“Ah, young Bloodsoe.”
Tree’s voice comes from just over Dred’s shoulder, and I watch, biting back a laugh, as Dred stiffens and the rare scent of his fear fills the air.
“Hello,” Dred says, voice hollow as he turns. “Mr. Treehorn, good to see you.”
“Yes, but better formeto seeyou,” Tree proclaims, holding up a finger.
Dred cringes as he tries and fails to put on a friendly smile, all the while glaring at me in a silent plea.
I understand how he feels. Tree’s surveying can be jarring, even worse than Dred’s mind weave. But I have no intention of helping him. This is what he gets for butting into everyone’s heads all the time. If he can’t take it, he has no business dishing it out.
“Interesting,” Tree muses while reading Dred intently. “How unfortunate…”
Dred stays silent as Tree continues his evaluation, and when he’s finished, Tree declares, “I know just the thing!”
He shuffles over to Dred, waving for him to bend down. Dred complies, mostly out of caution, stooping low so Tree can reach his head.
Wordlessly, Tree presses his thumb behind Dred’s right ear, then against his left wrist and right knee. At which point Dred straightens in surprise.
“Better?” Tree asks, grinning up at him.
“Much better,” Dred murmurs, turning his palms over to look at them, a hint of awe on his face. “My magic has been stunted all week. Thank y?—”
He catches himself before making a fatal mistake, but I notice the brief flash of excitement in Tree’s eyes before he winks and disappears down the nearest aisle.
“You’re welcome!” he calls back.
Dred is too nervous to reply, worried he might accidentally bind his entire bloodline to a favor for the old fae.
That would be quite the deal for Tree. The Bloodsoes are one of Lilith’s original lines. A favor from any one of them would be priceless. Luckily for Dred, he stays quiet until Tree is out of sight.
“Fates, he’s terrifying,” he says, releasing a breath once he’s out of earshot.
“No, he’s not. You’re just not used to being on display like the rest of us.”
“That’s not fair,” Dred declares. “Don’t put me in the same bucket as him. You can resist my weave if you know how. There’s no defense against watchers. You just have to stand there and take it.”
My arms cross, and I nod, but I’m not really listening.
“Riiiight,” I say.
Dred grumbles.
“Oh, piss off. Do you have what I came for or not?”
I reach behind the desk, hauling out the relatively nondescript black backpack, and toss it to him.
“Three pints. Two O-negative, one alpha.”
Dred unzips the bag, inhaling the coppery scent of freshly drawn blood.
“Oh, that’s good,” he muses, eyes practically rolling back in his head.
“Hey.” I snatch the bag back and zip it shut. “Can’t you read?”
I jerk a thumb over to the sign hanging behind the counter. In bold red ink, it reads, simply, “No freak shit.”
Dred laughs but doesn’t try sniffing the bag again. Instead, he leans against the counter, his urgency now gone after enduring Treehorn’s greeting.
