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He gathers me into his arms. “No wars.”
“When the houses hear about you making notturnos, they’ll descend upon you.”
“Yes, my siren, and thus I must prepare.” Nottuza sighs. “I didn’t wish for you to come to court.”
“Because you know blood will spill?” I look up at him.
He nods. “Most certainly.”
“Will it be fae blood?”
He shrugs. “It depends.”
“On?”
“You.”
“I want to minimize the suffering of my people.”
“Start by getting rid of the lycans.”
“After they rest, shower, and eat.”
Nottuza rolls his eyes. It’s a such a childish gesture that I laugh.
“Pretty please?” I bat my eyelashes at him and feel my magic unfurl and attack him, asking him, begging him to do as I wish.
Nottuza shakes his head at the same time that he says, “Fine. They rest and they’re gone right before the ball tonight.”
I squeal because the ladies (and some fae gents) will be delighted with the energy the young lycan males bring to the evening. “So much fun.”
Nottuza is at the door and opening it as I slide off the table.
Outside, Duane is already flirting with Winter, making her blush profusely. When he sees us walking up, he takes one look at me and then Nottuza and says to the vampire, “You folded, didn’t you?”
Nottuza mumbles something incoherent.
Duane points at him. “You folded like a roof under dragon fire.” He sticks his fingers into his mouth and whistles. “Come on in, boys.”
He swaggers past Nottuza, making a roof out of his hands, then touching his palms together. “Like a roof, vampire.”
25
NOTTUZA
The lycans barge inside the Ice Princess like a pack of sweaty, wet dogs.
They’re so familiar with my princess that each one gets to kiss her hand and whisper offers into her ear while she giggles and laughs, exhausting herself by climbing back up the stairs so she can lead them toward the top floors where the fae females are squealing with delight, having been informed of pending decisions about indulging in lycan male company.
Once the loud lycans and giggling fairies move away from the spiraling staircase and into the rooms on the top floors of the tower, I return to my office. Leaving the door open, I lean again my table, gripping the wooden edge until my claws dig into it and splinters start driving into my flesh.
The smell of blood in my office draws in the newly made notturno guarding the outer doors. He flares his nostrils, eyes becoming red.
“Come in, Colnis.” I motion him in, and he enters immediately.
I release the table and stare at my bleeding palm, then start picking the wood splinters out of it while he watches, hungry for my blood.
After a notturno has been made, they crave the blood of the living. Because my blood brims with undead magic, much like a baby is soothed by the milk of the mother, my blood soothes all their cravings.
