Page 47 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

“It’s because I’m yours,” Bastian confirmed, seeming to read my mind. For all I knew, he may have actually done that very thing, drawing on the deeper connection forged by our bond. Though I certainly couldn’t pick any specific thoughts out of his mind.

“I can’t read your mind, Soph,” he said. “You’re just exceptionally expressive, and I’m good at reading people.” He shrugged. “All part of the job.”

As a spy for the House of the Sun, I thought bitterly. Right.

“The wards were crafted by a queen, and only another queen can overpower them. You gave me your blood. You marked me. I belong to you, and the wards recognized me as your property, making me welcome here.”

My brow furrowed. I was disturbed by all the language implying that Iownedhim, and I was mildly embarrassed that he knew so much more about this place and my people than I did. But as he had said a moment ago, it was all part of the job. And possession provided protection, something Bastian would be in desperate need of here.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure we have everything we need to treat him.” My first aid experience was limited and rusty, a relic from my time with Javier. He hadn’t trusted human medicine, preferring the magic-laced tinctures, tonics, and salves perfected by immortal healers. Assuming the infirmary was still there, I hoped it was staffed by a healer. If it wasn’t, well, we would cross that bridge when we came to it.

I jogged ahead a few paces, then glanced back over my shoulder. “When you get to the front door, the infirmary’s the second doorway on your left. Can’t miss it. I’ll be waiting for you there.” Facing forward again, I ran ahead.

My heart beat faster the closer I drew to the mansion, both from running and from returning to the place that haunted my worst nightmares. The house looked like something straight out of the mind of one of the Brontë sisters, with an overabundance of pointed arches, flying buttresses, and ornate embellishments decorating the stone exterior. Towering spires pierced the starry night sky from atop the steep roof, and a widow’s walk graced the centermost roofline, bordered by pointed wrought-iron railing.

I barreled through the ornate front door and into the dark foyer. Carved mahogany paneling surrounded me, and moonlight filtered in through the stained glass skylight in the high ceiling above.

At first, the house seemed as abandoned in real life as it had been all these years in my mind. Hushed voices caught my ear, and I followed them to the second doorway on the left. A manand a woman, the glowing crescent sigils curving around one side of their faces elevating them to vampire guardians, stood off to the side of the infirmary, their heads bent together as they shared a whispered conversation.

I cleared my throat, my fingers blindly searching the wall to the right of the door frame for a light switch.

The vampires froze, their voices cutting off mid-word. “Apologies!” the woman said, rushing toward me and flipping the switch on the opposite side of the doorway. “We often forget to turn on the lights.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her and hurried into the room. Javier had been the same way, his enhanced immortal senses making artificial lighting unnecessary for him to see clearly in all but the darkest spaces.

I scanned the infirmary, finding a tray of gleaming sterling steel surgical tools arranged beside an examination table. A few bags of blood, a small stoneware bowl filled with a gritty crimson poultice, and a trio of luminous potion bottles were arranged in a neat row on a nearby counter.

“We’re ready for your son, my lady,” the man said, finally stepping forward. “Is he not with you?”

The front door banged open.

“He’s here,” I said, rushing back into the foyer just as Bastian dragged Micah across the threshold. He was practically carrying Micah at this point.

“In here,” the female vampire said from behind me, not remotely concerned by Bastian’s nudity. “Come along.” She wrinkled her nose as Bastian passed, her delicate vampire nose apparently affronted by his shifter scent.

“He’s mine,” I said, a hint of warning in my voice as I fell back on the possessive, claiming verbiage others had been using.

“Of course,” the vampire said, bowing her head. Within the infirmary, her colleague was already helping Bastian situate a now unconscious Micah on the examination table.

Bastian stepped away from Micah, retreating to stand with me in the foyer. I fought the urge to go to Micah’s side. I would only be in the way. Shoulder to shoulder, Bastian and I watched as the pair of vampires worked in perfect unison, cutting off Micah’s sweatshirt and T-shirt, cleaning the fresh crimson and darker dried blood away to reveal the eight angry red puncture wounds where the cougar shifter’s claws had pierced deep into his shoulders along the line of his collarbones.

Bastian curved an arm around my back and pulled me against his side. I rested my head on his bare shoulder, incredibly grateful for his grounding presence. Simply being near him relaxed me, which was saying a lot, considering I was watching a pair of relative strangers stitch up my seriously wounded son.

“You were injured too,” I noted, craning my neck to peer up at Bastian’s face.

He pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I healed when I shifted.”

“But you must be starved,” I said. “Go find something to eat.”

“Mmm . . . I could eat you,” he murmured into my hair, causing a delicate flutter low in my belly.

I smacked his bare chest, making a pointnotto look down. “Food, Bas. Go find somefoodto eat. I’ll be fine here.”

“Soph . . .” He was clearly reluctant to leave me.

“Don’t make me use mywillon you,” I warned. “You need meat, and my power is already fading. Commanding you to take care of yourself might be the thing to send me over the edge.”

“Do you need to feed?” Bastian asked, concern forming a crease between his brows.

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