Free Bloodtraitor by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

would he be any better for the shapeshifters than Midnight was?
    I hurried to obey so I could return and continue listening. When it was Jeshickah and a vampiric guest, a “platter” meant a combination of fruit, chocolate, wine, and two slaves from the current feeding pool to serve it. Tasty foods appealed to the vampiric palate, but they did not provide sustenance. That came in just one form, and only ran through living veins.
    “Brina?”
Jeshickah was saying incredulously as I returned with the snacks. “Brina thinks new things are fun, but she will turn on them as soon as she realizes those ancients do not know what royal indigo hue
is
, much less where to acquire it.”
    Now that I knew a conspiracy against Midnight was actively emerging, it was interesting to note that the leader of the most hated empire in existence still found the concept that people might turn against her utterly absurd. She clearly dismissed the shapeshifters as an insignificant threat on their own despite—or perhaps because of—recent unsuccessful assassination attempts, and had no doubts about the loyalty of her own kind. Surely there had been
some
hints, somewhere. Had Nathaniel been feeding Jeshickah false information to make her more confident? Or was she so arrogant that she ignored any signs of rebellion she saw?
    Or was she right?
    I took a seat on the floor next to the couch where Jeshickah sat, and continued to listen.
    “She—” Jeshickah didn’t question my presence, but Theron paused, and said, “I don’t believe I’m familiar with this particular member of your staff, Jeshickah.”
    “Malachi isn’t on my payroll,” Jeshickah answered. “He’s more like a stray cat who wanders in and out when he likes and doesn’t know better than to bite the hand that feeds him.”
    Her guest’s face registered amusement. “Do you have many of those?”
    “A few. They serve their purpose, and do no harm.”
    “Except when they bite?”
    “
Especially
when they bite,” Jeshickah replied, laughing. She reached down to pet my hair, just as she might reach toward the cat she had referred to me as. The contact—the barest
acknowledgment
—still had the ability to thrill me just a bit. A reflex; that’s all it was when my heart skipped a beat. A memory, from years when a gentle acknowledgment from this woman meant everything, meant I had a reason to exist.
    “He isn’t human,” Theron observed.
    “Half falcon, half serpent,” Jeshickah replied. “Unfortunately, the falcon magic didn’t take strongly in the product, and the father did not survive long, so I was unable to test other variations.”
Did not survive long.
My father had gone mad, as falcons tended to do even in the best of circumstances. He had nearly killed me and my mother both. It was one of my earliest memories. Jeshickah added, “He seems to have thrived better in the wild, so to speak, than he did in captivity. He has something of a leadership role in the Obsidian guild. They sold us a hawk last winter, and about a week ago they gave Nathaniel a cobra, essentially free of charge.”
    The mercenary looked at me, and said, “Come here.” He was either intrigued because of my falcon heritage, or else he was accurately suspicious about my interest in their conversation—or both, of course.
    Most people would have been concerned. Vampires could read thoughts.
    They could read them even better when blood flowed, a fact that was not lost on me as Theron pulled me close and brushed the long strands of diamond-white hair back from my throat. He was gentler than most as he cradled the back of my head in one hand, guiding me to bare my throat.

“ARE YOU HURT?”
Shkei asked, rising to his feet. “Physically, I mean.” Anyone in this place would be hurt in spirit and heart.
    As he moved closer, Shkei realized that she was too warm to be human. She had to be avian, a bird shapeshifter, which meant that someone—probably someone she knew, maybe even trusted