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)
Her hazel eyes snapped vampire black. “Not this again.” She flung up her hands. “You’re worse than a fey lute player who knows only one tune. ‘Tickle My Pointed Ears’ on an endless loop!”
“Nadje, we handed a madman something we didn’t understand. I must fix this for both of us. Historically, hubris like ours begs for punishment.”
“All you care about is history!” Her disdain darkened. “This is our job. This is what we do. You’ve been stewing over this for weeks. Every mission, you look like you swallowed something foul. I’m sick of it!”
“And you haven’t been stewing, which is worse! Do you never consider anything other than finishing a job?”
Her lips thinned. She cared, but she wouldn’t admit it. Then: “Like people’s feelings? Did you consider mine when you acted as if you were falling for me to get my secrets?”
Were they to rehash this? The weird anger in his chest said, DO IT. “You used me just as well!”
“Only because you put me in your sights first. And the fact that I used you doesn’t erase what you did to me.”
They were spiraling. The air thickened. That strange energy in the Skein wrapped around them like smoke, stoking heat in their hearts.
He tried to claw them back. “Baelor is dangerous. What will he do with that fire? Weaponize it? Burn the Skein? Some sects want total destruction. What if he leads one?”
“For all the gods’ sakes, you think too much!”
He had been told that all his life. Resented it now. “I thought too little when I was fucking you, didn’t I?” The words ripped out before he could stop them. But hostility clouded his vision and scalded his rational mind.
Fangs lengthened, she took a slow step toward him. “Yes. You did think too little.” Her voice was lethal velvet. “I played you, and you can’t let go of that either!”
Rage surged. Primeval. Demonic. He bared his own fangs, something he hadn’t done since his youth. “You told me our situation was put up or shut up. Very well.” His voice was low, shaking with fury. “I remove myself from this partnership entirely.”
She inhaled sharply. Her eyes went glassy—not with regret but with fury honed to pain. “I hate you,” she whispered, voice splintering like ice. “Get out. Do not ever come back.”
He straightened, pride wounded, instincts screaming at him—apologize, stay, don’t lose her—but the fury climbing through his bones drowned every rational thought.
“Gladly.” He bowed his chest with bitter formality. “Enrage not a demon, Nadje of the Badlands. I forsake you. Forever.”
But before he traced away, her mouth trembled.
Just once.
Quick, barely there.
And that sight carved a hollow into him so deep he feared it would never close.
***
Nadje
She paced her cramped room until the floorboards threatened to vibrate, as if her fury alone might split the seams of this entire castle.
The argument with Inkletter still throbbed in her skull—too hot to cool, too raw to ignore.
How had two people who’d weathered worse together ended up ripping at each other like enemies?
Inkletter’s demonic face replayed before her. Had his rage always lurked beneath his calm exterior? And what had he said—something about a force twisting tempers across the Skein? How much hostility could a spell ignite?
When he’d returned to her after his too-long absence, full of health and vigor, jealousy had flooded her. He’d looked like the male she’d met in the beginning—flirtatious, fun—before all their lies.
And she’d wanted him. Gods, she hated wanting him.
She’d once asked if he’d ever trapped a victim with three separate beddings. His reply: “I refuse to create one of those desperate-eyed slaves.”
Continuing their partnership was tempting disaster. And so her jealousy felt useless, dangerous, and humiliating all at once.
Stop, she ordered herself. You don’t need him. A blood tear slid down her cheek, but she swiped it away with the heel of her hand. Don’t need him at all.
She’d built this life. She sourced the jobs, ran the plans. Inkletter was just the transport—replaceable. And she had a job in this very castle, one she’d stupidly delayed while waiting for him.
Prince Coștin’s safe wasn’t going to crack itself.
She crossed to her hiding place, fishing out the tiny vial. Every day she’d hesitated, the blood inside had thickened more. Would it even work now? She had to try.
She pocketed the vial, straightened her uniform, then climbed to the hall of sins.
The royals sounded angrier tonight, their voices seeping through stone—snarls, crashes, something breaking. The air in the corridor felt charged, like a storm caged indoors. Did the full moon affect them, or was it the energy Inkletter had mentioned? Stop thinking about him.
She paused in the hallway, then whirled around, that prickle running down her spine. Watched again? She half hoped it was Inkletter. But the area was empty.
At the heir’s door, she smoothed a smile onto her face and knocked. “Service for the room!”