Page 221 of The Poison Daughter
“How does this work now that I’m claimed?” she asks.
“Nothing changes. Most men of the fort will probably steer clear of you. It’s really meant to be protection.”
“From you? Because you’re a Drained?”
I sigh. “I’m not a Drained. When I died the first time, my mother prayed to Asher. Both he and Stellaria answered. But I am not the same as the beasts in the wood. I am?—”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Deathless. Like the story.”
“Yes,” I say. “You weren’t supposed to hear that particular story. That’s why I was going to pick a night to take you to the storytelling bars and curate your experience.”
She ignores me. “So you crave blood, but you’re not mindlessly driven to it.”
“And my diet is primarily normal food. I have a full serving of blood once or twice a week, depending on how active I am and if I’ve been injured. With you, it might be a little different, though.”
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Why?”
“Because I claimed you and you’re mine.”
She bristles. “I belong to no man.”
“I know that, Harlow. I’m answering your question. Because I claimed you as someone Iwantto belong to me, no one else will be appealing now. It’s not that I couldn’t feed from someone in the recovery room. It’s not as if I don’t have plenty of offers.” I relish the hint of jealousy in the glare she levels at me. “But I wouldn’t enjoy it. It would belike wanting a gourmet dinner and only ever having stale bread and jerky. Technically, I would survive, but it wouldn’t be enjoyable.”
She purses her lips.
I can’t help the impulse to taunt her just to try to get back the dynamic we had before. “What’s the most frightening part? That you enjoyed it, or that you want to do it again?”
Harlow shivers, and it’s a relief to know the memory of last night is as potent for her as it is for me. It’s taking an enormous amount of self-control to not bend her over the vanity and fuck her right now.
“What happens if I don’t let you drink?”
I lick my lips, thinking about how my wife tastes like iron and wine and cherries. “I had quite a lot last night, so I’ll be fine for a while. But eventually I would need to find someone else willing.”
“Would you also fuck them while you do it?”
“No. I’ll only fuck you.”
“Oh, I think you’ve already done a pretty thorough job in every sense of the word,” she says, her voice laden with sarcasm.
There’s no way she’s going to be amenable to this plan now. “I know you’re angry,” I say.
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You pulled one over on me. I knew your aura was different. It made sense after you explained that your mother used Asher’s magic to bring you back, but I never imagined you were Deathless. Truth be told, I’d never even heard of the term Deathless until story time the other night.”
I cock my head to the side. “But they’re in the story of Stellaria.”
She shakes her head. “Not in Lunameade.”
I frown. “So, in your version of the story, the man who retrieves Asher just devolves into a Drained?”
She nods. “Because he was divided—neither alive nor dead, and they believe that made him mad enough that he stopped sipping blood from willing people and started drinking them dry—that’s why they call them the Drained.”
That’s an interesting deviation from the original writings and word-of-mouth stories, but I wonder why and how it happened. Oral storytelling comes with variances, but to omit that what really created the Drained was a desire for more power seems an intentional choice. Itwasn’t a random adaptation that brought about the strange sickness and reanimation among those the original Deathless fed on. It was drinking well water to try to claim more magic that doomed him. By the time he realized, there were too many Drained and they were too hungry to contain. Their numbers just kept growing.
I wonder when exactly the version of the story changed in Lunameade, and why no one who remembers the old stories challenges it. I think back to the last Dark Star Festival I attended in the city. I’d heard their version of the story and thought it unusual, but I’d assumed that the story changed based on who was playing the part of Stellaria each year.
Harlow sits straighter, her face a mask of indifference. This is somehow worse than if she were raging against me. It makes me wonder how she will react to Gaven’s death.
“You brought me here,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion. “You talked around what you are and you used me for my blood. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed it. But I’m pretty sure you knew how this piece of information would land, or you would have told me sooner.”
