I scrunch up my nose at the copper tang of stale blood that pervades the entire Blood Lover’s Guild. I glance down between my bare feet at the floor, which is stained with suspicious patches of red that aren’t paint.
It’s freezing, and I shiver.
I’m only dressed in the Guild Uniform of a fawn-colored tunic, which is embroidered with antlers, and a bronze stag brooch that marks me out as aHart.
The room is dark with only a single high window. I can’t see much more than shadows but feel with my toes along what appears to be a bed of straw.
It makes me almost nostalgic for my dungeon cell in the Shadow Court.
Almost.
“What happened to the cushions, silk ribbons, and fluffy pretty things?” I muse.
The rest of the Blood Lover’s Guild for the sweet Shadow Humans is sickeningly cute and soft. It’s like being in the centerof a beating, pulsing heart, where the Shadow Humans kneel and worship the vampires, and at the same time are treated like treasured pets.
“By my horns, bad boys don’t earn rewards,” a deep, lilting voice says from the corner of the room.
Instantly, I drop into a fighting crouch, spreading my wings. “Who are you?”
“A dangerous Omega.”
I try to focus on the movement, as someone small unfolds from the corner, before confidently strolling toward me.
No one shouldconfidentlywalk toward the Raven King, the most dangerous fae warrior.
Except, I’m disguised as the pet, Dove, who has been handed over like an unwanted stray to the Guild.
Clearly, I’m no longer intimidating anyone.
“And who are you?”
“A dangerous fae,” I can’t help replying around bared fangs.
The Hart, who is dressed in the same Guild uniform as I am, stops close in front of me.
I am impressed by his bravery and how relaxed his shoulders are.
I straighten, folding my wings. I eye the Hart.
He is a couple of years older than I am and beautiful like all Shadow Humans are. He is an Omega with golden hair that falls across cornflower blue eyes.
His shoulders are strong, however, and it feels sacrilege that he should be locked up in this dark place and not tilling the fields under the warm sun.
“As I said,” the Hart gives a bright smile, and his long, pointed red ears twitch, “thebad boys. Only poor brainwashed worshipers, who will offer their necks to bleed for the dark gods, get cakes and cuddles.”
I study the Shadow Human’s busted lip and torn uniform, which reveals purple bruises ringing his arms.
This Omega has definitely not been receiving cuddles.
My hands ball into fists.
On the Shadow Gods, all that bollocks Lanlin fed me about never hurting Omegas or Blood Lovers…?
He said that he didn’t know what happened in this Guild.
How can you be a good leader, if you don’t make it your business to know everything that goes on in your own court, or willfully close your eyes to it?
How can Lanlin act superior, while others get their hands dirty for him?
