting for his reply.
Lowell swallowed the protest and forced a nod. “Of course. If that’s your will.”
He could make it a week.
He could.
Outside, the castle’s battlements blazed with dying light and sea spray. Lowell crossed the courtyard, boots echoing on wet stone, the scent of the Witchwood drifting faintly on the wind—moss, smoke, a whisper of her skin. His pulse thudded harder with every breath.
He told himself to turn toward his office. Toward duty.
Instead, he prowled the castle, mentally charting the path to her through the dark.
A week, he thought grimly. I’ll never last one night.
Chapter 41
Lia
Twenty-three days till the Hunter’s Moon
“I have something to tell you,” Arctos said over dinner.
They were cozy at their table as the hearth fire burned, a cocoon against the cold and snow. Firelight shifted over his scarred face, making it difficult to read him—too many shadows, too many ways he hid behind them.
Lia kept her tone light. “Oh?” In Ravinelun, this could mean anything from good news to imminent death. Ravinelun loved its range.
She’d been sitting on her own confession of fangache. But she hovered at the edge of friendship with Arctos—something precious and precarious—and wanted nothing to get in the way.
Her thirst had vanished as quickly as it came, and that night she’d been out of her head from a bear attack and near drowning. And from the vodka!
Of course things had gone awry inside her.
Since then, she hadn’t felt it again—not even a little—until she began to wonder if she’d imagined it.
If she wanted friendship, she had to prove she deserved it. A tiny lapse, a drunken fever dream…why drag it into the light?
Now she smiled faintly across the table. “What is it?”
“First, an update about your friend Nadje,” he said. “You’ll be pleased to know she’s safe and thriving. In fact, she has partnered with Inkletter. They smuggle now and do general mercenary duties.”
Lia’s jaw dropped. “Those two? Partners?” Truly, the Skein never lacked for irony. After everything between them? Betrayal, lies, manipulation.
“So I’m told. They sold information to a friend of mine that proved useful, so I’ve decided to give Inkletter a chance to redeem himself. He and Nadje will use their connections to comb the Skein for any vampires who don’t drink blood.”
Lia’s chest loosened. A little breath of hope. “That’s wonderful!” Maybe abstaining just took practice and willpower. Maybe she wasn’t innately a monster.
“Also,” he continued, “the clan is hosting a banquet on the night of the Hunter’s Moon. You’ll accompany me.”
Her fork clattered. “Can I?”
“You must.” A ghost of a smile. “It’s in your honor. To welcome you officially into the clan.”
“A banquet…for me?” The words trembled from her lips. Warmth surged through her—followed instantly by guilt, sharp and throbbing as a fangache.
He’d asked little of her. Only honesty. And she had given him almost enough.
“Dagny suggested it,” he added. “The queen approved.”
Lia had only glimpsed Dagny from afar, Torben always guarding her like a dragon over gold. As if Dagny couldn’t take care of herself. Arctos had proudly relayed to Lia the accomplishments of his warrior cousin-in-law. “Do you think the others will accept me?” Or merely tolerate me in ceremonial silence?
“There’s only one way to know.”
She asked softly, “Have you accepted me?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I took your point the night of your near drowning: How can I learn to trust you if I never give you freedom to prove yourself?”
She studied him, the fire reflected in his eye. “Trusting a vampire could mean disaster.”