Free Bloodtraitor by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Page A

or loved—had sold her into this place. Yes, she had been hurt.
    “I’m not injured,” she answered. Her voice was soft, precise, modulated, as if she had been trained how to speak. All avians were taught to control their emotions, but her lyrical cadence hinted at further education.
    He touched her cheek and she jumped, so he drew back, reminding himself that avians didn’t touch casually or for comfort.
    She followed, reaching for him in the darkness.
    “I hate the dark,” she confided, the polished tone momentarily supplanted by something more honest. “I’m sorry. I never asked your name.”
    “I’m Shkei,” he answered.
    She leaned against him, so warm compared to the cold cell and loneliness. He tried not to let her hear him sigh. It was pure evil that he felt even momentarily
grateful
that another living being had been put into this hell.
    Grateful…and at the same time, full of hatred as he imagined the people who had put her here.
    —
    My shame as I felt my brother’s revulsion at what we had done to Alasdair far outweighed any discomfort I had about giving blood, though among freeblood shapeshifters I was in the minority.
    Others often saw giving blood to be a shameful act, but it meant nothing more to me than sweeping a floor or cooking a meal in this place would have. It helped that, unlike most people, I had no reason to fear the mental invasion that often accompanied it. The particular mixture in my blood turned my mind to a swirling, hallucinogenic vortex—Jaguar’s description, from years ago—from which no thoughts could be read.
    The pain was brief.
    The pleasure of having one’s blood drawn was sweet, and seemed to last forever. The touch of the mercenary’s mind was enough to make it clear he was from the artists’ line despite his profession. He did his best to roll my mind, and I went into the haze willingly, letting myself drift in currents of music and light and color without concern.
    When it ended, I regained myself quickly. A vampire’s hold could not begin to touch the whispers of a falcon’s magic, which I needed to navigate and ignore every instant of my life. Quite the opposite, since most vampires who tasted my blood tended to become incautious and impulsive afterward.
    Theron fell backward into the soft, welcoming armchair, releasing me too late to keep me from toppling briefly onto his lap before I righted myself and found a seat on the floor instead. His hand followed me, as if seeking more, and I felt his fingers idly toying with my hair.
    I leaned toward him with a silent sigh, justifying it as a means of further dulling his suspicions, though I had personal motives as well. Since Farrell had brought me into the Obsidian guild, I had been raised in a culture that valued touch, but when I was a child, skin-to-skin contact had always brought overwhelming visions. By the time I could control my visions, even newcomers to the guild viewed me as something different, a half-falcon prophet instead of a person, untouchable and remote.
    Theron said to Jeshickah, “
That’s
why you keep him around.”
    “That, too,” she answered with a soft smile.
    “I will have to save a deeper drink for another time, though, since we still have work to discuss.”
    Jeshickah nodded.
    “First order,” she said. “I want you to deliver a message to Brina. If she leaves us for Silver’s empire, I do expect her to leave behind all property that is not explicitly hers, which does include the ‘staff’ she borrowed from here and the slaves she has been using as models. Also remind her that her greenhouse is on our land, and subject to destruction should she decide that she does not require our alliance any longer.”
    The mercenary nodded. Though he seemed more physically relaxed than he had been, I did not doubt that his mind was following every command.
    I also had no doubt that Brina would back down after hearing Jeshickah’s warnings. The greenhouse was an elaborate affair