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)
I will keep it safe.
But only in the palm of my hand.
She wouldn’t heal it. She would steal it.
Movement drew her gaze. A giant spider clambered by then, leg fur shimmying, his spinneret full and ready for action. “Hello, Webmaster,” she murmured. “Looking glorious as ever.” You too belong to me. She’d made sure to exclude wildlife from her traps—
Wait. She stared out the window. Blinked. Where in Hecate’s name are my traps? The wards she’d woven were gone. Weeks of work stripped bare.
Rosewyn. Had to be.
Stupid. Shortsighted. Dangerous.
Was Meera involved? Had they compromised anything else? The containment spells in Craigdúr—
A sudden blow smashed into her chest and drove her to her knees.
She sprang up, searching for an attacker, but the tower was empty. The blow had come through magic.
Straegan. He’d hit the enchanted bars, and the impact had blasted into Ditch like a siege ram.
What in the name of every dark goddess was happening in Craigdúr? Gritting her fangs, she clamped down on the spell, horns and tail sparking wildly. She felt another run at the bars, and then another, as Straegan hammered at his cage, a rabid piston.
Panting, she scanned the grounds around the keep. All that work sabotaged. All her traps.
Rosewyn, you fool.
The coven was now exposed to every creature in the Skein, many already sliding toward a murderous frenzy.
Ditch felt the surge rippling across the land—howling through the moors, rattling the seacoasts, unsettling the mountain clans, and stirring the demon borders to the south.
One witch’s pain. And the whole Skein was slipping into madness.
Chapter 47
Inkletter
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Nadje said as she swept into her room, still in her maid’s uniform. The corridor’s gloom pooled behind her, chasing her into the dim candlelight. “I’ve got wild news and a job for us, which I could’ve told you about sooner if you would share your symbols—”
She stopped dead.
Her eyes flicked over his face, his posture—then down the solid, unmistakable muscle that came from fresh sex.
“You’ve fed,” she said, the words frosted sharp enough to cut.
“Yes.” Ink’s gaze took in her flushed cheeks, the stain of new strength humming beneath her skin, her lips darkened to a bruised coral. “Apparently, so have you.”
He’d known her diet of animal blood and mead couldn’t last forever. He’d known the time of her feeding neared. But he hadn’t expected his reaction. The idea of another throat beneath her mouth hit him like a mortal fever, heavy and nauseating.
She crossed her arms. “You look so hale and fit that you must’ve had a feast. And here I thought you were closeted away, studying.” Her tone was cool silk wrapped over some jagged emotion. Almost jealous.
His chest gave an answering twist—unwelcome, unbidden.
But he forced the feeling down. “A strange energy is gripping the Skein tonight, infecting immortals with anger. Moon madness, spell work, I don’t know. I’m untouched, but I came to check on you.”
Her brows lifted. “Why would you care if I’m affected?”
“You’re my business partner,” he said evenly, though the words caught in his throat. It was more complicated than that. Not the bond, but something close enough to unsettle him.
Lust, yes. Hunger. Yet beneath it all ran a thread of protectiveness that tightened every time he looked at her. Again and again, the same thought surfaced: How bad were the Badlands to you as a girl?
He’d spent more time with her than he ever had with anyone outside his family, but they’d never spoken of their pasts. Still, he sensed that no one had stood between her and the worst of it.
He could stand there now. That cost him nothing. He was strong, and money seemed to calm her. He could help her earn more. So he kept showing up, telling himself that was all it was.
She scoffed. “Now you’re concerned about business?”
“As you often remind me, our venture is lucrative.”
Her brows knit. “Is gold everything?”
“You were very convincing when you assured me it was. What is happening here?” His gaze narrowed. “Ah. You are affected by that energy.”
Her mouth parted in outrage. “I was in a fantastic mood earlier,” she snapped. She had been—bright, almost effervescent—despite spending the day mopping blood and stripping beds of half-dead donors. She always told him, You don’t want to know.
Now he asked, “What is your wild news?”
“It can wait.”
“Then hear mine.” He stepped closer. “I found vampires in Umber who don’t drink from sentient beings. They’re monk-like abstainers.”
She recoiled, face twisting. “They pierce animals?”
“No. They harvest blood and consume it like wine. Dignified, actually.”
Her expression seemed to steal the air from the room. Her voice dropped. “So the way I drink is…undignified?” She tapped her tongue to a fang point.
“Dangerous,” he corrected. “Your eyes will redden eventually. Or you’ll kill by accident. This enclave avoids that.” He couldn’t hide the faint pride in his words as he said, “Arctos will find this valuable.” Ink had been given a chance at redemption, and he hadn’t disappointed. With this information, he could rebuild trust. He wanted Nadje to trust him too. Wanted to show her he could fix things. Before he thought better of it, Ink said softly, “With the payment from this job and the Lykae king’s, I intend to buy back the fire from Baelor.”