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This was wrong.

Everything about this was wrong.

Lucan Valmere was a monster just as his master had molded him—a vampire prince who had stolen her freedom, chained her to his wall, and paraded her before his inner council like a treasured possession. His was a cruelty dressed in velvet and silk. A creature who had spent centuries carving pieces of himself away until nothing remained but unquenchable hunger and hatred for those who dared fight back.

She knew this—had learned the true measure of his monstrous soul intimately.

So why did her body not understand who he was?

Muscles exhausted from fighting the fever slowly loosened. The tension she had carried since first entering his chambers eased breath by blasphemous breath. She settled her head into the crook of her elbow, letting herself lean back into his palm. Closing her eyes once again, a faint sigh escaped her quivering lips.

Comfortable.

Goddess save her, she was fucking comfortable.

With him.

In this stolen moment, in a room so dim she could see only shadows, Elarian found a strange comfort in the man she struggled to understand.

A cold wave of disgust washed over her.

She knew she should recoil, that now was her chance to leap from the bed and grab the first silver she saw. He had removed the collar from her neck, trusting that fever alone would tame her. Or, she ruefully thought, he already knows just how far I’ve tumbled into this game of ours.

Before Elarian had a chance to shift and see if Lucan’s hand followed, her eyelids grew heavy even as they lay closed. Stomach churning, she drifted listlessly into the dark.

Iron and salt wrenched Elarian from her reverie.

Warm liquid touched her tongue, rich and metallic, followed by a honeyed sweetness. As it hit the back of her throat, she could almost taste the fear of the poor, wretched creature it came from. Her body answered before her mind could. She drank greedily, chasing every drop until the fire beneath her skin retreated from an inferno to something almost survivable.

Her eyes opened. The ceiling above her blurred in and out of focus, dark wooden beams shifting beneath the dim glow of witchlights. For several breaths, Elarian did not move. Her stomach churned as the last of the liquid slipped past her lips. A deep hunger within abated; the recognition sickened her. She knew that taste. Knew the vile things done to procure such a sustenance.

Human blood.

And she knew exactly who had forced it between her lips.

Convulsions wracked her body before Elarian could open her eyes again. Her head snapped back, neck twisting until she thought it might break. The taste of iron etched itself deep into her psyche. Buried beneath the graveyard of her better judgment, something inside her howled. More, more! Gods, more, it begged of her. Clawing at the air, Elarian tried desperately to reach for whatever salvation had come her way.

She chose to ignore every question and warning telling her to stop.

“Easy.” Lucan’s soft voice drifted through the bedchamber. “You will choke.”

Elarian’s fingers curled weakly against his cool wrist. She swallowed once more, the final remnants of bloodwine coating her throat. Fever still raged beneath her skin, but the agony had dulled to a smoldering ache. Though her eyes burned, she could think again; enough, at least, to understand how Lucan had defiled her once more.

“You had no right,” she mumbled, cringing as she savored the lingering blood upon her lips.

Lucan’s expression barely shifted.

“I try not to make a habit of letting my investments wither away so soon.”

Elarian squeezed her eyes shut. Why couldn’t he give even one answer without hiding it behind riddles and possessiveness? Why did she even care what answer he gave? She only meant to survive long enough to find herself standing over his putrescent corpse—nothing more.

For several long moments, neither of them spoke. The witchlights crackled softly overhead, their amber glow spilling across the carved wooden panels. Deep shadows billowed around the bed where the assassin and her target sat, unable to look at each other even as their arms touched. The world beyond continued with maddening indifference. Every breath brought with it an intoxicating mixture of shame and excitement.

Not wishing to spend another moment in the vampire prince’s bed, she pulled herself forward and swung her legs over the side.

The movement sent her head spinning. Slipping further off the bed, her bare feet found the cool marble floor below, and for one blessed heartbeat, the stone leeched away some of the fever still wrapped around her bones. The comfort vanished before she could even open her eyes. Clinging to the wall, she sucked in a ragged breath as a new wave of heat washed over her trembling form.

“You can drink more if you need.” Lucan stated it so plainly, as if he were offering water to his prisoner out of obligation.