“I have no idea what a sunblood is.” He sits, waving me toward the other chair in front of the fire.
I swallow. Sitting with Bale in his lair is a whole new level of intimacy. Too bad I’m here to interrogate, not seduce.
Or obviously, it’s for the better.
“Who named me?” I ask.
“Sit,” he snarls.
I sit. “Who fucking named me, Bale?”
“How would I know?” he snaps.
Clenching my teeth, I take in the cavernous space as I inhale a deep, calming breath through my nose. This is a home, not just a room. Except, there’s no roosting wall. But why would there be? Bale gave all the phoenixes to the Elite Wing.
No matter how mad I am, the heat of Bale’s fire soaks into my autumn-chilled skin and feels homey in a way I’ve missed out on all my life. I almost never light my fireplace, relying on my birds for warmth, and the space in front of the hearth at Glarraden House was just like under the tidy little awning in the rose garden. There wasn’t a chair for me.
I bring my gaze back to him. “You knew what my name meant.”
“So does anyone with any familiarity with Cealastra’s chosen tongue.”
I deflate a little. That makes sense.
Steepling his fingers, he watches me. “Who was the vampire?”
I shrug. “Someone from Fanghaven.” I don’t say who. For some reason, I think mentioning Rexton Hale might result in fewer answers than I’m already getting. “He wanted a sip of my blood to confirm what Rannigan Bloodthief is apparently spreading around his court—that the non-dragon shifter of the Elite Wing is some strange creature whose blood tastes like basking in sunshine.”
Bale tenses from head to foot. “Rannigan said that?”
“I guess some of the blood traffickers escaped the battle at Draywood and ran back to the Vampire King with tales of my blood smelling like everything a vampire wants but can never have. Apparently, smell goes with taste. Now Rannigan wants me.”
Bale stares at me in shock. There’s no faking that. “Bloodpit,” he finally growls.
I sigh loudly. “My thoughts exactly.”
His features darken with fury. Suddenly, he’s in front of me before I even see him move. He grabs my nape with one hand, tilts my chin up with the other, and rips the leather choker off. “Did he bite you?”
I gasp, my pulse racing under Bale’s hand. His heat washes over me, and his grip feels like fire branding my skin. “Of course he didn’t bite me. I said no.”
He slowly releases me and backs away, standing in front of the hearth. “Fanghaven. Good.”
I shiver now that Bale isn’t touching me anymore, and his body blocks some of the heat and light from the fire. “They have a code,” I say hoarsely. “They could be allies.”
“There’s no one to ally with.” He slides my choker into his pocket. My belly clenches as I watch his now-empty hand press against the slight bulge of the stolen necklace. Heat washes through me.
“What about the pretender king?” I ask, trying to focus on what’s important—and get some answers. “Would he be so bad?”
“He doesn’t have the magic in his blood to keep, hold, and protect a kingdom.”
“Neither does the new Fae Queen, and she’s starborn.”
“She’s young. Her parents were killed in that earthquake, and she came along so late in their lives that magic was already waning. Look at the result. She’s weak.” Bale spears a hand through his hair and sits again. “All any fae noble wants to do now is get her pregnant so their bloodline produces the next legitimate heir.”
“Would they kill her as soon as an heir appeared?”
Bale huffs. “Possibly.”
“So, you can make your shadow dragon solid, be part man and part beast, and create phoenixes from torn-up scales because you’re from a starborn bloodline, and you were born while magic was still strong?”
