Page 62 of Claimed

Another silence. Crisp and disapproving. Powerful enough that I sit up straighter like she’s in the room.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘What did you say?’

‘If the potion is behaving unpredictably, I can correct it,’ she says.

My pulse jumps, momentarily heady with the thought of making Valentin better. Then good old suspicion and scepticism land like a feral cat. ‘How?’

‘I require a sample of your blood.’

Of course. ‘I can’t leave the Tower.’

‘And why not?’

‘Strict orders from Valentin.’

I hate the way that sounds like confession and surrender. Like I didn’t agree to those orders while naked beneath him and drunk on his mouth.

Selphine’s laugh is low and sharp. ‘How domestic. If it’s important enough, you will find a way.’

I stare at the phone like it has grown teeth. ‘No.’

‘Child—’

‘No,’ I repeat, harder this time. ‘You gave me a potion that keeps my own name locked to me, failed to mention that delightful side effect, and now you want my blood? Absolutely not. I may be making questionable emotional decisions lately, but I haven’t fully abandoned critical thinking.’

Selphine exhales, soft and wounded enough that I instantly hate how much it pricks at me. ‘If I wanted to harm you, Eira, would I have hidden you for six years? Buried Lyra Hannigan so thoroughly that even Valentin Moretti could not smell her through your skin? If I wanted your blood for cruelty, child, I had countless nights when you slept under my roof and trusted me enough to close both eyes.’

My fingers tighten around the phone. ‘Do not make this about gratitude.’

‘What else should I make it about?’ Her voice cools. ‘You called me because you’re frightened. His blood is changing you, and your body wants what your mind distrusts.’

I say nothing, because that strikes too close.

‘I’m asking for a few drops of blood,’ Selphine continues. ‘It’s your choice whether you take anything I send. I’ve never forced a potion on you. Send me what I need to read the damage, and then you may decide whether you trust my answer.’

My refusal remains ready on my tongue.

Then I think of Rowan upstairs, allied by old bargains to Valentin’s world; of Bride’s Mercy sitting lethally beneath my tongue and Valentin falling into those deep, terrible states and waking sharper, stronger, but less stable every time.

I swallow.

Because Selphine’s right.

And the longer I wait, the more certain I become that whatever is happening to Valentin is not lust, stress or abstinence. Something is moving under his skin. Something that laughed in the dark while I was still half-caught in his nightmare.

At the very least, I need to rule out the feeling that it’s connected to me.

To my blood.

A sample is not surrender.

Sending blood is reckless, yes, but I absolutely do not plan on drinking anything else from Selphine. Because that would be idiocy with a decorative ribbon. This is information gathering. A controlled risk. A mistake with boundaries, which is apparently the best I can manage tonight.

‘Fine. I’m sending the blood,’ I say. ‘That’s all. No new potion. No charm or correction spell until I know exactly what it does.’

Selphine’s answer is quiet. ‘Then send it quickly.’

The call ends.