Page 15 of Their Blood Queen

She emerges after a few minutes with a skin-tight dress, a stringed corset I have no idea how she got into by herself, and a feathered hat with a long, fluffy black feather to match.

She pulls on black lace gloves that go all the way to her elbow while her silvery eyes narrow on me. It’s the only part of her that gives her away.

“When does the train leave?” she asks.

“Three days,” I say, knowing from memory that’s how much time my mate has until she must begin her courtship.

Not mine, I remind myself.

Some trains will leave in less than two days, but the one Helia needs to promptly return to Monster City is still waiting on new cargo.

New selections.

Helia gives me a subtle nod as the wind threatens to rip the hat off her head. She grips the end to prevent it from flying away. “Then I’ll spend the night to recharge and portal myself back in the morning. If you need me, you know where to find me.” She raises a dark, elegant brow. “I suggest you pay a visit to this Earl Rinhold before your Dream Eater does, Cain.”

I swallow back my beast’s growl.

“A visit,” I repeat, wondering how I’m going to manage that without ripping into the male’s throat.

Perhaps a visit to the female would be safer. It might subdue my other half enough to make that possible.

One-on-one with the female sounds much more appealing anyway. But I can’t meet her in reality. I’d be too tempted to take what isn’t mine.

I could meet her in her dreams, though. It wouldn’t violate the blood contract because any acts performed in the Dream Realm wouldn’t be real.

But they would feel real.

As long as she prays to me again, I’ll have access to her mind.

She’s done it once. The act can be addictive, so I’m certain she’ll pray to me again.

See you soon, little star.

In your dreams, at least.

You’re mine.

For now.

CHAPTER 4

SCARLETT

My cheek is still stinging when I return to my chambers. My face is flushed, and rage is making my jaw hurt.

I stab my heels into the soft rug along this corridor, hopelessly annoyed that my march to my room is a quiet one.

I want to scream and tear the paint off the wall. I want to find my brother and claw my nails down his stupid face.

I want to go feral.

That would be a great way to sign my death warrant, so, like the properly trained Lady I am, I stuff every single violent urge into a little box and mentally swallow the key—because I cannot let those feelings out. Not if I want to survive.

Unfortunately, bottled-up feelings festering inside my soul are only fodder for my nightmares.

I pause, wondering if I should turn around and curl up in my favorite reading nook until morning. The last thing I want to do is go to bed where my unresolved darkness will be waiting for me in full force.

I’ve always had rough dreams. Sometimes they aren’t so bad.

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