Twenty-year-old Claire must deceive a vampire prince to infiltrate the monarchy and discover their secrets while resisting her desire for him.
---
Nothing in my life has ever been easy. Including the mission my family has sent me on.
My sister and...
Ups! Ten obraz nie jest zgodny z naszymi wytycznymi. Aby kontynuować, spróbuj go usunąć lub użyć innego.
Penser (verb) to think
I gazed out the window at the small homes crowded beside the lake. Dusk had given way to night, but moonlight didn't reflect off the surface. It seemed to repel it. The blackness so complete that it looked more like a hole than water. A clear sign Diana frowned upon this place.
Sitting in silence, I contemplated how to proceed.
If Bastien caught me spying, it would do little to forge the trust I was supposed to be gaining. I had to tread carefully. I was playing a dangerous game with a vicious enemy. A game my family had been fighting for centuries.
We were so close to eradicating dark magick in the Conquered Territories.
Still, doubt prickled in the back of my mind. How could I avoid being heard? If I was caught and he sent me away, would Mama's choker kill me?
I shuddered at the thought, then quickly pushed aside my fear.
Shifting, I found Bastien studying me. He immediately focused on the table when he realized he'd been caught. Picking at a scratch in the wood with one of his long fingers.
I didn't know why, but the fact that he had been watching me caused a burst of heat and adrenaline to flush my cheeks. These simple moments between us made me feel so...warm, which infuriated me.
I hated him and his kind. Didn't trust them. Knew they sided with these dark witches more often than not. The fact that we were sitting inside a dark witch's den was proof enough. So why? Why did one little glance make me feel so...needy?
I went to pick up my tankard of mead, trying to cool myself, when the vampire pushed the mug out of my reach, shaking his head slightly.
Gaping at him, I said, "I'm thirsty."
He reached across the table, grabbed a pitcher and a cup, poured me a glass of water, and then pushed it into my hand.
I lifted a brow, taking the cup, and drinking slowly. Letting the cool liquid slide down my throat. Watching him as I did.
Why the refusal? He was demanding I eat. Mead had more calories than water.
I considered the full glass of wine sitting in front of him.
Mama never drank at coven gatherings because she insisted on keeping a clear head. I'd heard her lecture Sera a hundred times about how important it was for her to practice doing the same, although she rarely listened.
Did Bastien have the same philosophy? Did he want to remain sober because he was in charge? It was a plausible explanation. But why disallow me?
Then it hit me.
He wanted to feed, and he didn't want alcohol in my veins. Maybe it would affect him too.
I let that thought bounce around in my head. How could this play to my advantage?
