Extraits

“You punch him?” Tawny asked, blinking.

“No. Not really.” Poppy’s cheeks turned red.

“She has stabbed me, though.” I took Poppy’s hand. “In the chest.”

“Oh, my gods,” Poppy snapped as Tawny’s eyes went wide. “You really need to stop telling people that.”

“Poppy,” I whispered. “Call me Poppy.”

He bent his head, brushing his lips over the bridge of my nose as his mouth neared my ear. “I’ll call you whatever you like, as long as you call me yours.”

“Casteel had never mentioned that wolven blood had the same effect.

My chin snapped down as something occurred to me. Did Casteel have that same kind of visceral reaction when he fed from other Atlantians? Like Naill? Emil?

I was really curious about that—for research purposes.

Fiddling with his ring, I brought it to my lips. Feeding had to be intense, no matter what. But what if I didn’t like the taste of Kieran’s blood? I wouldn’t want to offend him—”

Never in my life had it taken me so long to find my voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her laugh was my personal sun.

“What are you doing?”

I swallowed a squeak of surprise as I spun at the sound of Kieran’s voice, then lowered the ring. The muted glow of the gas lamp cast soft shadows across his face as he bent at the waist, barefoot in the entryway. One arm was outstretched, holding the curtain of the canopy back. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“Watching you pace for the last thirty minutes—”

“It has not been thirty minutes.” I let go of the ring, letting it fall against the lapel of my coat.

“Your inability to realize how much time has passed is a little concerning.” He moved aside. “You need to be resting. I need to be resting.”

“No one is stopping you,” I muttered, knowing damn well that it was I who was stopping him. If I slept, he did. If I was awake, so was he. Which meant I had to be at least three times more annoying than usual. Because of that, I stomped—loudly and heavily—forward and dipped under his arm, entering the tent.

“This should be a fun night,” Kieran muttered.

He has no idea, I thought as I shrugged off my coat[…]”

“Do I even want to know what is happening in here?” Kieran boomed from the doors.

“Nothing.” I glanced at him. Clearly, he’d just risen. He wore only breeches. “Except that she just tried to stab me.”

Every line of Kieran’s body went taut. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Harbinger!” Vessa shrieked, and Kieran blinked. “Harbinger!”

“And in case you can’t tell, she believes I’m the Harbinger.” I looked down at the old woman, half afraid to let her go. “No matter what you’ve heard or were told, I am not that.”

“You were born in the shroud of the Primals,” she screamed, and it was loud. “Blessed with blood full of ash and ice. Chosen.”

“I don’t think she heard you,” Kieran replied dryly.”

“Bullshit,” Casteel growled, even as the gentle sweep of his thumb continued. “The prophecy is bullshit.”

That eye swept over my face and then darted back to the scar on my brow, going wide. “Holy shit,” he gasped as Kieran reached over, tugging my hood back into place. “It’s you. It’s really you. Holy shit.”

“Are my scars that well known?” I asked.

“Scars?” Blaz mumbled as the door swept open wide. “Holy shit on a sardine sandwich. Yeah, come right in.”

“I am slightly concerned about this mortal,” Reaver muttered.

Malik’s eyes flared brightly.

“It’s her. You’re right. I’m here because of her.”

I tasted tangy, almost bitter anguish again. It was powerful, but what cut through it was sweet, reminding me of chocolate and berries.