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The thought of their blood staining their golden floors has my fangs throbbing, not that I’d takeonetaste of them. I’m sure their blood is as poisonous as their political agenda.
“If you think the prince is a prick,” I say, eying Zev. “Then why are you doing his and his father’s bidding?”
Drifters are at the mercy of the Collector’s orders, after all.
“I have my reasons,” he says, something like devastation flashing in those harsh golden eyes. A blink, and it’s gone. I could’ve imagined the emotion for how sharp his gaze is now.
“Reasons,” I say, just because I can’t stop myself. “Like kneeling to a corrupt and unjust ruler dead set on suppressing anyone with magical abilities that could pose a threat?”
“Careful, succubus,” he warns. “Do not pretend to know me or my intentions. You were not there when he wiped out the tresses, one of the most powerful royal houses across the continent. You would’ve bent too.”
I swallow hard, my heart stuttering in my chest. I take a breath, grasping my emotions before they spiral out of control.
“It was awful,” Jagger says. “We were young, but he took them out so strategically. And the battle after…there was no chance. So many submitted in hopes of survival after that,” he continues. “But when it came to the drifters? He saw an opportunity to use us and took it.” Jagger’s shoulders tense. “When you’re standing between a choice for your life or death, it’s not so easy a decision to make.”
Something like empathy squeezes my insides, but it’s hard to hold on to when I have so much hate for the Collector.
Before him, the continent was ruled by the four royal families, the houses of power—Shifter, Tress, Fae, and Drifter. Each house ruled over their own territory, offering protection and tolerance for all manner of creatures and mortals who dwelled in their lands. The houses would come together to make decisions about any conflicts between territories, but most were relatively peaceful. Magic was free to use at will, save for violence, which was punishable after a just trail.
Being a shifter himself, the Collector rose to power by gaining the houses’ trust, swaying them with a charm that painted him in an innocent, supportive image. His thirst for total power over the entire continent and all the creatures in it was well hidden.
And since the tressess held the most magical power—power that could force shifters to stay in one form or another ordispatch of them with a snap of their fingers—the Collector targeted them first in his quest for dominance.
If the tressess would’ve been paying any attention, they would’ve seen his intent and wiped him out with one burst of magic.
But they didn’t see. And they all died because of it.
After this the Fae and drifters and some of the other creatures took up arms against him, leading to a long and bloody battle that they couldn’t win. Not when the Collector had recruited thousands of mortals and turned just as many creatures with powers to fill his armies.
After so much bloodshed, those rare survivors submitted to his rule, and the mortals had always followed him, ever flocking to the winning side of the war lest they be on his Purge list next. He’s eliminated thousands who even pose a tiny threat to his reign, while leaving enough alone and alive to appear tolerant.
And the Collector used the submitting drifter’s abilities to encite fear on any creature he decides he wants to collect.
He’s been on the throne ever since, doing his best to keep the mortals on the continent loyal and the creatures still left alive fearful.
Senseless.
I shake my head, turning forward once more.
The sun makes a slow descent behind the horizon, the colorful city lighting up with magic and fire, all supplied by the Collector’s sorcerers thanks to Destowne’s undying loyalty to his crown.
But none of the buildings shine as brightly in the newly birthed night sky likeThe Garden of Flame,not that the mortals would ever know it. No, Sirius—my supplier—ensures only non-mortals can see the kaleidoscope of colors cast upon the sky, a beacon of trust and safety to all creatures in hiding.
Hope blooms in my chest as Zev halts Rain outside the glass-domed building, the shape looking like a full moon rimmed in blistering gold. The double doors are made of wrought iron ensconced panes of glass with all manner of enchantments etched into intricately beautiful designs across them.
Inside holds promises of pleasure—food, drink, intimacy, and everything in between. For me, it promises the medication I need to survive, and the blood I need to regain my strength.
I try to slide off of Rain’s back, but Zev holds me steady, dismounting first, keeping his hands locked around my wrists as he gets his footing. I look down at him from this height, watch him as he scans my face, then the building before us.
“If you run?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, wiggling free of his grasp. “You’ll catch me.” I cast my gaze to Jagger. “Help me down?”
Jagger smirks, playfully pushing Zev out of the way before reaching for me. I brace my hands on his broad shoulders as he grips my waist, lifting me off the horse. He pulls me close to his chest, eyes never leaving mine as he slowly lowers me to the ground, every inch of his hard body grazing mine with the move.
Cinnamon and ginger and mischief swirl around my senses, plucking them like he would his guitar strings. Goddess, he doesn’t even try to hide his desire, doesn’t try to lock it down under those famous drifter mental shields. He’s either that confident or that unafraid of me. Or maybe he craves danger like I crave blood, and flirting with a succubus dances right on that line.
“Jagger,” Zev says in a warning tone, but Jagger’s still holding my hips, our gaze never breaking. “Jagger,” he says again, more forcefully this time.
