Page 69 of Their Blood Queen

And therein lies the problem between Strigoi clans. It’s always a fucking dick-measuring contest.

My mood improves as I imagine that playing out in the Strigoi throne room. Sabre might have vibrating bits that are immensely pleasurable, but when it comes to size, I’d win that contest hands down.

If my family had their way, his dick would be cut off, and not long after that, his head.

Returning home right now turns my stomach. The protocol Sabre and I established is what keeps us safe, but I’m not ready to leave yet. We only meet up in secret when our families are otherwise occupied. With all that’s been going on in the Hell Fae Realm, it’s been easier to find time to be together.

But my family is coming back from a hunt today. We don’t have access to the Royal Blood Fields. So the Van Drakkens are forced to go to other worlds in search of food.

We are a hunted species in most worlds we venture into. This world is no better, where we all squabble over titles and resources.

I’m a sentinel for my household, meaning they expect me to protect the estate in their absence.

I’ve seen the blood fields. I know the Sanguinis family can’t afford an attack right now.

As for my absence, infiltrating enemy territory is as good an excuse as any. So I keep an eye out for anything my father might find useful in theory, but wouldn’t be truly damaging to my lover.

The sound of kicked rocks down the dark hall sends my instincts flaring. Like any Strigoi, I can see in pitch darkness, so I don’t have a torch.

There’s a light at the end of the hall that follows the sound, though, making me curious about whether they keep any mortal staff on hand. That wouldn’t be uncommon, but most mortals are better suited to be blood bags in the ground. Strigoi feed on blood and dreams, and those marinate better when the intended target is kept in a permanent sleep.

Being in the Morpheus Kingdom, it’s easier for me to slip into my true Strigoi form than if I had been on a hunt with my family in a mortal realm. I’m able to skitter up the wall and cling to the ceiling while I wait for the light to dim.

Instead, it grows brighter.

I go perfectly still as a petite female walks through the hall. Or rather, she’s limping.

What are the damn Sanguinis assholes up to now? I wonder.

She nervously glances around, stopping just beneath me as if she can sense my presence.

If she sees me, she doesn’t scream. So either she has nerves of steel, or she’s coincidentally staring right at my exact location for no reason.

The female is young, too young. Her blue eyes are bright with fear and make her look like a ghost. We have those in this realm, even if they have a different name depending on their type.

Such as Banshees.

Or worse, the Kuntilanak Fae. Those are terrifying things.

And then there are various spirits with no known names.

I hear a rapid heartbeat, though, so that eliminates the latter possibility. And the scent of blood makes my mouth water.

As do her nightmares. Even though she’s awake, I can sense them lingering in the back of her mind, waiting for me to taste them just as much as her blood.

Both of those things suggest she’s human, or at least partially human. Banshee blood won’t sustain a Strigoi.

And a Banshee would have screamed at me by now. Not stared up at me with fear in her eyes.

My hunger, though, makes my fangs ache. The pattering in her chest makes her sound like prey. It wants to tear into her flesh and drain her dry. Sabre fed me his blood, but that doesn’t truly nourish me.

The nightmares dancing in her eyes promise a fulfilling meal.

I’m hungry. I need to go home and feed on whatever blood infused with dreams my family has brought back from their hunt.

Or I could feed now.

No, I decide as I swat the vicious hunger away like an irritating pest. I have more control than most of my kind, and I can go impressively long periods without feeding. That’s what makes me a good assassin. Everything I do is with controlled measure, and I kill only when it’s intentional. Sabre is the same way.

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