Page 7 of Blood Slumberm

Her smile sharpened. “Then we have a bargain.”

They had a bond of gratitude. His Hesperine conscience whispered to him that he should do anything she asked of him without expecting anything in return. But those pretty Hesperine principles had not been made for the Tauri and Pavones.

“Tell me your plan,” he said.

Celandine knew better than to tell him everything now. It was in her best interests to remain a valuable source of information, not merely blood. “I will explain the details in good time. If we are to succeed, you must first be strong enough to use Hesperine magic, not to mention stand up without falling on your face. Right now you look like a carcass.”

He glared at her. “Is there anything for me to drink in this house besides the blood of a Pavo?”

“If there were, I wouldn’t be offering.” She rubbed her neck, putting on a look of disgust so her thoughts wouldn’t show on her face. Somehow, his mark had already healed, leaving behind sensitive new skin.

She wasn’t dreading his next bite. Curse her deprived body.

He beckoned to her. “Give me your wrist, then.”

“My wrist?” she repeated stupidly.

“There are plentiful veins there. I needn’t drink from your neck.”

Oh, how Celandine wanted to burn all the scrolls that had attested she must offer him her throat. She could have spared herself the experience of being pressed against his hard body.

“Clothes first,” she declared. “Then blood.”

The sooner there was more than a blanket covering him, the better. She slid off the bed with as much grace as she could muster after climaxing on top of him. Thank all the gods he had still been half asleep and would have no idea she had enjoyed his bite.

She marched to his wardrobe and rifled through his clothes. “Hedon’s horn. These aren’t fit to wear outside my great-grandmother’s hearth room.”

“I can dress myself, thank you,” he snapped.

She fished out a basic tunic and loose breeches—styles which hadn’t changed all that much in a century—then threw them at him. They hit him in the face and covered his sculpted chest. She yanked all the curtains closed around him.

While he dressed, she tried to ignore the rustle of fabric on skin. She needed to armor herself against his wiles in more than her tunica, but she refused to put on that cold, coarse shroud ever again. She fished out a deep brown velvet robe embroidered in gold and wrapped it around herself. So soft and warm. She bit back a little moan of contentment.

When he pushed the curtain open, his movements were sluggish, his face sallow. Ha. The once-mighty warrior couldn’t even dress himself without exhaustion.

Unbidden, memories from the temple intruded on her thoughts. There had been times when she had collapsed from the fasting enforced on her for her small rebellions.

She padded closer and held out her wrist.

“Thank you.” His tone wasn’t even grudging.

He took her forearm in both his big hands. His dark hair fell across his face as he lowered his mouth to her vein. His lips grazed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. As his fangs sank in, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping. This wasn’t as intimate as his drink from her neck, but pleasure still hummed through her. It seemed she was always cold these days,but now warmth reached from her head to her toes and the tips of her aching fingers.

He swallowed hard and let out a sigh. Watching him drink, she thought of how it felt to steal a loaf from the temple larder and bite into warm, fresh bread after weeks of deprivation.

By the time he got his fill, dawn was creeping through the seams of the shutters. He slumped back against his pillows, his eyes sliding shut. The short summer night was over, and sunrise had banished him into sleep again, but only for the day.

Now Celandine had work to do. She hastened out of his room and retreated to the great hall. She would start here and search the entire manor for any clothing or supplies they could use for her plan.

She picked up her discarded shroud. The next thing she knew, she was tearing at the seams. The rending sound echoed in the great hall. She ripped harder to hear it again. She shredded the robes into smaller and smaller pieces, tears running down her face. When there was nothing left but scraps, she ground them under her heel.

It was over. She had escaped the temple. She would never go back to that place, no matter what fate awaited her.

four

TroifoughttheDawnSlumber. His body lay still and heavy while his mind raced. He would never go back to the prison of sleep. He had to get out.

When his limbs finally moved, he heaved a sigh of relief. He sat up, rubbing his face.

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