Page 2 of Lifeblood

“Come on,” I said as I scooped up any leather jacket and bag. “Let’s go get some fro-yo before the lottery. Get our minds off of this. Tell Piper to come too.”

“And mom.”

I paused at that. Technically Maria’s mom was included in the lottery pool, too. Being married to another human didn’t mean, apparently, that she couldn’t also be married to a demon king. “Yes. Invite her too. Tonight will be over in short order, and then we can come go home and play a game or something. Get our minds off of this.”

Easier said than done. It always took a few days for the media to stop talking about the women chosen as wives. Sick as it was, especially since not all of us wanted this and even the rich and famous weren’t safe from being chosen at the lottery, the media always loved having a story to talk about.

It always took me weeks after the media finally stopped talking about the lottery “winners” to get my mind off of it. To stop the shame and guilt from not stopping these lotteries altogether.

“Okay,” Maria said, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Meet you in twenty minutes?”

“Sure thing!” I forced cheerfulness into my voice. Just two hours. Once none of us were chosen, life could go back to normal for another year. As it had for me for decades.

If Maria had known the truth of my existence, that I wasmucholder than I presented, then maybe she’d feel better about her odds tonight.

I’d not been chosen yet. If anyone’s time was running out, it was mine.

* * *

Fro-yo passed too quickly,but the distraction had been thin to begin with. It was nearly impossible to ignore the upcoming lottery. Every TV and ad screen we passed in the city showcased it in as positive a light they could.

“These women will live a life of luxury,” they’d spout while showing images of the four demon kings as if they were a perfectlynormalpart of society. Which, to be fair, they had been for hundreds of years. I’d had the unfortunate luxury over two hundred years of life of experiencing the demon kings’ demands go from quiet choices of women in their local circles to a compulsory nationwide lottery.

Once upon a time, you’d only heard whispers of the demon kings and their wives. That the centuries-old kings, named after Arthur’s knights, who’d watched the United Kingdom grow and change, had been cursed and only women could cure those curses with their kisses or their lives. Sometimes it was that the demon kings simply demanded wives for pleasure in exchange for safety because, as time went on, the human world had turned into a dangerous place with small bastions of safety while evil fae and other supernaturals had invaded and taken over parts of the world.

Throughout my two hundred years of life, this was what I had known to be true:

The Demon Courts and their demons had always walked amongst the humans and other supernaturals, but only once they’d hunted my kind into oblivion had they risen up, taken power and land, and separated themselves from us while still ruling.

The wife lottery had become the foundation of the peace treaty. Humans could live on their own, with other supernaturals allowed the same freedoms or to live amongst the humans, so long as once every year, four women were given to the kings to be ravished and then thrown away. Meanwhile, the Demon Courts had claimed all of Cornwall for their territories, where humans and the other supernaturals were not allowed to freely go, and whatever happened in that region now was forbidden knowledge. Including what became of the women sent to it every year.

In return, the kings had never once sent demons to attack the Humanlands and life continued on as relatively normally as possible. Except for lottery nights.

So, as we gathered in downtown London for the inevitable calling of four women selected as this year’s wives, I had a hard time justifying the way things had gone for so long. And my own cowardice for not doing anything about it.

I’d run for a long time now. Iwantedto live, and I was pretty sure those women died. Why else keep asking for more every year?

It was selfish. I knew it was. But I hid anyway, playing this game of chance every year, knowing that the longer I wasn’t called—despite the fake names and identities over the decades—the greater my chances were thatthisyear would be the year.

Maria’s sister Piper and their mother, Sonia, now walked ahead of Maria and me. They all had the same chestnut hair and eyes, and slim builds, three mirror images of each other. Piper had just turned eighteen. I wondered how the demon kings were able to track the ages of women around the world, how they were able to keep track of us by name. Modern technology and medical records surely played a role. But even if you defied the alert and did not go to your designated lottery location, they still seemed able to find the women without issue.

It was magic, for sure. I just hadn’t ever figured outwhatmagic and how it worked.

I chewed the inside of my cheek as women across London gathered. Men sometimes joined to show support, but more often than not, we ended up like this: women hugging other women as adverts for the Demon Courts and all the good they’d done keeping peace across the world were shown. Silly promo reels about each king. Each court.

I ignored them all and focused on keeping Maria and her family calm with small talk and jokes. But even those ran out eventually.

A change in music split the nighttime air across London. The lottery reel began, just as it had every year. They called it a privilege to be chosen. Luck. Fate. I rolled my eyes.

Fate had been running into one of the demon kings last night. A thieving job gone so, so wrong.

Luck had been getting out alive without the King of the Court of Brimstone realizing I was a lifeblood.

Fatehad been us both realizing, before I’d escaped, that we were mates. Sort of. That a mate bond between us existed, but that it was hollow. Missing pieces.

By this logic, I should have been surprised when the first name drawn and aired across London was Maria’s. Because my luck was up.

Maria’s mother wailed as the announcer called: “Maria Marone, 24, of London.” Piper caught her before she collapsed, but Maria began shaking uncontrollably.

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