Page 117 of Ravenous

A chill slid over her skin.

The first time she’d discovered the safe during her cleaning rounds, she’d wondered what a royal needed to protect. No one dared steal from him. Something valuable must lie within. Something she might need.

Her new patron, a Berserker related to Shieldchief Arctos, had hired her to gather intelligence on the blood donors—their number, their condition. He hadn’t mentioned the queen overtly, but he must wonder why Yrsa hadn’t stormed Bloodreach to liberate her people.

Prince Co?tin had boasted about having influence over an entire faction. What if he had some kind of unholy leverage over the queen?

Again, Co?tin was the epicenter. And Nadje sensed the safe held the answers.

She recognized the mystical sigil locking the safe. She’d once smuggled a similar one from rogue witches to a client. Only Co?tin’s blood could open it.

His fangs often sharpened outside his control—like wayward erections—and he never cleaned up after himself. His blood was usually everywhere.

She’d brought the vial to collect any trace. Yet the newly cleaned floors gleamed back at her.

“Lia,” a voice moaned from the bathing chamber. “Need you, sora…”

Nadje froze.

He was here.

Out of his mind on an intoxispell!

Silence resumed. No movement sounded. Passed out?

Some impulse carried her closer to the chamber. Steam curled in ribbons, redolent with the tang of blood and the musk of magic.

Nadje nudged the door open an inch. The hinges gave a small whine, stealing her breath. But the sound didn’t rouse him.

He lay submerged in a large tub, head tipped back against the marble rim, the pale line of his throat gleaming in candlelight. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he dreamed. His chest was still. His neck belied no pulse.

A decanter had rolled from his hand to the tiled floor, where it leaked its last drops. His lips were cut. A trickle of crimson threaded from his bottom one into the water.

Drip…drip…

For a long, careless moment, she watched him—the sheen of damp lashes, the cruel beauty of his face, the chiseled perfection of his body.

Drip…

Her brazen hand found her vial, uncorking it. Her reckless feet shifted her closer.

Madness!

The glass in her palm felt impossibly small for the danger it would hold. But his fresh blood could save her weeks of scavenging. Her mother had died dreaming of escape. Nadje refused to die dreaming. Deciding to steal now and reckon later, she eased down, close enough to feel his heat.

She tilted the vial to his lips. The glass kissed him as softly as a lover. One bead slid in, then four more.

She drew it back and trapped the glimmering garnet with her cork.

He moaned again. The sound scorched her nerves.

Nadje backed away, disbelieving what she’d just done. She slipped through the door, closing it with infinite care—

—and nearly stumbled at the faint shift of water.

He’s waking.

Heart hammering, she flew across the room, her feet ghost-silent over stone. She escaped to the hallway, vial clutched tight like stolen gold.