Lucius POV
"Okay, now that you have your blood, we are partners. When do I get another vampire's blood that you promised me?"
She stood before me, chin lifted like she wasn't standing in the dark alone with a predator who could end her in a blink. My little witch had a stubborn streak—dangerous, but gods, I admired it.
I leaned in, twirling a silken strand of her dark hair around my finger. I couldn't help myself; the texture fascinated me almost as much as the lie she wore like a mask. "How much do you need for your voodoo magic?" I asked, letting the words drip with mockery, though my curiosity was sharp and real.
Her lips pressed together for a moment. Then, steady as if she'd practiced the answer a hundred times, she said, "Eleven pints of blood."
I stilled.
The hair slipped from my fingers.
For the first time in centuries, my demons went silent.
Eleven pints.
