Anna slid the book his way, open to the correct passage. “She charged her Light by drinking mortal blood.”
She’d read Morgan’s entry in this book at least ten times. Nearly had it down by heart.
His eyes skimmed over the lines. “What happened when she drank it?”
“It apparently gave her complete control over the man for a time.”
“But only men?”
“Yes. They were called blood servants.” Anna pointed at the sketch of such a being in the book. “She could coerce all people—just like you, I assume—but her blood servants were true slaves to herword. She was one of three huntresses who feed on mortal blood. There’s Morgan, the Fideal, and Leanan Sidhe. But Morgan was the most dangerous one. Her blood magic is described as a sickness here.”
His green eyes riveted to the picture. “I’ve never once felt the urge to drink someone’s blood.”
Neither had she, and she’d paid close attention when she’d learned this particular component of her magic. She used to stare at blood, waiting to see if the urge would come.
It never had.
“Never felt the call toward vampirism?” she teased.
His mouth quirked in that tempting half smile.
Once again, Anna wished she could sense the full onslaught of his emotions. She could only scratch the surface of what she imagined was an entire tundra of sentiment. She’d never had to try so hard—never had to try at all—but she exerted more than a little effort, pricking against his icy shield, searching for the entrance.
His gaze lifted, his bare expression cast with the subtlest shade of curiosity like he knew exactly what she was doing. Heat bloomed in her cheeks, almost scalding. His attention was a strange thing, somehow disarming and enthralling at the same time. Anna couldn’t decide whether she liked it or not.
“Apparently,” she said with a quick throat-clearing, “the effect weakened over time. She had to drink every few days to hold power over someone.”
He hummed, returning his attention to the book. Golden afternoon light slanted over his hair, striking sparks of Luster all around. It hit his face at a sharp angle, throwing a starburst scar on his forehead into sharp relief. That scar spoke of cruelty, eerie to see on a sylph. Where had he gotten it?
“See something interesting?” he asked without looking at her, and Anna jerked her gaze away.
A tide of warmth surged up her face. “Just curious.”
“About what?”
Your scar. Your past. You.
“Can I ask what happened between you and Sean?” she asked instead of embarrassing herself further.
David’s jaw tightened. “You can ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
She remained quiet, still, hopeful. Eventually, he sighed and looked at her.
“What do you want to know?”
“He said you two knew each other?” she asked, careful to keep her rabid curiosity out of her voice.
A cruel laugh rumbled in his throat. “We fought with each other. We threatened each other. We didn’tknoweach other, and he if he says he knows me, then quite frankly, he’s stupider than I gave him credit for.”
Well, this certainly struck a nerve. “Why the animosity between you?”
His head tilted, and a flare of challenge ignited in his bare expression. “Because there’s an instinct in my head telling me he’d be better off dead.”
Any response she might have come up with desiccated in her throat.
“Scared yet?” he asked.
Anna swallowed, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered when her entire larynx had dried to dust. “Is that Galadaine inside you, you think?”
