The Winter Suite was silent. I didn't knock. I pushed the doors open and walked into the darkness.
Marek was sitting in a large leather chair, a bottle of dark amber liquid on the table beside him. He didn't look surprised to see me. He didn't move. He just watched me with those steady, predatory eyes.
"Kaelen is feeding," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Marek's jaw tightened. "I know. I can feel the shift in the air."
I walked toward him, stopping just inches away. I felt the cold pine-scent of him, the sheer scale of his body. I felt a strange, inexplicable pull—a need to be touched by someone who didn't pretend to be my slave while acting like my master.
"I don't care anymore," I said, my voice a raspy whisper. "I don't care who drinks. I don't care what happens to the Protocol. If I'm just a cup, then I want a cup that doesn't lie to me."
