Page 10 of Crimson Mate

Jocelyn and Lyric share a look that screams sympathy and pity.

I clutch my weapons bag a little tighter.

“If you'll excuse me,” I say, dipping my head to Lyric again. “I'll be on my way.”

“But you'll come back?” Lyric asks.

I sigh, wishing I could tell herno. Wishing I could lose myself on the road and bury all of these conflicting emotions along the way.

“I will return,” I say. “Because the king expressed the need for me to be here.”

Jocelyn smirks at that answer, nodding at me. “Zachariah totally shit the bed on this one.”

A laugh, genuine and real and raw, rips from my lips, and it takes an effort to reel it in.

Maybe staying here for a little while won’t be so bad after all.

I catch the faintest hint of Conrad’s scent, just on the outskirts of lycan territory.

It's the same scent that drew me here in the first place—the one I've been chasing for far too long.

Of course, this could be another infant vampire Conrad created, the lightness of the smell certainly indicates as much, but I can't help the hope building in my chest that my months-long mission might be coming to an end.

If I capture him, I'll be able to deliver him and all the information he must have to the king. He's turned into a cruel and calculative bastard, the atrocities he’s recently enacted killing any hopes of bringing him to his senses. The horde of bloodmad vampires storming the territories to the humans with half or a quarter magical blood in their system being murdered in the hopes of transitioning them has his fingerprints all over it.

Not for the first time, I wonder what happened in the years since I’d seen him to turn him into such a malicious creature? Centuries ago, when we’d merely been friends, he’d been an optimist, excited and hopeful for the prospects of the future. He’d dreamed of claiming his seat in the king’s royal court—the century’s king, anyway. When did those aspirations get twisted out of him?

I keep my footsteps silent, preparing to breach lycan territory again,withoutpermission, damning the consequences?—

“Why are you hunting alone?” Zachariah's voice—though a whisper—might as well be an alarm blaring.

I jolt, whirling around, a dagger already out and at his throat. “Can you be any louder?” I hiss.

Zachariah glances down, eyeing the blade I have at his throat like I might remove it from that look alone.

I don't.

Slowly, gently, Zachariah grips my wrist, tugging the dagger away from his skin. “I whispered,” he says in a hushed tone. “And you're avoiding the question.”

I take a step away from him, spinning my dagger and sliding it back into the holster on my thigh.

“I've been working alone for centuries,” I finally answer. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I hate that I'm curious.

Hate that I'm hopeful.

Hate that I want him to drop to his knees and beg for my forgiveness, professes undying loyalty and love to me?—

“We've been assigned to work together by order of the king,” he answers, so matter-of-factly it jerks all the fantasies right out of me.

My shoulders drop. Of course that's why he's here. Of course it hasnothingto do with our past andonlyto do with his duty to our king. To his calling.

“Fuck my life,” I mumble under my breath. “Fine. You can tag along, but I'm going to need you to be quiet. You think you can manage that or did the long sleep make you forget how to be an actual hunter?”

It's a cheap dig, but I can't help it. The hurt that he’s fostered inside me is slipping out in the form of sharp barbs that spear straight for him.

Zachariah arches a brow at me, his dark eyes trailing along the curves of my face. There's definitely some emotion there, but I don't bother sticking around to puzzle it out. I spin around,prepared to continue my hunt like he isn’t following me. Like nothing has changed.