Page 7

‘What is happening?’ he demands.

‘Nothing,’ I rasp.

A terrible answer. Extremely convincing. Ten out of ten.

I bend closer to Valentin, fury slicing through fear. ‘Fine,’ I whisper. ‘Fine. We’ll do it your way, you vile old crone.’

But my mouth opens again because I’m stubborn. I’ve fought through thralls, wards, monsters, men, grief, and every locked door that ever thought it could hold me. ‘I’m Ly⁠—’

Fire slices under my tongue and copper floods my mouth a second later. On the bed, Valentin jerks so violently the bedframe cracks.

I clap a hand over my mouth, eyes watering, terror crashing back through me as he inhales. A deep, brutal inhale that drags at the air, at the room, at me.

Then his eyes open. Red-black. Fixed on my mouth.

For one heartbeat, there’s no Valentin in them. No arrogant vampire Don or controlled predator. Only hunger, curse, blood, ancient recognition fighting through spellwork that was never built to withstand this.

Then his eyes roll back and he collapses again.

I scramble away from the bed, breathing hard through my nose, blood hot under my tongue.

The name, my own name, is trapped in my mouth.

Selphine Rousseau, the witch I have severe trust issues with, designed her potion to guard it.

No. Not guard. To lock it.

And I would be grateful if she did this with my fucking permission. Or the little heads-up that I would literally choke and bleed to death if I attempted to speak my own damned name.

My thoughts trip over each other.

I could force it. I know I could. If I pushed hard enough, bled enough, maybe I could rip the word out of myself and throw it at him like a grenade.

Except there is another way.

Ever since I tasted Valentin’s blood, I can hear him in my head, which remains wildly inconvenient and not something I have unpacked with a professional.

Valentin?

The answer comes faintly.

Hunter.

Relief hits too hard. I push it aside and reach for the name.

I’m… L⁠—

Pain clamps around my skull like a vice. My throat seals tighter as blood floods my mouth.

Fuck. Even here? Even in my own damned mind?

Fuck you, Selphine!

But my tongue is bleeding from two syllables.

A violent thud hits the door again. ‘Eira!’ Aaron this time. Less calm.

I swallow the blood and the taste makes Valentin’s mark flare even from across the bed.