Page 91

Drawing out the bottle, I trace the fancy lettering with my finger and grab two glasses. This bottle was what we planned to drink that dreadful night. Before Catalin arrived with her belongings, eyes as wild as her hair, hands cradling a bottle of mortal blood.

It was what we planned to drink the night Godrick came home from Mihal’s challenge.

I set the glasses on the round table and pour us both a drink.

“What is it you require of me?” I ask, handing him a glass.

He sips the wine, lips coming away from the rim stained purple. “I need you to retrieve a book.”

My eyebrows lift in mild interest. “I didn’t think you read.”

He has the audacity to appear insulted.

“And I didn’t think you wanted to be supreme, but I suppose things change,” he says, teeth flashing. “Though I do wonder how much your desire to become supreme stems from your guilt at not stepping up for Godrick when he was Challenged or from your fear of what Mihal will do to your mate in retribution for Catalin.”

The fruit-flavored wine flavoring my tongue turns bitter, rancid in my mouth.

“Tell me more about the book,” I demand.

The faster he gets on with it, the faster I can politely tell him to get the fuck off my island.

“It’s called Refracted Knowing Whims by G. Halethorne.”

My brow furrows. “I’ve never heard of such a book or author. What’s it about?”

“Not sure.” He lifts a shoulder, indifferent. “It will be a gift.”

“For who?”

“And why is that any of your concern?” He uncrosses his leg, leans forward. “Why don’t you concern yourself with the important details, hmm?”

What death would the Seven dole out to me if I smash this wine bottle against his fucking face and slash his throat with one of the shards?

You need him. Rory’s voice is an anchor, restraining me to my seat. Something new and unknown and absolutely terrifying swells within me at her effort to keep me in check. A four-letter word that means mine but is spelled so differently. No matter how angry he makes you, he is not our enemy.

“All right then.” I drain my glass and pour another. “Where’s the book?”

“What is that?” He sniffs. “Your scent… it’s different.”

Fucking fae. Always putting their nose where it doesn’t belong. There’s no need for him to know anything about the intricacies of vampirism or a sire-childe bond.

“Where’s the book?” I ask again.

A curious glint sparks beneath his cold stare. “Adelphi’s capital city. It was last seen at the public library.”

I balk. Ash relayed a full report on Adelphi’s status when my kindred were with him in Nightfell, and everything is fucked. The people seek justice for what happened to King Joal and their fallen hunters and trackers. No one is getting in or out without thorough inspections.

“Adelphi is in a tense, transitional period,” I say. “It’s far too dangerous.”

His lips try to fight back the cruel smirk he favors, but end up losing. “It’s not too dangerous for Quill Godrickson, famed leader of the Mors Soluta.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I snap. “But they’ve got my mate’s face plastered around the city, and they’re seeking revenge for their king⁠—”

“So?” He downs his wine in a single gulp. “Kings are like weeds to the mortals. Remove one, another crops up in its place. They’ll get over their late king as soon as they get under the thumb of their newest one.”

Jarrett. Rory’s bastard of a father.

“The entire city is on lockdown with hunters and trackers patrolling every street and alley,” I argue. “There could be wards or enchantments put in place by the witches to prevent us from mysting. You’re asking for too much, Riven. There must be something else, anything else, I could offer you.”