The War of Two Queens (Blood and Ash 4)

This would be our last night camping outside the Blood Forest. Tomorrow, we would reach the Western Pass. Then, we were roughly a two-day ride to where the Elysium Peaks began in the Willow Plains. According to Kieran, it would only take about a day—maybe two—to travel through the Peaks and reach the other portion of the mines that connected to the Rise. My heart lurched with a dart of anticipation.

But from here, if we kept traveling southwest, we’d reach the Niel Valley in a day and then the rise of Carsodonia in a day and a half. From here, we were no more than two days from being in the same city as Casteel. Not four.

We couldn’t keep going straight, though. There would be no way to get past the gates. We had a better chance if we took the extra days.

Then, we would be in Carsodonia, and—

A sudden chill erupted along the nape of my neck, sending a rush of goosebumps across my skin. It wasn’t just the cold air. More like the heavy press of awareness. The Primal essence throbbed in my chest.

I slid forward, lowering my feet to the ground. Scanning the Blood Forest for any hint of the mist, I reached for my wolven dagger and slid it free. I stepped forward, my footfalls silent as I searched and searched. There was no mist, no shrill shrieks of the Craven shattering the silence, but that feeling was still there, pressing down on the back of my neck.

Wait.

It was completely silent. The trees that had been swaying moments before had stilled. I looked up at the elms. No nightbirds sang. Everything was still. But that sensation, that heavy awareness, prevailed. A kiss of coldness brushed the nape of my neck. I reached behind me, folding my hand over my skin. It felt as if a hundred eyes were upon me.

Turning slowly, I scanned the thick shadows between the trees and beyond, still seeing nothing. Another shiver erupted over my flesh as I went to Winter’s side where his head had risen from its droop. His ears were perked, nostrils flaring as if he, too, sensed something.

“It’s okay, boy.” I rubbed the side of his neck.

A breeze swept in, rattling the leaves above and taking with it that oppressive feeling of not only being watched but also not being alone. The same feeling I often felt in Massene and the Pinelands. The sensation lifted from my shoulders. The icy touch on my nape faded. A short, tentative trill echoed from a bird and, after a moment, was answered. Sound returned.

Life returned.

Uneasy, I moved closer to the tent, keeping my eyes on the reddish-black leaves of the blood trees. Minutes ticked by without more strange occurrences. If it hadn’t been for the horse’s reaction, I might have thought it was my imagination.

Not too long after, Reaver rose from his wagon to take over watch for the remainder of the night. I’d tried to tell him that he could sleep, but he simply pointed in the direction of my tent and then turned away.

I went but didn’t enter. Instead of doing what I should be doing, which was sleeping, I started pacing again. My mind still wouldn’t shut down, and I was really hungry.

And I knew what that meant.

I needed to feed.

Gods.

Closing my eyes, I tipped my head back. My body was telling me, even though I’d never experienced such hunger before. And I knew that if I waited, it would only worsen. I would weaken. And if I went past that? I remembered what that had done to Casteel. And while he hadn’t fallen off that ledge, I would be of no help to anyone if I fell into any sort of bloodlust. I knew I couldn’t delay this.

I groaned.

But I also felt about seven different kinds of awkward. Sure, Kieran had offered himself, and it wasn’t because I felt that feeding from him would be wrong or uncomfortable. It was just that, well, the experiences I had with feeding—those that I actually remembered—involved…other things.

Things I only felt for Casteel—with Casteel.

What if Kieran’s blood elicited the same reactions as Casteel’s—which was nothing short of an aphrodisiac? No, I told myself. That was the effect of Atlantian blood. Casteel had never mentioned that wolven blood had the same effect.

My chin snapped down as something occurred to me. Did Casteel have that same kind of visceral reaction when he fed from other Atlantians? Like Naill? Emil?

I was really curious about that—for research purposes.

Fiddling with his ring, I brought it to my lips. Feeding had to be intense, no matter what. But what if I didn’t like the taste of Kieran’s blood? I wouldn’t want to offend him—

“What are you doing?”

I swallowed a squeak of surprise as I spun at the sound of Kieran’s voice, then lowered the ring. The muted glow of the gas lamp cast soft shadows across his face as he bent at the waist, barefoot in the entryway. One arm was outstretched, holding the curtain of the canopy back. “What are you doing?” I asked.