Page 48 of Blood on the Tide

At my soft word, she finally moves, hooking the edge of my chair with her foot and dragging me around the side of the table to her. She laces my fingers with hers and lifts them to her lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Then we find a way through.”

So much contained in that single sentence. I know better than to hope, and yet hope flutters in my chest all the same. It’s tempting to seek reassurances, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask her for them. Lizzie has none to give me.

Instead, I focus on the problem in front of us. “You need to feed.”

“I won’t—”

Feed from me. “I know.” I hold up a hand. “But the fact remains that you do need to.”

Lizzie shifts in her seat. “You know the nature of my bite. I have no intention of taking anyone else to bed, but there’s no way to control the side effect. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself in demanding exclusivity, but the thought of you with someone else makes me want to bathe the room in blood. And I don’t want anyone but you.”

Gods, does she know what her words do to me? The longer our conversation goes on, the more of the old Lizzie I see, as if she’s drawing her coldness around her like a barrier. Part of me mourns the loss, and yet I find it reassuring all the same. There’s still warmth lingering in her dark eyes. Warmth that’s just for me. Somehow, that makes it all the more special.

“What if... we find a compromise?”

“I’m listening.”

I take a deep breath. “There must be a brothel or three in Drash. You can explain your needs, and I imagine one of the people there will agree to feed you. If I’m in the room, maybe it won’t be so upsetting.” There’s every possibility that it will be even more upsetting to watch someone else come apart in her arms, all while wishing it was me. But if I’m not there, I’ll wonder. It’s unfair in the extreme—I can acknowledge that—but it’s the truth. “Maybe I’m asking too much.”

Lizzie’s lips curve and her smile warms even more. “I like that you’re asking it. I like that you’re jealous.” She leans in, her breath ghosting against the sensitive space behind my ear. “After I feed, I fully intend to reacquaint myself with every inch of your body. How does that sound?”

I can’t quite draw a full breath. My heart thrums in my chest and my skin heats in anticipation. I clear my throat. “That sounds good. Really, really good.”

chapter 24

Lizzie

I’m not certain that I ever actually agree to Maeve’s proposal. One moment, we’re sitting close at the dinner table and I’m inhaling her sea scent, and the next, I find myself in a brothel, her hand linked with mine. Like all the other buildings in Drash, the brothel is carved into the cliff face, its doorway painted a deep violet so dark as to almost be black. The designs are subtle, a shade lighter than the violet, all of night-blooming flowers.

As we step inside, the temperature is several degrees cooler than the outside. It’s honestly a clever design that doesn’t require the use of magic, and a welcome relief from the heat that makes my clothes stick to my skin. The stone insulates from both hot and cold, keeping the building nicely temperate. The main room looks similar enough to brothels everywhere, the lights kept low, sensual music playing low enough to allow for each conversation, and a bar with free-flowing drinks.

The place is packed, most of the low round tables filled with patrons. I identify humans, several lizard folk like Rin, and many who are obviously citizens of islands I have yet to visit. Living as long as I have, I thought I’d seen all there was to see of people, both paranormal and not. Coming to Threshold has more than proven me wrong.

Robed locals move through the tables, some with drinks, some leaning down to flirt with the patrons. Their robes are every color of the rainbow—and some I have no name for—and at least half of them are sheer enough to tease at the bodies beneath the fabric. The glimpses I get show bodies that are humanoid, but the proportions are slightly different, their limbs slightly longer and leaner.

Another time, I might find this whole experience a revelation. Right now, I’m too twisted up inside to enjoy the fact that Threshold makes me feel small in a strangely comforting way.

Maeve watches me expectantly, waiting for me to take the lead. I’m still not sure this is a good idea. I’ve shared partners in the past, have indulged in all manner of acts with both sex and blood. When you live long enough, the taboo ceases to exist, and “good” and “bad” are purely a metric of what feels good and what the people involved enjoy.

But I don’t want to hurt her. Not again. Her solution of me biting someone else circumvents the physical hurt, but that doesn’t mean it won’t emotionally harm her. It’s not something I’ve ever really worried about with a partner, and now I can’t stop analyzing the possibility from every angle. I already dimmed Maeve’s light with my carelessness. I desperately don’t want to do it again.

“Relax.” Maeve brushes her fingertips over my knuckles. “It’s going to be okay.”

Ironic that she’s the one comforting me. It’s a testament to what kind of person she is. When we first met, all I could focus on was the strength in her, the unwillingness to roll over and admit defeat. Now? Her softness is just as appealing. She’s filled with layers that I want to delve into and discover for myself. I have a feeling I could spend years at her side and still not have plumbed the full depths of what she’s capable of.

But we don’t have years.

The reminder sours my mood even further. “This is a terrible idea.”

“No, it’s really not. We need to question people who may have seen the Crimson Hag, but we can’t do that if you’re ready to rip out someone’s throat at the smallest inconvenience. You’ll feel better after you feed.”

She’s managing me, but I’m not certain if she’s wrong. Hunger is a dull throb inside me, hollowing me out and shortening my temper—which wasn’t great to begin with. I slump back in my chair and wave a careless hand at the robed people flitting between tables. “Fine. Pick one and do your negotiations.”

She frowns at me. “Don’t you want to pick?”

The only one I want is Maeve. Saying as much will only give her the wrong idea. I have no intention of drinking from her again. No matter how much my tongue aches for her taste, it’s not going to happen. It’s too dangerous. Telling her that will give her hope she can bring me around to her way of thinking. I can’t allow it to happen. More than that, I don’t want to waste what time we have left together by fighting.

“I’d rather you pick,” I finally say. Past partners have preferred not to be in the room if I feed on someone else. The sexual nature of my bite makes it too difficult for them if they’re not actively involved. I’m not certain about Maeve’s insistence that she’s fine with it.

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