Because it’s all wrong.
“Do not bite me,” I demand, my voice oddly calm given my predicament. “Ciprian wouldn’t like it.”
The male doesn’t move, just inhales noisily against my neck before pulling back to stare down at me. “You smell like my Shyla.”
“No, I smell like your son. Because I’m his chosen mate.” I narrow my gaze up at the towering beast. “And his mother’s name was not Shyla.” That might not be the right thing to say. But I’m going with my instincts here. “You mated her sister.” Whose name I don’t know. However, I don’t voice that out loud.
Not that he would even be able to hear me, anyway, since he’s now snarling at me. “You dare speak to me this way,human?”
“You’re the one who shoved me up against a wall,” I point out. “I was being polite until you did that.”
He blinks at me. “What?”
“You hurt me.” I place my palm on his chest to give him a little shove back.
To my surprise, he moves.
“I don’t appreciate being pushed around,” I add. “Human or not, I deserve respect. Just like a Strigoi, just like you.”
His brow furrows. “Who are you?” he asks, searching my face.
“Viviana Dalca,” I say, holding out my hand. “Your son’s intended mate.”
He glances down at my palm, then back up at my face. “I don’t know you.”
“No, you don’t. That’s why I’ve introduced myself. You are… King Negru?” I voice the name as a guess, assuming he and Ciprian share a last name since they’re father and son.
The way the Strigoi straightens his shoulders suggests I was right because a glimmer of pride enters his features, making him even more handsome. “Yes, I am.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I lower my hand since he doesn’t seem all that interested in a handshake. “I believe you’re my trial.”
“Trial?” His brow comes down. “You dare speak to me about thetrials?”
The air leaves my lungs once more as I find myself back up against the wall. “Stop that,” I hiss at him, my body screaming in agony at being shoved not once buttwice. “I’m in a trial!” I shout at him. “Youare my trial. Or I assume you are. Did no one tell you?”
He glowers at me. “This is a fucked-up offering. I prefer my blood in bags.”
“I’m not an offering,” I say through my teeth as he starts scenting my neck for the second time. “I’m your son’s intended mate. That’s why I smell like him.”
King Negru—or former King Negru, or whatever his name actually is—pauses. “Ciprian?”
“Yes.”
He slowly pulls away from my throat, his dark wings flaring. “Why are you here?”
I’ve already answered that, so I try a different route. “The Strigoi wanted me to meet you.” Or I assume they did, anyway,since this seems to be a trial of sorts. “I think they want your approval.”
It’s a solid guess, given how most marriage unions work. Maybe matings operate in similar ways among the Strigoi?
He scoffs. “Why would they care about my approval? They’ve left me here torot.” He shoves away from me and goes to a giant metal box that looks somewhat like a refrigerator.
Only, when he opens it, it’s empty.
He reaches inside anyway, making me frown until he pulls out a glass of what looks like blood.
A glass that definitely did not exist a few seconds ago.
“How…?” I trail off and move to join him. “How did you do that?”
