10. Livana

Chapter 10

Livana

W e make camp just outside of Destowne, along the endless beaches tucked against the western shores. The closeness to the water makes it colder here than I'd like, but there's an expanse of lush forest not far away, offering us enough cover to hopefully deter any more chance run-ins with rival drifter groups.

I settle on the soft white sand, finding a dry spot far enough away from the crashing waves to not get soaked. Zev gets a small fire going to stave off the chill, ensuring it doesn't ignite enough to leave a large smoke trail that would lead the drifters to us. He pokes at it randomly yet somehow still making the task seem stoic. Jagger, regrettably, left to hunt for more dry wood, leaving Zev and me alone.

My skin itches from the fight, from the unsettled feeling of it not being complete. Not because I wanted to kill those men, but because there was no closure, and I can't shake the feeling that they'll be the first in a long line of obstacles to arrive before we make it to Lingate.

"Nothing worth it is ever easy." My father's voice filters through my mind, the sound so close he could be sitting right next to me. And he'd love it too, here on the soft sand, the sound of a crackling fire next to us. A midnight sky filled with stars above.

I swallow the lump in my throat, stretching my anxious muscles only to catch Zev staring at me.

"What?" I don't mean to snap, but his stare is so …something. It's filled with too many conflicting emotions to pin one down—disappointment is always there, but there's also intrigue, confusion, and something else I can't figure out.

He doesn't answer right away.

On one hand, I can appreciate the way he's always slow to react, gauging his reactions and analyzing the situation, but on the other, it can be annoying as shit when I'm trying to figure out what's going on inside his head.

Usually, I have a talent for reading people. Mostly because people's desire can tell a lot about who they are at their core, but with Zev it's difficult because he keeps everything locked up so damn tight.

I give up, shifting to my knees, stretching one leg behind me and the other in front of me, grateful for the borrowed clothes from Quest that easily allows the movement while also keeping me warm. I arch my back, giving my body the full stretch it needs.

"You could've run," Zev says, and I snap my eyes to him across the fire.

I move to a sitting position again and shrug.

"But you haven't." He rests his muscled forearms on his knees where he sits before the flames.

I raise my brows.

What does he want from me?

He growls, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he stands up.

I match his movement, not wanting to be at a disadvantage if he's about to draw his sword.

"I want to know why," he says as he stops before me, so close I can feel the heat from his body radiate onto mine.

"I'm not so eager to be knocked unconscious by your magic again," I say, looking up to meet his eyes. Not a total lie. His power hurt . "And you keep saying you'll chase me. What would be the point?"

"That's not it," he grumbles. "There's more to it. You're hiding something."

Fear spikes my blood, followed by an icy chill as he treads too damn close. My magic vibrates beneath my skin, almost purring at the chance to be acknowledged by someone other than myself. I lock it down, swallowing hard.

"Why would I tell you anything?" I snap, feeding off my anger like the crutch it always is. "Because you've been such a gracious captor?"

A small twitch of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and I hate that my eyes catch the move, savor it. He leans down, drawing closer.

"Do you have a scratch on you, little succubus?" he asks, his voice shifting from rough and low to amused. "You're fed?—"

"Because of Jagger," I cut him off. "Not you."

Never him. From the way his brief instances of desire have tasted, from the way he had me salivating the first time we met, when I thought he was nothing more than a warrior wanting a dance, I knew feeding from him would be the worst idea I ever had.

An addictive, tempting, seductively horrible idea.

The mere thought has my mouth watering, has my fangs begging to distend.

I keep them in check and steady my breathing.

"Tell me something," I say. "Why did you draw blood against your own kind for me? Am I that valuable to you?"

Zev scowls so hard deep grooves form between his brow. I have the most ridiculous urge to reach up and smooth those angry lines.

I put my hands on my hips to keep from giving into that.

"Those bastards are not my kind," he snaps. "I don't support what they do. Never have. Never will."

I narrow my gaze, studying him. He looks believable, even sounds like it too, but how am I really supposed to know? I've heard the stories of rogue drifter groups who delight in damaging their bounties before handing them over, and the Collector doesn't care as long as they do his bidding. Neither him nor the groups see their bounties as anything but property.

I thought all drifters were like that, but Jagger certainly isn't—or if he is, he's doing a very good job at hiding it. And Zev…

He hasn't harmed me. Not really. No more than my pride with his judgmental stares and his sharp tongue. And from the little I tasted of Balan and his men's desire, I knew without a doubt they would've done horrible things to me if they'd won.

"I know," I finally say, my tense shoulders dropping a fraction with the admission. "I know you're not like them. Or Jagger. Not that I'll pretend to know why."

Golden eyes scan the lines of my face, likely searching for a deception. He must not find one, because he blows out a breath, his harsh features softening. "The Collector," he says, slowly, forcefully, almost like it's suddenly hard to speak. "Took someone from me."

My chest tightens. The look in those eyes—usually so cold, so hardened—is drenched in regret, in shame.

"Someone important," he continues.

Understanding washes over me as I survey the pain radiating from him—it's in the tense set of his muscles, the slight flinch in his eyes like he's reliving a painful memory. I'm the key to undoing whatever's been done to him.

"I'm worth a trade," I say, nodding. "That's why you fought against the core for me and against the other drifters."

He's being honest with me, a brutal sort of honesty that I deeply appreciate when so much of my life is lived between the lines of seduction and games to stay alive. It couldn't have been easy, from the look on his face, to admit as much to me. He's giving me something in hopes I'll trust him—as much as a bounty can trust her hunter.

"I thought all drifters delighted in capturing monsters in exchange for gold."

A low, warning growl. "You thought wrong," he says. "Do I enjoy killing soulless monsters who threaten innocent lives? Sure. But I don't relish being forced to hand bounties over to the Collector so he can fill his demented collection. I do it because of the debt hanging over my head."

I study him, wondering if he's filling my head with lies to get my guard down. The urge to tell him my truths is at the tip of my tongue, but I hold back. Just because he's sharing doesn't mean I have to.

"I didn't run," I offer. "Because I don't want to die." Not a whole lie, at least. I don't want to die until the time is right. "And I know the second I become too much of a hinderance on you or Jagger, you'll kill me."

Zev tilts his head, and the orange glow of the fire flickers across his face, illuminating his purely predatory features—all sharp angles and hawk-like golden eyes.

"You don't know me or Jagger," he says. "And you're worth more to me alive than dead."

I arch a brow. "So that means I can do or demand whatever I want, drifter?" I tease, and he growls, but it's more playful than his others. Goddess, am I learning how to speak grumpy now?

Zev steps closer. So close his chest grazes lightly against mine. Everything in my being narrows to the sensation. Such an innocent touch, maybe even an unconscious one as he tries to pry answers out of me, but Goddess damn me, my body reacts . My nerve endings perk up, like a cat arching its back, desperate for physical touch.

"Keep testing me, succubus," he says. "Maybe the Collector will be just as happy to receive you in pieces."

I shiver at the threat that sounds more like a tease. I'm so lost in the waves of need crashing over me, which doesn't make sense after feeding from Jagger not five hours ago.

"You'd bleed in the process," I fire back.

"I've bled for less worthy things," he says, tilting his head. "Are you going to tell me what you're hiding?"

"Why? Because you shared a secret, I must?" I shake my head. "That would require a level of trust we'll never have."

He grunts, almost like saying fair enough.

My true power threatens to shine behind my eyes at the mere suggestion of what I keep buried.

His eyes narrow, drinking in my face in a way that makes me feel like he's slowly carving me open, one layer at a time.

Warm shivers tremble over my skin at that look, at the way my mind races with the burst of flavor on my tongue—cedar, spiced chocolate. He's allowing me to sense him, unleashing just a fraction of his desire, and I can't help but swim in it.

Hunger wrenches throughout my body, my mind whirling at Zev's flavor even from such a small taste—it's powerful, intoxicating, and as potent as Jagger's. Goddess save me, these drifters, my captors, may very well end me before I even make it to Lingate.

A smirk, real and unforced shapes Zev's mouth. "Still hungry, little succubus?"

I blink a few times, snapping my eyes away from his neck, his mouth. My fangs are down, damn it.

Zev brushes his knuckles over my cheek, the touch featherlight, but the sparks I feel there are almost enough to make my knees buckle.

"I have more than a drop of fae blood in me," he says. "More than what a drifter has. I'm half fae," he says.

Shock barrels through me at the admission, but it makes sense. I thought his magic was more than just drifter.

"Did you sense that?" he continues. "My blood is more powerful than you can imagine. Want a taste?" he asks, and through my lust-addled senses, I almost jump on the opportunity to sink my fangs into his neck and drink until I'm drunk on all things him .

But the memory of all his judgment, his orders, the way he captured me like a goddessdamn animal soars to the forefront of my mind, and I take a step back, hissing for good measure.

"I'd rather drink a hare's blood," I snap.

Zev laughs, a full-bodied, joyful laugh that vibrates along every inch of my bones.

"I'll be sure to catch you one next time I hunt," he says, shaking his head, laughter still clinging to his lips as he turns, making his way back to his seat on the other side of the fire.

I glare at him for a few more moments before I settle back into my seat, as far away from him as possible, my hands trembling as I force my fangs to retract. After I've collected my breath and my senses, I lay my head on my satchel and curl up on my side.

Zev leans his back against a tree, one muscled arm draped over his knee as he look past the fire at me.

Instinct tells me to look away from his dominating stare, but I force myself to hold my ground and steel my nerves. This drifter will not break me.

He smirks again, blinking, and just as I feel victory slide over me as his eyes turn toward the stars, he says, without looking at me, "I will find out what you're hiding, little succubus." His whisper is drenched in unflinching confidence. "Whether you like it or not."