Chapter 47 Inkletter
Inkletter
“Oh, good, you’re here,” Nadje said as she swept into her room, still in her maid’s uniform. The corridor’s gloom pooled behind her, chasing her into the dim candlelight. “I’ve got wild news and a job for us, which I could’ve told you about sooner if you would share your symbols—”
She stopped dead.
Her eyes flicked over his face, his posture—then down the solid, unmistakable muscle that came from fresh sex.
“You’ve fed,” she said, the words frosted sharp enough to cut.
“Yes.” Ink’s gaze took in her flushed cheeks, the stain of new strength humming beneath her skin, her lips darkened to a bruised coral. “Apparently, so have you.”
He’d known her diet of animal blood and mead couldn’t last forever. He’d known the time of her feeding neared. But he hadn’t expected his reaction. The idea of another throat beneath her mouth hit him like a mortal fever, heavy and nauseating.
She crossed her arms. “You look so hale and fit that you must’ve had a feast. And here I thought you were closeted away, studying.” Her tone was cool silk wrapped over some jagged emotion. Almost jealous.
His chest gave an answering twist—unwelcome, unbidden.
But he forced the feeling down. “A strange energy is gripping the Skein tonight, infecting immortals with anger. Moon madness, spell work, I don’t know. I’m untouched, but I came to check on you.”
Her brows lifted. “Why would you care if I’m affected?”
“You’re my business partner,” he said evenly, though the words caught in his throat. It was more complicated than that. Not the bond, but something close enough to unsettle him.
Lust, yes. Hunger. Yet beneath it all ran a thread of protectiveness that tightened every time he looked at her. Again and again, the same thought surfaced: How bad were the Badlands to you as a girl?
He’d spent more time with her than he ever had with anyone outside his family, but they’d never spoken of their pasts. Still, he sensed that no one had stood between her and the worst of it.
He could stand there now. That cost him nothing. He was strong, and money seemed to calm her. He could help her earn more. So he kept showing up, telling himself that was all it was.
She scoffed. “Now you’re concerned about business?”
“As you often remind me, our venture is lucrative.”
Her brows knit. “Is gold everything?”
“You were very convincing when you assured me it was. What is happening here?” His gaze narrowed. “Ah. You are affected by that energy.”
Her mouth parted in outrage. “I was in a fantastic mood earlier,” she snapped. She had been—bright, almost effervescent—despite spending the day mopping blood and stripping beds of half-dead donors. She always told him, You don’t want to know.
Now he asked, “What is your wild news?”
“It can wait.”
“Then hear mine.” He stepped closer. “I found vampires in Umber who don’t drink from sentient beings. They’re monk-like abstainers.”
She recoiled, face twisting. “They pierce animals?”
“No. They harvest blood and consume it like wine. Dignified, actually.”
Her expression seemed to steal the air from the room. Her voice dropped. “So the way I drink is…undignified?” She tapped her tongue to a fang point.
“Dangerous,” he corrected. “Your eyes will redden eventually. Or you’ll kill by accident.
This enclave avoids that.” He couldn’t hide the faint pride in his words as he said, “Arctos will find this valuable.” Ink had been given a chance at redemption, and he hadn’t disappointed.
With this information, he could rebuild trust. He wanted Nadje to trust him too.
Wanted to show her he could fix things. Before he thought better of it, Ink said softly, “With the payment from this job and the Lykae king’s, I intend to buy back the fire from Baelor. ”
Her hazel eyes snapped vampire black. “Not this again.” She flung up her hands. “You’re worse than a fey lute player who knows only one tune. ‘Tickle My Pointed Ears’ on an endless loop!”
“Nadje, we handed a madman something we didn’t understand. I must fix this for both of us. Historically, hubris like ours begs for punishment.”
“All you care about is history!” Her disdain darkened. “This is our job. This is what we do. You’ve been stewing over this for weeks. Every mission, you look like you swallowed something foul. I’m sick of it!”
“And you haven’t been stewing, which is worse! Do you never consider anything other than finishing a job?”
Her lips thinned. She cared, but she wouldn’t admit it. Then: “Like people’s feelings? Did you consider mine when you acted as if you were falling for me to get my secrets?”
Were they to rehash this? The weird anger in his chest said, DO IT. “You used me just as well!”
“Only because you put me in your sights first. And the fact that I used you doesn’t erase what you did to me.”
They were spiraling. The air thickened. That strange energy in the Skein wrapped around them like smoke, stoking heat in their hearts.
He tried to claw them back. “Baelor is dangerous. What will he do with that fire? Weaponize it? Burn the Skein? Some sects want total destruction. What if he leads one?”
“For all the gods’ sakes, you think too much!”
He had been told that all his life. Resented it now. “I thought too little when I was fucking you, didn’t I?” The words ripped out before he could stop them. But hostility clouded his vision and scalded his rational mind.
Fangs lengthened, she took a slow step toward him. “Yes. You did think too little.” Her voice was lethal velvet. “I played you, and you can’t let go of that either!”
Rage surged. Primeval. Demonic. He bared his own fangs, something he hadn’t done since his youth. “You told me our situation was put up or shut up. Very well.” His voice was low, shaking with fury. “I remove myself from this partnership entirely.”
She inhaled sharply. Her eyes went glassy—not with regret but with fury honed to pain. “I hate you,” she whispered, voice splintering like ice. “Get out. Do not ever come back.”
He straightened, pride wounded, instincts screaming at him—apologize, stay, don’t lose her—but the fury climbing through his bones drowned every rational thought.
“Gladly.” He bowed his chest with bitter formality. “Enrage not a demon, Nadje of the Badlands. I forsake you. Forever.”
But before he traced away, her mouth trembled.
Just once.
Quick, barely there.
And that sight carved a hollow into him so deep he feared it would never close.
***
Nadje
She paced her cramped room until the floorboards threatened to vibrate, as if her fury alone might split the seams of this entire castle.
The argument with Inkletter still throbbed in her skull—too hot to cool, too raw to ignore.
How had two people who’d weathered worse together ended up ripping at each other like enemies?
Inkletter’s demonic face replayed before her. Had his rage always lurked beneath his calm exterior? And what had he said—something about a force twisting tempers across the Skein? How much hostility could a spell ignite?
When he’d returned to her after his too-long absence, full of health and vigor, jealousy had flooded her. He’d looked like the male she’d met in the beginning—flirtatious, fun—before all their lies.
And she’d wanted him. Gods, she hated wanting him.
She’d once asked if he’d ever trapped a victim with three separate beddings. His reply: “I refuse to create one of those desperate-eyed slaves.”
Continuing their partnership was tempting disaster. And so her jealousy felt useless, dangerous, and humiliating all at once.
Stop, she ordered herself. You don’t need him. A blood tear slid down her cheek, but she swiped it away with the heel of her hand. Don’t need him at all.
She’d built this life. She sourced the jobs, ran the plans. Inkletter was just the transport—replaceable. And she had a job in this very castle, one she’d stupidly delayed while waiting for him.
Prince Co?tin’s safe wasn’t going to crack itself.
She crossed to her hiding place, fishing out the tiny vial. Every day she’d hesitated, the blood inside had thickened more. Would it even work now? She had to try.
She pocketed the vial, straightened her uniform, then climbed to the hall of sins.
The royals sounded angrier tonight, their voices seeping through stone—snarls, crashes, something breaking. The air in the corridor felt charged, like a storm caged indoors. Did the full moon affect them, or was it the energy Inkletter had mentioned? Stop thinking about him.
She paused in the hallway, then whirled around, that prickle running down her spine. Watched again? She half hoped it was Inkletter. But the area was empty.
At the heir’s door, she smoothed a smile onto her face and knocked. “Service for the room!”
Silence.
She raised her key but hesitated. Was Inkletter right about her? Did nothing matter to her except completing job after job until she eventually died with a useless fortune of gold? Would even a queen’s treasure never be enough?
Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
She unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it behind her. Outside, clouds obscured the moon, and light rain fell. The windows remained open to the night to let in damp air; torches flickered across the silken chamber, casting shadows over red-draped walls.
“Service for the room,” she tried again.
Still nothing. Co?tin hadn’t returned in days, not since he’d lost Neculain’s favor for failing to find Emilia. Rumor held that the prince spent most of his time outside the kingdom.
She checked the bathing chamber. Empty.
Good.
She moved to the safe, pulse spiking. She knelt before it and examined the small sigil in the middle of the door. A golden needle with a small basin awaited an offering of blood. The gateway to his secrets.
Nadje unstoppered the vial and shook out a few viscous drops into the basin.
Nothing.
She grimaced. So help her, if this didn’t work because she’d waited for Inkletter…
She spat into the vial and shook it until the sludge loosened. Would Co?tin’s essence still be strong enough to activate the sigil?
Holding her breath, she poured.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat.
Heartbeat. Too much spit, not enough blood. The story of my life.
Click. The sound was small and enormous at once.
She exhaled a shaky laugh as the door swung open. Inside: no jewels, no documents—only a battered leather journal. She retrieved it with her brows raised. Co?tin? A journal?
She flipped pages. He’d laid out military diagrams and maneuvers, but he’d depicted thousands of soldiers deployed on a battlefield.
Bloodreach’s army consisted of possibly a handful? The General of Nothing was crazier than she’d thought.
She flipped another page and read, frowning at the words. When comprehension struck, the journal shook in her hands. She whispered, “The quake beneath us. He is the epicenter—”
“What is this?”
A voice cracked the air. Co?tin had suddenly appeared in his room as if conjured.
“You?” he grated. “The Badlander? What are you doing here?”
“You can trace?” she breathed.
“And you can’t.” A predatory zeal lit his red gaze, and his fangs sharpened, slicing his lips as he smiled.
Her gaze darted for a weapon. None. The only escape was a window overlooking the Scarlet Shallows, ten stories down. She began to creep backward, ready to take her chances with all the sea monsters. At least they’d make it quick.
“How did you crack my safe?”
Brazen this out. Show no fear. “Cracked harder ones.”
He snapped his fangs. “The inquisitor said you were too stupid to help steal my Bride. But you’re not stupid, are you? You worked with that Berserker to capture my Lia.”
Nadje shrugged as if bored, kept backing toward the window. “And you have big plans yourself.” She tossed his journal to the bed with an unconcerned air.
“How much did you read?”
“Enough. But killing me won’t help you,” she said, her throat burning on the lie. Biting back pain, she said, “Powerful immortals already suspect you.” Surely. “Neculain suspects you.” She had to believe this.
Co?tin’s eyes blazed. “Then my timeline accelerates.” He stepped toward her. “I’ll warm up with your murder. Fair warning: you won’t go easy. Your kind never do.”
She couldn’t make it to the window before he reached her. But she had to try.
A fist suddenly hammered the chamber door. “Open up, Co?tin! The king wants you. You can’t avoid his summons forever.”
She lifted her brows. “Not a lot of respect in that guard’s tone,” she pointed out, still easing back. “Sounds like you’re in trouble.”
He turned toward the door, irritated—and she dove.
He traced, intercepting her midair, slamming her to the floor. Pain shot up her side.
“I don’t have time for this right now! But a quick death is too good for you.” He snatched her arm, and the castle faded as he teleported her away.
Moonlight blazed, and she blinked to adjust her night vision.
“Welcome home, Badlander.”
Her mouth went dry, heart seeming to stop. They stood in…Strigoi Gorge.
Sand cliffs bowed like broken ribs. Quicksand pits yawned open. Strigoi prowled the valley floor, wings making slow sweeps, talons glinting in the moonlight.
Her lungs seized. The ash smell. Her mother’s grip. That last scream.
Nadje fought for control, forced air into her chest. “I can be useful,” she rasped, thinking fast, knowing she must live by her wits…
or die by the fang. “I have information about many in the kingdom. Trace me back and imprison me, and I’ll tell you secrets as you’ve never known.
Secrets that can help you with your father. ”
Co?tin’s grin was cold. “And let you spill mine? No.” He looked over at the circling strigoi. “Besides, I won’t need help with Neculain much longer. Everything is in place.” He gave her a mocking bow. “Enjoy their dinner.”
He traced away. Leaving her alone. Weaponless. In the middle of Strigoi Gorge.
The closest one hissed, its fangs dripping. Another crouched low. Wings unfurled. Talons clicked against stone as their shadows stretched over sand.
Some fates were worse than death. Co?tin had just offered her up to one.
The snarling pack closed in from all sides, eyes aglow with hunger.
Like her mother, Nadje had booked her passage too late.