Free The Hated (Sleeping With Monsters Book 3) by Cassie Alexander Page B

her.
    Bloodbinding was inherently unfair.
    I rocked back in the chair I sat in, waiting for her to do something foolish to attempt to seduce me, to use her ‘magic’ to bend me to her will. Instead she sat back on the bed and looked at me hard, as though she were memorizing my face and said, “Tell me about Airelle.”
    I stared back at her, challengingly.
    “The book is all I know of her,” she pressed.
    I shook my head. Airelle was mine – she was still alive for me, not just words inside some book. And if I deigned to tell her, where would I begin? How the dawn looked, reflected in Airelle’s eyes? The way she could best a man in battle? How the
ozri
drifted down to sing for her? How when she swam a river, scaled
garmanders
swam at her side?
    A thousand-thousand memories rushed to the surface for my attention, as the little impostor stood.
    “I know I am but a poor copy of her – a copy of a copy of a copy. But something in me is still the same. I do have power. And I know from reading that book the lengths she would go to for her people. I would do the same for mine.”
    Her hands went to the fastens on the front of her dress and unclasped them. It fell from her in a rush of blue – how had the printers of her currency known that that was her best shade? – and she stepped out of it like a
phine
leaping out of ocean foam.
    And for a moment, she looked like
her
, truly -- her skin shining white, her straight blonde hair falling to lap around all her curves and edges. A creature of will and desire -- and power. I felt it pull at me, like a whispered word, like a gentle hand. Nothing like Airelle’s commanding presence, but -- I closed my eyes to shut her out.
    Whether I liked it or not we were bonded.
    “Put your dress back on. We have things to discuss.”
    I waited until I heard the first fasten click shut. “What do you know of my kind?”
    “Only what I have been told.” She looked shyly over at me, through a rippling wave of hair. “That you are a Zaibann, destined to be my King. From the council, the celestitians, and the children’s stories that you mocked.”
    “And what do you know of blood?”
    “I…have cut myself before.” She sat back on her bed now, watching me with caution.
    So much innocence. It was both alluring and repulsive. I wanted to smother it with blackness, to change her, to punish her as it seemed I had been – and I wanted to shelter her forever from the world outside. I was like a starved artist finding a uniquely perfect white dove – I didn’t know if I should set her free, or eat her alive.
    “Zaibann are priests of blood and smoke.” I held up my hand in front of her and let it dissipate – her jaw dropped in surprise. I reformed my hand and laced my fingers together in my lap.
    “That is how you got out, isn’t it.”
    “Precisely. I followed one of your accursed metal beasts and found a route.”
    Her face sank. “Which means I cannot follow.”
    “Not that way, no.”
    “Could Airelle?”
    I shook my head. “She was not Zaibann. Not even a Queen can manage what we do. We are born to it and then trained.”
    “My stories never mentioned that. The history did – but I didn’t want to believe it.” Her hand went to her neck, where my bite was already healed. “And nothing ever mentioned biting.”
    “When one is a creature of smoke long enough, you need an anchor to bind you to this world.”
    I watched her swallow. “Were you bound to Airelle?”
    “No.” She blinked, and I went on. “She wouldn’t let me. When you are tied by blood –“ My voice faded. How often had I asked her for her blood? How often had I begged? Of course the first thing I wanted upon waking was her.
    But she knew as Queen that she might die – and she wouldn’t see me fade.
    “She wore a collar at all times. It was a symbol of her defiance.”
    “Should I withhold my blood from you, then?” Ilylle said, attempting to take a regal tone.
    “You wouldn’t be able to if