Page 66 of Princess Claimed

Twenty-Seven

Blade

The New York archives are hidden in solid rock, deep under the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The moment we enter, I stride toward the archivist. “I need to see everything you have on demons and demonic possession.”

The archivist smiles, broadly. “A fascinating topic, rarely studied these days.”

She leads me through mazes of bookshelves, and Flame follows, shuffling to express his irritation at being here. I suggested he find something else to do while I researched, but he muttered something about the things Crusher threatened to do to his balls if we separated.

“If you’re truly interested in this topic,” she says, “your next stop should be the vampiric palace. Although you’ll need to get permission to visit. And to view the most salient parts of the palace collection you’ll require permission from King Dunkan himself.”

Flame and I share a glance, but don’t mention that we won’t have any difficulty getting an invitation to the palace. But the thought of actually meeting Ana’s father makes me desperately nervous.

The archivist’s gray hair is held in a thick braid that extends all the way down her back, and she’s dressed entirely in a natural shade of linen. Her tunic-style top and slacks flow around her legs when she walks. Vampires turned at the age she must have been are rare. She exudes wisdom, although I realize that’s likely bias. In the vampiric world, someone with the appearance of a teenager can hold much wisdom—like Ana, for example. I smile, inwardly. But thinking of her reminds me of my mission. With luck and hard work, I hope to find evidence to banish my nagging instinct that the demon is still in this realm. I can’t be sure Ana’s safe until I have evidence it’s gone.

Only facts will calm my paranoid gut.

“Holy fuck this is a lot of books.” Flame whistles through his teeth. “Why would anyone ever need so many books?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I frown. “Don’t be rude.”

“He’s fine,” says the archivist. “No one has read every book in here,” she says without judgment. “At least no one I know. There are many topics in the world to study. Much knowledge from the past to share with future generations.”

Exiting the maze of bookshelves, we enter a grand space holding hundreds of thousands—maybe a million—books. The circular room has tiers of mezzanines, rising like wedding cake layers, and each of the circles is lined with bookshelves, ladders placed at intervals along them.

“Have a seat.” She points to an oak table with desk lamps placed along it. “I’ll gather some books for you to get started.”

She dashes off, and I sit in one of the chairs, wooden with a padded, burgundy leather seat, well-worn. Flame leans on the back of the chair next to me. A light flickers, and sulfur burns my nose.

“Put that out!” I say sharply, turning to see if the archivist noticed.

“No fire in here!” she calls down, from the second ring up.

Flame extinguishes a second match on this tongue, and then stashes it in his jeans pocket. “Fucking hell. What am I supposed to do to pass the time?”

“Help?” I shake my head. “You do know how to read, don’t you?”

“Fuck you.” He chuckles, then he pulls out a chair and plops down into it, running his hands over its wooden arms.

“Speaking of fucking,” I say. “I’m sure if you go exploring, you can find a way to blow off some steam while I work.”

Flame’s nose wrinkles, and he shakes his head. His blond curls pick up bits of light from the lamps and from the pendants hanging from high above. My brother might be annoying at the moment, but he’s always sexy.

“Nah.” He shrugs. “Not interested.”

I tip my head to the side. “Since when are you not interested in sex?”

He shifts on the chair. “Since Ana.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s fucking changed me.”

“How so?” I’ve change too, and can guess what he means, but I want to hear it from his lips.

He stretches his legs under the table, his hands folded behind his head. “Whenever I even think of fucking, all I think of is Ana. The idea of sticking my dick into anyone else…” He shakes his head, but then grins. “Well, the only other person I might consider ever fucking is you.” He drops his arms to his sides.

His words confirm not only the strength of our life-long friendship and bond, but also how we both feel about Ana. And that makes me feel even closer to Flame than I already do.

Lifting one arm, he stares at an unlit match between his fingers. “Do you think…Do you think that it’s love?”

“Between us?” I ask, even though I know what he means.

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