Page 93 of Claimed

Of course she was here. She heard everything and Valentin knew.

I fold my arms harder. ‘Do all witches enjoy lurking, or is that a hobby specific to your coven?’

Rowan’s mouth curves faintly. ‘Only when the entertainment is exceptional.’

I laugh without humour. ‘You must have had a marvellous time.’

Her gaze flicks over me with surgical precision, then slides to Valentin and back again. ‘More than you know.’

The implication in that shouldn’t bother me. It bothers me a great deal. And I hate that she can probably see that.

My stare turns sharper. ‘If you’ve been standing there listening to him unravel, perhaps you’d like to justify your presence with something useful.’

‘She is,’ Valentin says.

I look at him. ‘Is she?’

Rowan answers before he can. ‘I’m working on a solution.’

‘Wonderful. I’m sure your mysterious competence is very comforting to everyone involved.’

Her eyes gleam. ‘Your concern for him is louder than your sarcasm, hunter.’

Heat lashes over my skin again, this time uglier. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

‘I wasn’t flattering myself.’

I take a step towards her before I can stop it. ‘Careful.’

Something cool and knowing settles over her face. ‘What a fascinating little creature you are.’

Valentin makes a low sound that could be warning or exhaustion or both. He steadies himself against the doorframe so briefly I almost think I imagined it.

My temper vanishes beneath a spike of alarm. I round on Rowan. ‘What use are you if you’re standing there trading insults while your so-called friend is falling apart?’

At that, Rowan’s expression changes into focus. ‘I’m not doing nothing,’ she says. ‘But what I’m preparing will take time.’

‘How much time?’

‘Too much for his current state.’

Another icy wave washes over me as I look from her to Valentin.

He’s already looking at me. And yes, there’s hatred there. Pride. Necessity. And something darker than both.

Hunger.

I know before anyone says it. Rowan confirms it anyway. ‘In the meantime the only thing likely to stabilise him is your blood.’

Silence swallows the dungeon whole, and my pulse hammers so hard it hurts as Valentin’s face turns to stone.

Rowan, infuriatingly, watches us both with far too much understanding.

And something between me and the vampire I betrayed tightens again, sharp and undeniable, until neither of us can keep pretending this is merely hunger.

A laugh breaks out of me.

It sounds half-mad. Maybe I am half-mad. Maybe being gagged and poisoned by a witch, desired by a dying vampire king and interrogated in a dungeon by the same man who has seen me naked far too many times for this level of formality is enough to make sanity optional.