Page 63 of Their Blood Queen

What taste would he divine from my scandalous dreams of a figment who wears his face?

Except the figment is much larger and has sharp teeth and mirrorlike eyes.

And a monster cock between his legs.

My cheeks flush when he pulls me against him, and I definitely feel something large along my hip that suggests he knows where my thoughts are going.

I invited him in when I prayed. I can almost feel him in my head.

I’ve made a grave mistake.

The room is still cast in shadows, and the music has changed. Before, it was a festive tune of instruments. Now, a haunting melody has taken its place.

I realize it’s coming from all directions, and Cain seems to be the logical culprit of the dreamlike music that drifts around us. “I wanted a moment to talk,” he says, which I suppose is his way of explaining why everything in the room is cast in shadows.

Reflections splinter off from what seems to be broken shards of glass that float through dark gaps. I can’t see any of the multitude of guests or even Earl Rinhold, but every now and then, I see their silhouettes in the broken reflections.

This isn’t my world, I realize.

The King of the Elite City has brought us somewhere else.

A tingle of fear skitters up my spine, and the mark above my navel throbs.

Cain seems to react to my trepidation and puts distance between us while holding my hands. I have a feeling it would be a terrible idea to let go.

Without his body warmth shielding me, chill air wraps around my middle and makes it hard to breathe. I feel as if I’ve been immersed deep into the under layer of an ocean that hasn’t seen sunlight in a thousand years. He’s an anchor I need in this alternate world.

Without him, would I be lost forever?

“Does this have something to do with the blood contract?” I guess, trying not to let my teeth chatter. I can’t rightly think of another reason that the King of the Elite City would personally make a visit just to see me or go through the trouble of slipping us into this strange in-between of worlds. I have witnessed magic before, and I know power when I see it.

This is a display of both in immeasurable quantities. As far as I can tell, I’m his only audience. Everyone else is hung in suspension on the outside.

Is he really here for me?

I mentally kick myself. Of course not. He’s here for the Rinholds. They’re on the verge of moving to the Immortality Sector, and that would justify the King’s attention. It doesn’t happen very often that a family ascends to the Immortality Sector.

If I’m to wed Earl Rinhold, I become implicated. Cain’s scrutiny of those who might be worthy would also fall to me.

I hadn’t considered my worthiness of the ultimate prize offered by the God of our city. With the constant threat of failure looming over my head, I’ve always been Lady Nightingale.

Hidden, insignificant, and unworthy of anything but my brother’s wrath and my father’s passing affection.

My mother’s love is certainly something I don’t deserve. I am a fleeting dream, a fantasy, of the daughter she wished she had. She has never treated me as such, but that is the truth regardless.

Cain seems to look right through me with his blue eyes that pierce the darkness. Just like in his painting, they seem to reflect an inner light that doesn’t match the dullness of the ballroom.

“The blood on that contract was mine,” he explains.

That knowledge makes my stomach flip.

Edward managed to pen the contract with Cain’s blood?

That made the courtship itself incredibly powerful and binding.

It must have also been obscenely expensive. Maybe even enough for a family to buy their way into the Immortality Sector.

Why would the Rinholds pay such a price just for me?

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