Page 33 of Their Blood Queen

What I’d been thinking about had displeased him.

“Can you see my memories?” I ask the nightmare creature.

Of course he can. He’s a figment of my imagination.

“Yes,” he growls, then flexes his jaw. “Can you see mine?”

That makes me laugh, and I immediately cover my hand with my mouth.

“What memories might you have, figment?” I ask as I trail my fingers over my lips, because that’s all he is.

He grins as if the name amuses him. “Figment, am I? Well, that’s all I can be, isn’t it?” His tongue flicks out as if to taste the air. I gasp at the sharpened teeth that look like they can tear right through flesh. “Would you like to know more about me?”

A strange question from a figment, but I discover that the answer is “Yes.”

He waves his arms wide. “Ask me anything.”

“Is this real?” I wonder.

“No,” he confirms, both satisfying and disappointing me. “It can’t be real.”

No, it can’t, can it? Which was possibly a good thing. Even if my courtship hasn’t officially begun, I wouldn’t risk the exclusive stipulation.

I’m not allowed to specifically have intercourse with anyone else, and neither is the Earl. The Blood Contract would automatically dissolve if that happened.

Not that I’ve ever had intercourse. I’ve never been in a position where that would have been possible. My brother kept me pure in that sense, probably hoping to save that virtue to sell to the highest bidder.

Now that I’m in a blood courtship, it gives me a sense of pleasure to know my brother won’t get to take that commodity. It’s mine to give, or not.

Just because I’m in a blood courtship doesn’t completely tie my hands, though. Scandal has always run rampant of those in a blood courtship finding other creative ways to pass the time.

My gaze drops. Not that I have to worry about intercourse, because there’s no way that will fit.

His eyes glitter when he adds, “But it can feel real.” His broken gaze sweeps over me, seeming to appreciate what he sees. “Do I frighten you?”

“Yes,” I admit. Even if he’s a figment of my imagination, I’m well aware of what my nightmares are capable of.

But this? This is new.

Maybe my mind is going to have some mercy on me.

I take my time to inspect him now that I know all of this is my own doing.

He’s frighteningly tall, and his head is bowed to avoid hitting the chandelier. His skin is dark, but mostly because it seems saturated by the same shadows I often see in my nightmares.

Almost as if he’s eaten them.

His face is beautiful with those broken mirror–like eyes. His cheekbones are sharp, and the quality of them reminds me of Cain’s portrait in the drawing room.

My mind has a funny way of painting a nightmare.

Cain was the last entity I tried to call out to for help. It makes sense that my mind would justify those feelings of needed security by fashioning this creature after him.

The massive thing between his legs, though, seems unusual.

As does the silver dripping from it. The urge to taste that substance has my heart stuttering in my chest.

Maybe my brother is right about me.

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