Page 56 of A House of Fangs & Deceit

Even though I didn’t know what the symbol meant or what it was used for, I did know that it was made with blood magic. We could all feel it, and only Moroi used that kind of magic.

Maybe the boy’s parents had used it on him in an attempt to save his life, and it was some protection spell none of us were familiar with.

If that was the case, their efforts had clearly failed.

The coldness that seeped through my bones had nothing to do with the drafty tavern. Maybe the wraiths were getting past the blood wards because a Moroi washelpingthem.

It seemed unthinkable because while the Houses bickered amongst themselves, we’d always known that sticking together was the only way we’d survive. It was the reason the Moroi were arguably the strongest of the Moon Blessed. The Velesians seemed to be getting closer and closer to outright war between their Orders, and the Furies were always on the brink of going insane and slaughtering us all. I’d thought that at least the Moroi had their shit together.

I was still trying to think of reasons why the symbol could have been on the boy that didn’t mean a Moroi was betraying us when the sun fully crested over the horizon. It was an odd feeling that I’d mostly grown accustomed to but still didn’t like. I could feel some of my strength flee my body. The world became… less.

Colors became less vivid. Scents less acute. At night,everything felt so alive, while during the day it felt like life slumbered.

Fatigue slammed into me, and suddenly going all night with basically no sleep seemed like a really poor choice on my part. A groan slipped out when I thought of the all-day ride ahead of us.

Samara rose from where she’d been curled up in no less than five blankets. She stretched towards the ceiling, arching her back, and the blanket she’d had wrapped around herself fell away. Every thought emptied out of my head, and certain parts of my body became concerningly hard. At some point in the night, she’d pulled her shirt off and had slept only in a tight-fitting camisole.

Every inch of her ridiculous body was on display. I mean, really. Who the fuck had curves like that?

I quickly looked away, but it was too late.

My treacherous mind took advantage of my distracted state, offering up the memories of her with Kieran the other night and the way her lips had parted when she’d moaned as he gripped her thighs and feasted on her.

I wondered what she’d feel like beneath me.

Or better yet, on top of me.

What it would feel like to run my fingers over her soft skin and dig my fingers into those luscious curves.

What it would be like to part those thick fucking thighs and taste—

“Alaric?” Samara sang from where she now stood behind the counter.

My gaze snapped back towards her. Thankfully, she’d put the rest of her clothes back on and was shaking an empty teacup at me.

She arched a brow. “Do you want tea?”

“No, I don’t want fucking tea!” I snapped. “I want to get on the fucking road and back to House Harker.”

“Somebody’s grouchy in the morning.” She smirked, and my cock twitched.

Fuck my life.

This was not happening. I didnotlike Samara. This was just the result of me seeing her with Kieran. That was all.

I repeated that thought in my head as I mentally tried to wrestle my stupid body under control and caught the tail end of a conversation among the rangers. They’d bundled up the body of the boy in several blankets and had used blood magic to prevent further decay. We’d be taking him back with us for further examination.

My brain was still sluggish, so it took me a moment to understand what the problem was.

We needed to carry the body back, and we didn’t have a spare horse. Shit.

“Alaric can ride with me,” Samara said loudly.

“No. Absolutely not!” I couldn’t keep the edge of panic out of my voice as Nyx flashed me a knowing grin.

Samara glanced up from where she was hunting through the cupboards for something, and her eyes searched my face, but I forced my features back into my normal, bored expression. I wasn’t as good as Kieran at moving between different masks, so I’d perfected this one.

“You’re the worst rider of the group,” she said evenly. “Someone has to give up their mount for the ride back, and you’re the logical choice.”

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