Chapter 15 · What the First Sip Cost

Lucien hit the wall so hard the plaster cracked.

I didn't see what threw him. One second he was blocking the doorway, fangs out, eyes that red I'd only seen once before. Next second he was across the room, sliding down, leaving a dark smear.

The hunter stood in the blown doorway. Wraith. That's what Lucien called him before everything went sideways.

"She smells like you already." Wraith's voice was wrong. Too smooth. Like he was tasting the words. "How much have you taken, Ash? Enough to make her sick? Enough to make her beg?"

Lucien pushed himself up. His hand left a print on the floor. Red. Too much red.

"Leave," Lucien said. His voice scraped. "This is neutral ground. You break it, the Council—"

"The Council's too slow." Wraith stepped inside. Glass crunched under his boot. "You old-bloods and your contracts. Your little humans all locked up in towers. You really think that's protection?"

I pressed back against Vivian's desk. My wrist burned where the contract mark sat. The red ink looked darker now. Angrier.

"She's contracted," Lucien said. He was on his feet but barely. "Bound. You can't touch her."

"Can't I?" Wraith looked at me then.