Page 24 of Blood Slumberm

Finally, Rixor bowed over her hand with a supercilious smile. “You must stay for the feast afterward and regale us with tales from the countryside.”

“We would be delighted,” Celandine replied with flawless grace.

Rixor moved on, never knowing he had just invited death to his table.

Troi drew even more veil spells over his fangs. “Are you all right?”

“I will not be all right until he is dead.”

In that, he and Celandine were wholly of one mind.

“Let’s dance again,” he said, “as if you own this place.”

She seized his hand and let him lead her onto the floor again. They conquered the party from one end of the great hall to the other, stealing their host’s thunder.

“Does he hate us yet?” Celandine asked.

“I can feel him burning with spite.”

Rixor danced past them with a countess barely old enough to marry. But his gaze was not on the prey in his arms. He was watching Celandine, not with recognition but calculation.

“He’s looking at you as if he’s sizing up a threat,” Troi said.

Celandine’s smile was icy. “Then we’ve made our impression.”

The dances blurred together. Their shared anger and suppressed passion pounded in Troi’s blood as he fed more power to his veil spells.

A prickling sensation in his throat was his first warning. By the next dance, his mouth felt full of sand. He had thought himself prepared for this much magic use, but it was taking a toll on him far too quickly. Curse the years that had drained his strength.

He shoved down his stirring panic. He had misjudged in battle before. What mattered was how he adapted.

He pulled Celandine closer, daring to drain more of his strength to conceal their conversation. “I’m afraid we are facing an unexpected challenge.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “What’s wrong?”

“I need your blood. Now.”

eight

CelandinestaredupatTroi. She could already see a hint of fangs between his lips. His veil spells, their only armor against Rixor, hung by a thread from Troi’s bloodlust. Her heart began to pound—from fear or desire, she knew not which.

She firmed her hold on his hand and subtly took the lead in their dance, guiding him toward the garden doors. She smiled like a flirt for their audience to see and whispered, “I know every nook and cranny of my manor. I’ll take us somewhere safe where you can feed.”

“Feast,” he said. “We call it the Feast.”

She drifted to a stop and tucked her arm in his, strolling with him out into the gardens. “Now is hardly the time to debate Hesperine semantics.”

“It matters.” His voice had gone husky. “Your blood is a gift, not fodder. The Drink is only the sharing of blood. The Feast is the sharing of blood and bodies. Which one do you want tonight, Celandine?”

She suddenly felt as if she would go up in flames, despite the pleasant night air and the spray of a nearby fountain. She started to reply, rounding the splashing basin, but fell silent at the sight of the man coming toward them.

Kaion had arrived early.

He walked along the garden path with his hands tucked in the bell sleeves of his flame-red robes. He paused and gave them a pleasant smile. “Good evening.”

She would never forget that calm voice from her trial, when he had put her through the humiliating tests that had exposed her magic and doomed her. But the face he showed the world had fallen as he had watched the gates of the Temple of Chera shut between them. That day, she had seen the sick satisfaction in his eyes.

“You must be our visitors from Clementia whom everyone is talking about,” Kaion said.

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