Page 49 of Blood and Thorns

Valeria exhales softly, letting her guard drop for a fraction. “Thanks.”

I lower my voice. “You handled it well. Did you learn anything new?”

She shakes her head. “Just more references to Xathien. They all sense tension with the dark elves. But nothing concrete.”

I nod, scanning her expression. She’s composed, yet I notice the slight tremor in her fingers—residual anxiety. The memory of that night, her body beneath mine, threatens to surface.Not now. Focus.“Stay alert. Some of these newcomers are… unpredictable.”

She dips her chin in acknowledgment. “I will. You too.”

Our gazes lock—an unspoken current flares. Then, with a sharp breath, I tear my eyes away. “I should make rounds. Find me if anything suspicious arises.”

She nods, and I turn, walking off before I’m tempted to linger.I can’t let personal feelings overshadow the mission.My wings give a slight twitch, betraying how on-edge I feel. Even so, part of me longs to keep Valeria in my sight constantly.

I drift through the crowd, exchanging greetings with half a dozen lesser lords and ladies. All the while, I sense undercurrents of conversation about forging alliances or obtaining “fresh thralls.” The typical political posturing. Yet tension radiates from every corner—people sense we’re on the cusp of a confrontation with Xathien, even if they don’t know the details.

Half an hour passes. I endure tedious small talk, feigned politeness. At one point, I stand with a cluster of older Vrakken nobles, listening to them debate House Draeven’s potential aggression toward the dark elves. I offer carefully neutral responses, keeping my real strategies concealed.

Then a murmur ripples through the crowd. I spot two newly arrived figures wading into the hall, both bearing the sigils of a distant Vrakken House. By their attire—rich red and black—and the arrogant tilt of their heads, I realize they must be from HouseSharath, known for its decadent tastes in feeding.They rarely come to these gatherings.Something about this is… troubling.

I watch them approach my mother, bowing perfunctorily. She greets them in that icy, regal manner of hers. When they straighten, I catch a faint smirk on the face of the male—a tall, broad-shouldered noble with pale hair braided tightly down his back. He scans the room, an expression of hunger flitting across his features.This one is definitely trouble.

Sure enough, within minutes, he breaks from my mother’s side and prowls the hall. I lose sight of him for a heartbeat, but a foreboding prickle makes me follow.Where is he heading?

Too late, I realize he’s moving toward the refreshment table—where Valeria stands, adjusting a tray of goblets. My pulse spikes.Damn it.I push through the throng, trying not to cause a scene. She notices him approach, sets down the tray, and attempts a polite half-bow. He circles her like a wolf.

I’m close enough to overhear:

“You’re a new face,” he says in a low, purring voice. “Exquisite, for a human. Which House do you serve?”

Valeria’s eyes flick up, cautious. “House Draeven.”

A predatory smile stretches across his face. “Of course. Such an… open-minded House. Tell me, has your master let you feed a Vrakken before? We do so love exotic flavors.”

My chest burns with anger. I push forward. But the crowd is dense; a pair of courtiers blocks my path. By the time I sidestep them, the male has gripped Valeria’s wrist, leaning in. She stiffens, eyes darting in my direction for help.

He laughs under his breath. “Don’t be shy, dear. Just a taste…”

I shout, “Stop!” My voice crashes through the chatter, turning heads. But he moves faster—Vrakken reflexes kicking in. He bares his fangs and plunges them toward her neck.

Valeria twists, raising an arm defensively. The next instant feels surreal: he makes contact, but instead of biting, he recoils with a snarl of pain. A hiss escapes him, as though he’s been burned. He staggers back, eyes wide, clutching his mouth.

A hush falls. Attendees stare in confusion. I shove aside the last bystander, reaching Valeria’s side. She’s trembling, a faint sheen of sweat on her brow. The male stands a step away, lips peeled back to reveal a trickle of blackish blood from one fang.

“What have you done?” he spits, voice trembling with shock. “Her blood is?—”

He doesn’t finish.He can’t.Because the truth is too staggering for most Vrakken to comprehend. I realize my heart is hammering.She has half-Vrakken blood, enough to injure a full-blood if they try to feed.I suspected something like this, but I hadn’t anticipated it would manifest so vividly.

My mother’s voice slices through the stillness. “What is this commotion?” She stands behind the crowd, her face carved in disapproval. More onlookers edge closer, whispering.

The male from House Sharath snarls, still shaken. “That… creature tried to poison me. Her blood is foul—like somethinginhuman.”

I step between him and Valeria. “Watch your tongue. She belongs to House Draeven.”

He glares, wiping black spittle from his lip. “Then House Draeven harbors… an abomination.” His gaze flicks around, seeking support. “This is no normal human. She nearly singed my mouth. I felt a pulse of magic, Vrakken magic.”

A wave of whispers ripples through the assembly. My mother’s eyes narrow on Valeria, as if reappraising her in new light.Damn.The tension is suffocating. I sense Valeria’s fear thrumming in the air. For a moment, I weigh whether to quell the rumors or let them swirl. If I speak rashly, I risk everything. If I remain silent, this male might press for her punishment.

Brinda lifts a hand, demanding silence. “Sareth,” she addresses the male. “If you were foolish enough to feed without permission, do not blame House Draeven for your poor manners.”

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