“I just thought you might like to know that the Princess of Maethalia is here in Ironberg. Forget I said anything,” she grumbled. But Edward reached out a hand, running it along her jawline and her lips, soothing her. His fingers were like ice cubes. Frigid. Arousing.

  “You did the right thing, Kitty, as always. And you’ll be rewarded. I’ll send my watchers. We’ll take it from here.”

  Silence hung between them for a moment, a silence so complete she could hear herself breathe. But not Edward. She’d never get used to the fact that he could live without breathing. He’d assured her that one day she, too, would lose the habit. It scared her, the thought of becoming that inhuman.

  She saw the tips of his fangs had grown, pressing now against his lower lip as he stared at her. Wanting her. She’d thought it was bad hanging out with men when all they were thinking about was sex. But being with a vampyre who wanted her for her blood? It was so much worse. And so much better.

  “What are you going to do to her?” she asked in a small voice. “Capture her? Kill her?”

  How would this princess fit into the Intelligence Bureau’s plans? And would Charlie get caught in the crossfire? One mantra Langford often repeated was, no whispers, no witnesses. He had even shown her the vats of acid in an old, abandoned meat-packing factory where the bones of inconvenient people disappeared—after Langford and his crew had drunk them down to raisins, of course.

  “Don’t worry, Kitty,” Edward said in a voice hardly more than a whisper. “We will be as gentle with them as I am with you.”

  His eyes met hers, then. Hypnotic. Commanding. He instructed her without saying a word, and she knew what she was to do. She slipped one shoulder out of her dress, then the other, and let it fall. Then she pulled her panties down past her hips and let those fall, too.

  Edward looked at her from the tips of her painted toenails up to the curls of her hair. Slowly, he leaned in until he was cheek-to-cheek with her. He brought his lips to her ear and slowly inhaled.

  “You still smell… alive,” he whispered.

  Slowly, very slowly, he traced his lips down along her neck, past her collarbone, down the top of her breast. She was shaking now, trembling like a flower in a breeze. Her nipples were so hard they ached by the time his lips traced her left areola. Then, he opened his mouth and brushed it with his fang. A soft squeal came from the back of her throat. She felt herself getting wet. Throbbing.

  But she didn’t move. Or speak. Or flinch.

  She knew her role. She was prey.

  The tip of his tongue slipped across her nipple once, making it somehow even harder. Then he took it in his mouth. She felt the tip of the fang press against it, a twinge of pain, a prick of pleasure. Then, he bit.

  Pain lanced through her, making her hiss. She started to pull away, but he caught her around the waist, his arms strong as iron bands, and he pulled her tight against him. Half a second later, the pain was gone, erased by the vampyre venom, with its radiating warmth and ungodly pleasure. He was suckling her now, drinking her hard and so fast she became light-headed. Then he switched to the other breast and, with the snarl of a beast, he bit it, too. She moaned as he drank, waves of ecstasy rolling over her. Her knees buckled, and he guided her down onto the wood floor.

  Her other breast was still bleeding, and he rubbed it with his hand, making her breast ache with pleasure, smearing her chest and belly with crimson. Then his hand was slipping down between her legs, rubbing her, making her slick with blood—as if she needed any help. She was already so wet she could feel it dripping between her thighs, could feel herself throbbing, already teetering on the verge of climax.

  He could feel it, too, because he pulled back suddenly, letting her bloody breast slip from his mouth. He rolled her over and pulled up on her hips so that she was on her knees, ass in the air as she gasped for breath.

  “Gentle, gentle, please,” she gasped.

  He was not gentle. He was inexorable. Entering her, filling her with the force of an avalanche. Cold as stone. Hard as iron. And big. Big as…

  Oh, God…

  Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as he moved inside her. His hands reached around, touching her breasts, painting her with her own blood, then running down, reaching between her legs to tease her with his bloody fingers.

  Her mouth fell open, and a low, animal groan came out of her. She was coming now, each thrust wracking her, lifting her to a higher level of pleasure. The venom coursed through her, making the world swim. Every cell of her body felt alive. Electric.

  “Mmm, you’re delicious,” he whispered, plunging himself into her once more, so deep a squeal came from her open mouth.

  Then, suddenly, he was out of her.

  It was a relief. And a torture.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged in a breathy whisper. “Please, master, don’t stop.”

  She felt his lips and fangs tracing down her shoulder. Down her back, down the cheek of her ass, all the way down to the center of her pleasure, still throbbing. She moved her hips, rubbing herself against his face, unable to stay still with the burning longing that coursed through her. She felt his lips open up against her. Then, he bit with force, as if he were crunching into an apple. She screamed, pain stabbing through her like a burning knife. But the pain was gone in an instant, replaced with… with… Oh God.

  She felt his mouth working as he gulped her blood, pulling her pussy to his face as he drank her. Her legs spasmed, kicking involuntarily. Tears ran down her face. She screamed. And laughed. And moaned. And trembled. Still, he kept on drinking her. And the pleasure made her shake like a person electrocuted as she came and came and came.

  The world came back to her slowly. It took effort to open her eyes, and when she did, she saw Edward standing at the mirror, tightening his tie. Two of his agents stood by the door, looking perfect with their matching black suits and slicked-back hair—each of them watching Kitty like she was a snack they were considering taking a bite of.

  She started to sit up and winced. Her breasts stung. Her pussy ached. Her body was sticky with blood.

  It was always like this. In the moment, she felt swept up with Edward, lifted in a tidal wave of ecstasy. And afterward, she felt like a fish washed up on shore. She grabbed her discarded dress and draped it across herself, hiding her nakedness from the wolfish eyes of Edward’s thugs.

  “Clean yourself up and get back to your office at the Times,” Edward said without looking at her.

  “What about Charlie and the princess?” she asked.

  “We’ll watch them. And when the time comes, we’ll act.”

  He picked up his hat and, without so much as a backward glance at her, he walked toward the door—moving, as always, with that eerie grace. As if he were made not of flesh, but of smoke.

  He’s not human. And he made me not human.

  The horror of it rose like vomit in her throat.

  “I quit,” she said.

  He froze in the doorway. Together, he and his two comrades turned back to her. His friends were smiling—a pair of frigid, mad grins with no mirth in their eyes. But Edward looked deadly serious.

  “I mean, what would happen?” she said, softening her wording under his predatory stare. “W-what would happen if I said I wanted to quit?”

  “Quit.” He said. “Quit the agency?”

  She blinked, considering. She hadn’t known exactly what she’d meant when she’d spoken.

  “Quit… everything,” she said.

  Edward’s friends laughed, a sound as cold as the clanking of iron chains.

  His eyes narrowed. “I made you,” he said slowly. “I made you a vampyre, gave you immortality, that you might serve—serve me. Serve the agency. Forever. You are not an employee, Kitty. You are my child. And my slave. And my wife. And my whore. And my soulmate. Just as they are.”

  He gestured to the men next to him.

  “Bruce,” he said. “Cut your wrist.”

  Without hesitation, the man on his right pulled up his sleeve and bit his own wrist. Blood began pouring out, hitting the floor in fat, spattering drops.

  “Drink,” he told Kitty.

  She started to shake her head.

  “DRINK!” he bellowed.

  Bruce went to her and offered his wrist. Reluctantly, she put her mouth on it and felt the hot blood thumping across her tongue. It turned her stomach. But more than that, it filled her with warmth and giddiness, like strong alcohol times a thousand. All her senses bristled to life. The pain in her breasts and vulva whiffed out like a candle flame. The deeper she drank, the better she felt, until her body felt illuminated and powerful, her spirits soared, her thoughts became perfectly clear. She felt more alive than she ever had in her life.

  For some reason, she suddenly thought of her grandma. Of going to church with her and lighting the pale blue Sophi candle when she was just a little girl.

  I’m not human anymore, she thought. Tears filled her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. She was feeling so much. Everything, all at once. She felt like she was higher and drunker than she’d ever been before. She felt like she was at her own funeral. And her own birth. And her own wedding. And⁠—

  “That’s enough,” Edward said.

  Bruce pulled his wrist away, though Kitty tried to hold onto it, like a baby loath to release its bottle.

  Just as she opened her eyes, Edward slapped her across the face. The sting of it nearly spun her head around, snapped her eyes open. She put one hand to her throbbing cheek as he knelt before her, his face only inches from hers.

  “Listen, Kitty. You want to quit? You want to be free? You’ll have to kill me,” he gestured to the men behind him. “…And all my children. Do you think you can do that?”

  She shook her head, her hand still pressed to her aching cheek.

  “Then learn to enjoy your life,” he said. “Because it’s going to be a very, very long one.”

  He watched her for a long moment, making sure his words sunk in. Then he stood, buttoning his suit coat, and left the apartment, his men following in his wake.

  19

  CHARLIE

  Essa hadn’t killed me yet, but from the fire in her eyes, I could tell she still wanted to.

  She sat across from me now in my cramped kitchenette. Like a true bachelor, I had basically no food in the house, so I’d called down to the bar on the corner and ordered us dinner.

  Essa opened the to-go box and eyed it with suspicion.

  “What is this?”

  “Patty melt,” I said, already taking a bite of mine. When she looked confused, I added, “Cow meat, cheese, and bread. This place is famous for them.”

  “And these?” she frowned, pointing into the box.

  “Fries.”

  “Why the blood?”

  I laughed, nearly choking on my sandwich. “Ketchup. It’s a sauce—to dip the fries in. Just try it, trust me.”

  She shot me a glare, then picked up a fry as if it were a tiny snake that might twist around and bite her. She took a small, exploratory bite, then grunted approvingly, dipped it into the ketchup, and took another bite. Her eyes lit up.

  “See. Told ya,” I said.

  “Mmm,” the moan that rose from her when she bit into the patty melt made me flash back to our night together in the dragon cave on Dorhane. Her body writhing beneath me, my fist tangled in her hair, our bodies slick with wanting, our lips and tongues⁠—

  “What?” she demanded.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “Oh…” I felt my face going red. “It’s… nothing. I was just… remembering.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Remembering what? When you lied about who you were? When you stole a dragon egg from our sacred Hatchery? When you made me think you believed in me—when really you were just trying to undermine the Skrathan by making the worst, weakest rider their Irska?”

  I winced. “Essa…”

  She raised a hand in my face, silencing me. “No,” she said. “No more lies. Understand this: I am here because you claim you can get me close to Kortoi. That’s it. I’m using you—just as you used me. And when Kortoi is lying dead at my feet, we are enemies again. Is that clear?”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “Wow. You really do sound like a queen.”

  “Spare me your patronizing compliments,” she muttered, tearing into her sandwich like a lioness into prey.

  “I am sorry, though, Essa. Truly.” I said. “If I could⁠—”

  She slammed her fist on the table, staring daggers at me. I had no doubt her real dagger might make an appearance again soon, too, if I didn’t shut up.

  I put my hands up in surrender and glanced around, looking for a way to change the subject. “Here, have you ever heard a radio before?”

  She seemed confused, so I walked over to the radio cabinet and turned it on. It hissed and crackled for a moment, then the low voice of the newscaster came on.

  Reports tell us that our troops have made substantial gains in both the central and southern portions of the front, but at a heavy cost. Today alone, seventy-six soldiers were wounded and a hundred and eleven⁠—

  “Stop it,” Essa said, looking horrified. “What sort of scrying is this?”

  “It’s just a radio,” I assured her, twisting the knob to change the station. The next one was more news.

  A Maethalian peace delegation has been meeting with President Ramos for the past three days. Though few details about the negotiations have been shared, some observers have been surprised by how much progress is reportedly taking place, especially given Ramos’s hardline stance on the war that has plagued both nations for generations. Some give credit to the Maethalian delegation, headed by a little-known religious figure called Prelate Kortoi.

  “That’s him,” Essa said excitedly. “Maybe they’ll tell us where to find him…”

  But the newscaster was already moving on.

  In other news, the Ramos administration has struck a deal with the Sylph Lord of Koratain to purchase over ten million dollars’ worth of coal. The supply should satisfy Admar’s growing need for fuel, but the reliance on a foreign source for such a critical commodity has raised concern among some lawmakers…

  “Shut it off,” Essa said.

  I ignored her demand, taking a bite of my patty melt.

  …And in our final story of the day, the Silver Wraith is back. Admar’s favorite Ace led a sortie over Dorhane, which, according to sources…

  Essa rose from her seat, stomped over to the radio, and before I could stop her, tipped it over. It hit the floor with a bang and a spark. The sound went dead.

  “Sophi almighty!” I cursed. “Do you know how much that thing cost? And they were talking about me, by the way.”

  “Voices from beyond the void⁠—”

  “It was a goddamn radio announcer!”

  “—Must not be listened to.”

  I shook my head, fuming. “You know… I risked my life searching for you. I scoured your goddamned country. I fought golenae. I rescued villages from monsters. And I begged the people there to tell me where you were, just so I could look you in the eye and apologize. For two months, I’ve dreamed night and day of seeing you again. Now, I finally find you and you try to kill me and break my damned radio.”

  “People can be very disappointing,” she said coldly. “You taught me that.”

  I shook my head, beside myself. “Listen, it’s been a long day. Let’s get some rest and we can start tracking Kortoi down first thing in the morning.”

  I strode into my bedroom, came out with a blanket and pillow and tossed them to her, then pointed to the couch. “You can sleep there. It’s more comfortable than it looks.”

  Her gaze ticked from the couch back to me. “I am the queen of Maethalia,” she said. “The queen gets the bed.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh. You want to sleep in my bed?”

  “While you sleep on the couch, moron,” she shot back.

  I crossed my arms. “I don’t remember you being such a brat.”

  “And I don’t remember you being such an ass. Kit.”

  I gave her my most devilish grin. “I may be an ass, sweetie, but I’m no idiot. I’m keeping a locked door between myself and that dagger of yours. That means I’m on the bed and you’re on the couch. Sorry, we don’t have queens in Admar. I’m sure you understand.”

  She bared her teeth—an expression that wasn’t a smile. “I understand perfectly.”

  “Great,” I said, stripping off my shirt and retreating into the bedroom. Her eyes lingered before she tore them away—hoping I wouldn’t notice.

  I gave her my biggest, broadest grin. “Sweet dreams, Your Highness,” I said.

  Before she could attack me, I slammed the bedroom door—and locked it.

  20

  ESSA

  Ilay upon the sofa in Charlie’s apartment, staring up at the ceiling. He was on the other side of that door, on the other side of a wall so thin I thought I could hear him breathing.

  Still breathing.

  I came here to kill him. I had failed.

  I’m a coward, I thought to Othura.

  She gave a dismissive hoom. Coward? Never, Dear Heart. You crossed an ocean and infiltrated a hostile city to confront a man you love, a man who broke your heart. That is courage.

  I don’t love him… I fired back, though the thought curdled even as it formed. Could a person love someone they barely knew? Someone who was an enemy, a betrayer? Could love bloom in a soil comprised more of lies than truth?

  I hated Charlie, certainly.

  But did that mean I didn’t love him, too?

  I’d hated my mother most of my life. But in the end, in those final moments as I’d watched her lifeless form drift down into the black oblivion of the ocean, I’d felt my heart breaking. I’d felt love.

  Love and hate could coexist. They could feed off one another.

  Love didn’t have to be nice. It could be like a harpoon in a leviathan’s belly. It could be the fire burning a castle from within.

 

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