Page 116 of Hellbound

Ksenia tracked the slender silver edge from the corner of her eye.

Her own heart was a wild animal, trapped between her ribs but willing to gnaw off its own leg to escape the danger of her predicament.

He grasped her hand with a firm grip between his slender fingers, palm up.

The razor edge of the stiletto dagger kissed her palm, and she froze.

First, at the cold. Then, at the sharp brightness of the cut that faded to a warm, heavy throb. Her skin buzzed, tingling with the strange euphoria of expecting the wound.

Crimson pooled in her hand, and Bohdan forced her fingers to curl, creating a shallow cup that was quickly filling with her own sanguine essence.

Her legs were numb from kneeling against the bench, and she stiffly rose as Bohdan’s hand on the small of her back guided her to stand.

Ksenia’s feet were heavy as Bohdan led her to her murderer once more.

Karsan had yet to blink.

The crooked crown rested casually on his prominent, heavy brow, casting a jagged shadow across his face.

Wordlessly, he pointed Radegast toward her.

Ksenia’s breath hitched.

The familiarity of it all.

The intimacy.

Radegast’s point was a hand’s length away from her rising and falling chest.

With a simple thrust forward, the butcher king could end her again.

Cold sweat pricked the back of her neck.

Bohdan cleared his throat and shot her a look to complete the pledge.

It broke her reverie.

“By blood and bone…” The words were low and quavering from her lips.

She cupped her palm further, the blood overflowing and threatening to run down the back of her hand. Till she couldn’t prevent it any longer.

This first drop of blood splattered. “I am bound to serve the crown.”

Karsan’s eyes finally closed for the first time in minutes, his head bowed in quiet reverence while her blood marred the mirrored finish of his hellbound kingsword.

Ksenia could feel Caromir tremble at her hip, just as eager for her blood as a stranger’s blood.

She tipped her hand slightly, sending a nearly continuous stream onto the sword.

She watched his eyelids flutter, as if he were experiencing an intense fever dream. She was familiar with that feeling; the first time she drew blood with Caromir was the beginning of a steep, slippery slope that made her crave more.

Decades of doing this had refined Karsan’s discipline to resist Radegast’s bloodlust from taking more than a few drops.

If he hadn’t, his entire court would be dead.

Ksenia wasn’t sure if she could stop herself from killing her victim outright after one taste.

There they were, a pair of cold-blooded killers—him feasting on her blood, her yearning for his.