Page 162 of Lana Pecherczyk
“I won’t leave you alone,” River told Blake.
“I’ll be fine.” The truth was, she still needed some space after the reading. Nothing felt right. “I might even take a nap.”
He nodded, the wildness in his eyes receding. Then he took her chin and lowered his lips to hers, pouring everything unsaid into his kiss: love, need, and relief. But the instant his tongue delved into her mouth, she pulled back with a scowl.
“Ew! Did you forget what she put on me?”
“Vampire shit.”
“Don’t you mean vampirebatshit?”
“Is that what she told you?” Amusement crinkled the edges of River’s eyes. His sister’s face was suspiciously blank.
“What’s the difference?” Blake asked.
“When you meet a vampire, you’ll see.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“Trust me.” He gathered her into his arms, eyes softening. “It’s all gone.” His smile dropped. “But Blake, remember what I said in the nesting caravan?”
Her thoughts scattered beneath that intense, heat-filled gaze. When she shook her head, he lowered his lips to her ear, his voice deepening to a rumble. “You could be covered in shit, blood, or dripping with my cum, and still, I’d want to lick every inch of your body.”
Chapter
Forty-Nine
Pandora moved between the market stalls and tents, adjusting her stride to match the peculiar gait of the Tainted Ones. The stolen plumage adorning her shoulders rustled with each step, marking her as one of them. The stench of carrion was hard to swallow, but it did the job well enough. Beneath her skin, something stirred. A rhythm she had learned to ignore.
Tick-tick-tick.
The Great Murder heaved with life. Worthless trinkets were exchanged as if they were prized possessions. Sour liquors were sipped from crystal goblets. Laughter carried on the night breeze. Conversations faded in and out as she passed—talk of territory disputes, matings, and precious stones.
“Quite the collection you have there.” A female with purple-tipped braids materialized at Pandora’s elbow, gesturing toward her feather ornaments. “Northern murder pattern, but your scent…”
Pandora’s fingers twitched. “My travels have taken me far.”
The female’s eyes narrowed. “Strange. Most crows circle back home before attending the Great Murder.”
Tick-tick-tick.
“Some nests aren’t worth returning to.” Pandora pressed her fingertips against her sternum, steadying the sensation within.
She moved on quickly, palming the steel dagger concealed in her sleeve. The blade had already dispatched countless tainted enemies.
Three stalls ahead, a commotion rippled through the crowd. Carrion parted, opening a path to a striking pair—a dark-haired woman and a Guardian. The blue marks spiraling up their forearms glowed, even under the sunlight. A shorter female stood to the side, arguing with the Guardian.
Pandora selected a weathered tome from a nearby merchant’s table, angling her body to watch the pair while feigning interest in the merchandise.
“Rare copy,” the merchant chirped, edging closer. “It was engineered before the Freeze. Protected by a preservation spell. Worth every…”
His words faded as Pandora focused on the other conversation. The human stood close to the Guardian. Her shoulders tensed whenever fae drifted too near. Clearly, she was not entirely comfortable in her skin.
Another Guardian materialized from between two tents. This one was bronze-skinned with wind-swept hair. Something about him seemed familiar…
The book crumbled in Pandora’s hands. The preservation spell failed, and time eroded the paper, causing it to disintegrate.
The merchant cried out, distraught. “What have you done?”
