Page 40 of Blood of a Huntsman

Bane

Acoppery hint, with a touch of fermented flesh, like rotten blood. Nightbane. The one poison that could affect their kind.

If the poison hadn’t been mixed with anything, Cat would have recognized it a mile away, but mingled with so many scents and served by someone she trusted? She had suspected nothing.

Cat tumbled to her feet, falling forward on her knees. Head down, she did her best to cough it up, in vain.

"Oh, chill, sweetheart," Anika said casually.

She lifted her head, and from the corner of her blurring vision, saw the professor smiling down at her, tilting her head.

"Your blood isn't mine to spill. That was just a drop to keep you nice and quiet while I send a little note to Drusilla."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

How stupid was she? She knew there was an enemy, someone informing the queen, or whoever was against them. Why hadn't she stopped to think that it could be Anika? Because she'd known her before the Institute. Because she was old, wise, and had the right name. Because she had turned soft and trustful.

What an idiot.

Anika was writing a letter on her breakfast table to Cat's aunt. And if that letter reached Drusilla, she was as good as dead. The Stormhale clan didn’t allow for many mistakes in general, but there was one price for treason. Death. A painful, public execution, so gruesome it would be spoken of for the next hundred years.

Time. She had to play for time.

One drop of nightbane would run its course, leave her system, and she could fight back. Stop the letter. Stop Anika. Warn…who? Who did she trust?

To her surprise, even in light of this betrayal, names flooded the edge of her confused mind.

Chloe. Levi. Greer. Even Billevern would help now.

"Sebastian," she whispered.

That this particular name would come to mind, let alone escape her lips, confused her. She didn't even know him, so why would she trust him with something so very important—her life? But her instincts were clear.

She had to get to one of them, any of them.

"It's not your fault, you know. Your aunt is a power-hungry bitch. A smart woman would have brought you up to speed, given you a clear mission. Sending you here without a word and expecting you to just comply? That wasn't fair. Still, I can't let you get in the way."

"Why?" Cat croaked, her throat hurting.

She didn't think it had ever been quite so dry. Cat hadn't felt sick once since being turned. But now, her stomach was convulsing, churning, burning.

"Why? Because bitch or not, Drusilla has a fucking point. We don't want the Eirikrsons to return. Especially not one who's decades away from spreading her legs and spouting out little De Villiers. They're going to take what is rightfully ours. Power."

Her head was spinning. Cat wanted to drop to the ground and just rest. But if she did that, she'd be gone.

She had to keep Anika talking. Time was her best defense now.

"Do you think…Drusilla," she managed to mumble, "will share power?"

Anika shrugged. "It's a big world. I'm fine just keeping a country or two."

She couldn't believe her ears. This was Anika. Anika, who wasn't with her pompous family in France because she preferred teaching students over sitting in a palace.

Catherine started to understand her mistake. Anika wasn't here because she wanted to be a professor.

She was here because she wanted to live on Night Hill. The only seat of power truly recognized by all.

Anika disgusted Cat. Truly, to the bottom of her heart. Cat clung on to that feeling—the pure rage, fury, revulsion—and let it fuel her. Keep her awake.

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