Page 29 of Their Blood Queen

We would have to run away, but there’s nowhere else for “abominations” like us to go. That’s why the Hell Fae Realm exists in the first place.

That’s why I should be grateful to Morpheus for his gifts, to Lucifer for this kingdom, but I feel sour toward them both.

Morpheus is my God.

Lucifer is my King. All the kingdoms report to him, including that of my father, King Nos—who Lucifer actually calls his lieutenant. It’s a reminder of our hierarchy.

Lucifer made his Hell Fae Bride Trials because he cares for his subjects. I should be happy with his efforts.

But none of his brides appeal to me.

And admitting that out loud would be both blasphemous and ungrateful.

“I didn’t hear anything,” I lie, then turn back to the portfolio I was flipping through a few moments ago.

Lucifer had sent one to each of us, hoping to entice us to select potential Hell Fae Brides for ourselves. All of the Hell kingdoms are celebrating, and I feel like I should be, too.

This is my chance to stop the starvation. Stop the famine.

Stop the fighting.

Lucifer listened. He’s trying to fix the problems. He’s a good ruler, and if I told him it wasn’t good enough, I’d be the ungrateful asshole that half the Strigoi paint me out to be.

Between the famine, the rising animosity among rival bloodlines, and the hunger that has been consuming me, a mate would be a welcome solution. I could relieve my withered father from the throne and start a new generation. The magic of a new Strigoi child royal would rejuvenate our lands.

Which is precisely the reason war is on our doorstep. I haven’t taken a mate yet.

Mostly because none appeal to me. I can’t mate with just any female. It has to be a true soul connection down to the compatibility of our blood and our dreams, or else my body will reject her if I continue to feed.

This isn’t something I can fake.

It has to be real.

I scan the portfolio again, hoping that one of the candidates will stand out to me. Many of the females are half-human, though not all of them are. That is my only requirement, as far as I’m aware.

I scan the genetic labels next to each pretty face’s name.

Human–Hell Fae hybrid.

Human–Fortune Fae–Elemental Fae mix.

Lunar Fae–Midnight Fae–human mix.

I mentally cross the last one out. She’s not only lacking mortal blood, being just one-third human, but the Midnight Fae are true vampires, unlike our dreamwalking hybrid version of them. I’m not looking for another mouth to feed when it comes to the blood fields.

Lucifer is just being thorough, so he had all potential candidates included. And he knows the Strigoi have special needs, like all hybrids do, so a small blood sample has been placed on each page next to the names. I’m not sure if I want to know how he obtained those.

But none of the samples call to me. I gently press my tongue to the spot of one red splotch, then make a face.

If I want a bride that tastes like overripe fruit, then that’s the one.

Cage has silently moved to my side of the bed and yanks the portfolio out of my hands. “Sabre.” He says my name like a curse. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re going to tell me you didn’t hear that? That you didn’t see it? It’s gone now, but there was something weird in the dream plane. Everything was… off, for a minute.”

“There was nothing,” I insist as I fling off the bedsheets, then immediately regret it.

We both stare down at my throbbing cock. The unique glands around the head and base are vibrating, and I shove my pillow onto it.

That only happens when I’m really turned on. Not all Strigoi have them. The vibrating bulbs are a Sanguinis family trait—or so my father tells me.

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