Ruler [Blood Magic, Book 3]

Chapter 44: Date Night

"What's happening to him, Arthos?" 

We were seated across from each other in his sitting area, the coffee table an empty expanse between us, except for the cup of cold water in front of me that was roughly as inviting as Arthos' expression. I felt sure that any moment he'd remind me he was Keel's adviser and not mine, tell me some distance was necessary, and show me to the door.

"Nothing," Arthos said with a sigh. "Keel is still very young by Nosferatu standards. The execution set off a reaction in him that mass violence often does in those young enough to remember all the details of their transition. He's longing for the hunt and the kill, to hear the desperate cries of his prey."

"That's-" I shuddered.

"That's being Nosferatu, Mildred."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." My hands were balled together and shoved up hard against my stomach, as if they could somehow steel me against the things I was learning about Keel's world. "Do you do that?"

"Not so often now that I am older. And I don't have the stresses of a king. But yes, I have, and likely will again. Keel's talked to you about dangers suppressing aggression, correct?"

"Yes."

"This is not something he can just wish away."

"But all that blood..."

"And not a drop on you, nor a scratch either, I see. Do you think our former king would have afforded you such privilege?"

I shifted in my seat. Conversations with Arthos never went how I expected them to. "No, not a chance," I admitted, trying not to look at the historical artwork on the wall. Ever since Keel had told me about what his father envisioned for me, I couldn't help but imagine it hanging among Arthos' collection, and the oil paintings no longer intrigued me. I feared what horrors I'd uncover if I looked at them too closely, or at all.

"Then what are you complaining about? Bleeders are property, that's how it works. Even you have one. If you killed him - accidentally or otherwise - you'd benefit from the same laws and protections as His Majesty."

"I don't abuse Ankor!" I shot out of my chair, indignant.

"Are you sure about that?"

"What the hell are you suggesting?" I was practically shouting.

Arthos remained in his seat, no less calm than he'd been when I'd rushed through his door in near hysterics ten minutes earlier.

"I'm suggesting that you don't let this ruin whatever understanding you and His Majesty were working towards."

I wanted to say something about what had happened in the tomb, but I'd sworn I wouldn't. "I don't know, he seemed to be changing. And then- And then-"

"He's had a difficult time of it since your father's arrival."

"Then why does he keep avoiding the subject?" It was impossible to keep the frustration out of my mouth, but I'd brought it back down to a civilized volume. 

"Maybe he's not allowed to talk."

"What do you know?" I said, stalking around the coffee table and sitting down next to him on the sofa.

"Only that blood contracts are very finicky agreements, and if any part of their contract involves you, there are likely strict guidelines about what you can know and when. These kinds of deals purposefully leave little leeway."

"But it's my life!" I protested.

"And a life that's becoming increasingly important to all supernaturals. I'm sure both the king and your father have ideas about where and how you would best serve."