Page 44 of Their Blood Queen

There was something else that made her special.

“She is the key.”

But why?

Neatly folding up the invitation, I tuck it away in my vest pocket. “I suppose I’m going to a fête, then.”

Bernard awards me with a bright smile. “Shall I go with you?”

I nod. “You’ll be my eyes and ears. And if you find any shiny things to play with when you’re done, that’ll be your reward.”

His dark eyes glitter with the prospect. Bernard loves shiny things—namely, Elite women who have a penchant for losing their chaperones.

A fête at the Rinhold residence will have a surplus of those. None of the eligible high-class ladies, of course, but there are plenty of second- and third-class Magic Sector citizen fodder who will likely attend.

And I’ll be there to observe if Earl Rinhold disappears with any of them. Because if he does, he’ll be violating the blood contract.

Then… Scarlett Nightingale will be mine.

A devious grin overtakes my face. “A fête sounds exactly like what I need right now.”

My monster growls in the back of my mind as my claws recede.

“It seems your beast agrees,” Bernard observes.

My Raven bows and takes his leave, not bothering with pleasantries as he gives me blessed solitude.

I pick up where I left off on the paperwork, approving train schedules and other activities for the various Choosing Day activities the Elite families have planned. They’re not all on the same day, but they’re all in preparation for Monsters Night, which is just around the corner.

The annual event where monsters find their mates and balance their powers has become a ritual, one that doesn’t include me.

This year, though, I feel a stirring of hope.

For the first time since I can remember, a Dream Eater dares to have a dream of his own.

I’ll find a way to have you, Scarlett Nightingale.

Even if I have to burn everything I’ve built to the ground.

You.

Will.

Be.

Mine.

CHAPTER 10

SCARLETT

It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dreary darkness of my mother’s room.

My nose wrinkles as a musty, foul air assaults my senses. I fumble with my dress and pluck out a sheer handkerchief, pressing it to my face in an attempt to stem the stench.

As I pass by the magicked lights, they flicker on, having been spelled to activate when they sense movement.

I spot the culprit of the horrid smell sitting on my mother’s nightstand. A rotten peach festers, and flies buzz around it.

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