4. Livana

Chapter 4

Livana

" P retty," I say, pointing at the ring Mama wears on her right-hand middle finger.

She stops kneading the dough she's been working on for the past ten minutes, turning to look down at me where I sit on a small wooden stool. Smiling, she bends to my level, wiggling her fingers so the crimson red jewel in the center of her ring glitters under the light.

"It's more than pretty, silly dearest," Mama says. "It's my talisman," she continues, curling her fingers. Sparks of bright red light crackle and burst, swirling to create the shape of a flower that hovers and glows right before my eyes.

I clap, giggling at the display of magic.

"It magnifies the power that's already in our blood." She taps the end of my nose, the flower disappearing as she turns back to the dough. "You'll get one too, when you're old enough."

"Where did you find it?" I ask, looking down at my fingers, wondering what my ring will look like.

"It found me," she says, sprinkling some flour over the dough before working it again.

I wrinkle my brow, and she laughs. Sometimes I love her laugh, and other times I feel like I'm missing out on what's funny.

"Silly dearest," she says, shaking her head. "It found me," she says again, showing me the ring one more time. "Like magnets. When the time is right, your talisman will come to you. You can't force it…" She hesitates, a look I don't understand shaping her face. "Well, you're not supposed to anyway." She shakes her head.

"Where did yours find you?" I ask.

Mama works the dough some more, digging her hands into it before flipping it over and starting again. "Around your father's neck," she says.

I smile harder at that. I love my papa so much. He tells me stories before bedtime and brings me yummy things to drink from the forest around our home. He holds me when thunderstorms make me tremble and he always explains things in a way I can understand, unlike Mama. She likes it when I figure things out on my own.

"What happens if you lose it?" I ask, pointing at her ring again.

Mama freezes at her work station, her entire body going rigid. Her sideways look is just as severe, and I curl my shoulders around myself. I love my mama, but her punishments are the worst if I make mistakes.

"You never, ever lose your talisman, do you understand?"

I nod so rapidly my long blond hair tumbles over my shoulders.

"Yes, Mama," I say, something wilting inside my chest. I hate messing up. It's so much more fun when I make her proud.

She blows out a breath, blinking a few times to soften her gaze. "Silly dearest," she says. "You'll understand when you're older." She looks at the ring with a loving gaze. "Your talisman is the most important thing in the world. You and it are one."

"You must love Papa so much for bringing it to you," I say, so proud of him for having it when he met her. Fate brought them together, and I wistfully wondered how my talisman would find me. Would it be around the neck of a stranger, like Mama's? Or would it be at the bottom of a river? What if I never found it? What if it never found me?

"Run along and play," she says as she shapes the dough. "Find Papa and tell him dinner will be ready soon."

"Okay, Mama," I say, hopping off the stool and racing out the back door, into the golden sunlight that streams through the thick canopy of trees surrounding our home.

I weave through the trees, eyes trained on the grassy ground with high hopes of spotting a gemstone made by fate specifically for me. I call Papa's name, but he doesn't respond no matter how many times I say it. I look and search everywhere, but I can't find him.

The forest grows cold, an inky darkness blotting out the sky. Terror creeps down my spine like an icy finger. I hear screams in the distance.

My papa's screams.

And I remember why I'm here.

Why I'm running in the woods.

He told me to run.

I grip the too-big satchel over my chest, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Papa," I whisper this time, my voice choked with fear and strangled with grief. "Papa, no ? —"

The memories blend together in a nightmare I'm all too familiar with, jerking me awake with a racing heart as I try and fail to find my father in the woods.

What is unfamiliar , though, is the smell.

A musty, earthy scent that isn't exactly pleasant but still tugs at something deep inside the recess of my mind. Something that is comforting in the oddest way.

My body sways back and forth in a rhythmic motion that almost lulls me back to sleep. Goddess, did I drink last night? I'm usually so careful with whiskey. Nobody likes a drunk succubus, after all.

Flashes spirit through my mind, memories much closer than my past. Autumn spices and bittersweet desire. Silver hair and golden eyes.

Drifters.

The Red Lion .

Fuck .

Zev's magic put me under, and I can still feel its effects clinging to my bones. I peel back my heavy lids, a searing strip of white light stinging my eyes. I blink a few times, adjusting to the early dawn's light.

I see a beaten dirt road several feet below me, covered in red and orange leaves, the air a crisp chill against my skin. My wrists are outstretched and bound—with rope and not silver, thank Aletha—bouncing slightly with each clip-clop of the horse's movement.

A horse.

They tossed me over the back end of a horse like some kind of cargo.

Pricks.

Though, I rather loved horses. They're compassionate, loyal creatures.

"A horse doesn't care if you're a succubus," Papa says, nuzzling our horse's nose. "He'll carry you to safety if you're good to him. Be at your side when you need him."

I swallow hard, unable to shake the sound of my father's voice flitting through my mind. The action burns my throat, and I try to wet my lips but can't.

I'm so damn thirsty.

And exhausted. Not just from the fight at The Red Lion or Zev's magic, but because I need to feed , on blood and desire both.

My heart stutters in my chest, a dangerous reminder that I'm out of medication too. I take a deep breath through my nose, letting it out slowly as I plea with my heart not to act up right now.

I shift on the back of the horse, rising up enough to note the secluded path we're taking. We've just crossed Riverthorne's border, heading north toward Lingate, the township that houses the Collector's Keep, his royal palace.

No, no, no.

I can't meet the Collector in this state, starving and weak with no chance of soothing my heart's ailment. I wouldn't stand a chance against him, and I know I'll only have one shot at repaying him the debt he gave me so many years ago.

We're going the wrong way.

I push off the horse, landing on my feet on the path only to find that both my ankles are bound as well.

"If you two are into bondage," I say, Jagger and Zev whirling around and stopping the horse in the middle of the path. "All you had to do was say so."

Jagger smirks, cocking a brow at me. He's even more handsome in the cool autumn sunlight, if that's possible. The golden rays hit him, illuminating the stunning features of his face from his full lips to his wide nose to those teal eyes that dance with nothing but pure amusement. His hair is dark and organized in a mess of small braids that make him look just as much playful as intimidating, and that same red guitar is strapped to his back, shifting as he folds his arms over his chest, a cloak he must've pulled out of his pack now shielding him from the cold since I'm still in his vest.

"I say so," Jagger says, looking me up and down. "But you don't look like you can handle me right now."

I purse my lips, the delicate skin cracking from the move. Shit, I can't even fake-flirt properly. I'm so hungry. Thirsty. Tired. All of it.

"That's enough, Jagger," Zev says, patting the horse with a gentle hand that is completely opposite of his tone. He takes two large strides toward me, stopping so close I have to arch my neck to meet his eyes.

I hate him.

He's so goddessdamn gorgeous, all raw edges and broken golden eyes, the hilt of a long sword strapped to his back peeking over one broad shoulder. His long silver hair blows in the slight breeze, casting his scent all over me—a delicious combination of spiced chocolate and cedar. Goddess, my fangs sting, distending at a much slower rate than normal.

Zev notes the move, something I can't read churning in his eyes before he glances back at Jagger. They have a silent conversation, and it's enough to snap the bloodlust from my mind.

"You're going the wrong way," I say, my muscles tensing. The urge to move my legs and stretch my arms is overpowering, and even in my weakened condition, I could break these bonds thanks to them using rope and not silver. Had they chained me up in that, it would weaken me and quite possibly nullify my power, depending on its purity. Which, as drifters, they're more than likely to have that kind of chain on them. So, if I really wanted to, I could get free, but I've decided to use these drifters to my advantage, so I'll cooperate for now.

"This is the less taken path to Lingate," Zev says it like he's explaining something obvious to a youngling.

I bare my fangs at him.

Jagger laughs, patting the horse—a stunning creature with a brown coat and strip of white running down his nose—before taking a swig of water from a flask he retrieved from a saddlebag.

"Will you walk? Or are you going to make Rain carry you?"

I lift my chin, a retort on the tip of my tongue. It's cut off the second Jagger steps into my space, raising the flask to my lips. I part them immediately, my senses overwhelmed as he tilts the cool water into my mouth.

I drink in greedy mouthfuls before he pulls it away. I lick my lips, and give him a thankful nod. "At least one of you has some manners."

The water is a goddess-send, but blood would've been ten times better.

Zev grunts. "Don't press your?—"

"I'll walk," I cut him off. " If you two will go the right direction."

Zev shifts his feet into a defensive stance, his massive arms folding over his chest. "We are going the right direction."

"You're really not," I say.

"Fine." Zev curls his lip, his golden eyes piercing right through me. "You'll be carried then." He moves like he'll haul me over his shoulder, but I manage to hop backward.

"If you don't want to hand over a dead relic to the Collector, I'll need three things, and not one of them is in Lingate."

Zev heaves a sigh, moving toward me again, but Jagger puts a hand on his chest, effectively stopping him.

"What things?" Jagger asks.

"Meds, blood, and desire. Not necessarily in that order."

"You're on medication?" Zev grumbles the question. "For what?"

"None of your fucking business," I snap. "I don't see you sharing intimate details of your life with me, drifter."

A muscle in his jaw clenches. "I don't give a shit about your intimate details, succubus. We go to Lingate."

"Good luck getting paid," I say, already mapping out the second I'll have to break these bonds and run. I'm more than willing to use these two as an invitation to the Collector's palace, but I sure as shit won't die for it.

Zev growls, turning his head toward the sky like he'll find patience there. Jagger draws his attention, and they do that silent conversation thing again.

A burst of warmth trickles beneath my forearm, snapping my attention to the sensation. Gold script swirls into words on my skin.

You never responded last night. Are you all right or just angry with me?

I want to laugh but clamp down on the emotion as I focus on responding, drawing out the words in my mind as best I can.

I'm a little tied up at the moment, Six. And I'm always angry with you.

I picture a stranger's smirk at my response as he reads the script on his body—his thigh, to be exact. I love making him search for it, even though I don't have a clue who he is, beyond him being my Matched.

I'd never been more shocked a year ago when little questions started popping up along my forearms in delicate, magical ink. It took him weeks of prying before he got me to respond, and when I finally did, I could almost feel his relief through the little disappearing tattoos.

I thought fate Matched me with a ghost, he'd said, making me laugh.

He always made me laugh, despite neither of us giving the other information about our true identities. He told me to call him Six, and I told him to call me whatever he wanted because he wasn't getting my name. As rare and amazing as having a mate is, I'll never be able to complete the bond with Six. My life is too complicated and it would be so, so unfair to him.

I like it when you're angry. Get untied. I miss you.

I grin down at the tattoo that fades after a few seconds, then shake my head.

It's been two days, Six. Get a life.

My life is all yours.

I swallow around the emotion creeping up my throat. I hate to admit it, but Six—phantom that he may be—has been my closest friend since we started communicating this way. Sure, we never delved into anything too personal, but he's a solid companion, someone I knew I could count on despite never laying eyes on him. And right now, starving and uncertain as I am about my place in this world, I want him here in front of me.

But that would be selfish, because the path I'm taking leads to nothing but bloodshed and death.

Our goddess Aletha is a cruel bitch for Matching us in the first place. Honestly, she's supposed to be an understanding, if not just goddess, but why would she match Six with someone destined to ruin him? It's unfair, but as long as we don't complete the Matched bond, he'll be spared the devastation when I inevitability die. Either from my heart condition—which I told him about in a moment of vulnerability on a lonely night—or more likely, the collector core or the Collector's prick of a son—the sadistic crown prince of Lingate—after I slit his father's throat.

I wouldn't put that burden on Six.

Once while dancing at a tavern in Spider Downs, I saw a female drink herself to death, hiccupping between cries about how her Matched had passed in his sleep. I'd never seen someone so sad or distraught, and we'd found her body behind the tavern the next morning.

The agony of losing a Matched is so great that legends are written and ballads are sung about it. One doesn't recover from a blow like that. Hence, my refusal to meet in person. I threatened to stop communicating with him entirely if he pressed the issue, and he respectfully agreed, so confident that the more I got to know him, the more irresistible he'd be to me.

A valiant effort on his part, but hopeless all the same.

"No," Zev's tone is clear and sharp, hauling my focus away from my arm and back to the very real present. "She'll say anything for a chance to escape?—"

"Look at her, Zev," Jagger argues, his voice just as powerful. "She can't even break her bonds. She's not even trying to."

One of those statements is true.

" She's standing right here," I say, eyebrows raised. They both turn to look at me, like I've overstepped my bounds by intruding on their in-depth discussion about my well-being. "Look," I continue, a bit softer this time. I even raise my tied hands for emphasis. "My med supplier is in Destowne." I point to the west. "It's not far. I can get my medication and feed there too." The idea makes my knees weak.

Zev narrows his gaze at me, but Jagger nods, his teal eyes lighting up like a little side-trip to Destowne is exactly what he wants. The wealthy mortal city is known for its nightlife, after all, and Jagger looks like he lives and breathes for that sort of fun.

When it's crystal-clear Zev still isn't on board, I shrug. "Unless you two want to fuck each other and let me watch," I suggest, the idea sending a bolt of heat straight down my spine. "And offer one of your wrists in the middle of it." I drag the tip of my tongue over my fangs, waggling my eyebrows.

Jagger's full lips part, while Zev looks like he's about to draw his sword and cut me down right here and now and be done with it.

"And risk being Linked to you?" Zev spits. "I'd rather die."

I glare up at him, hurt spearing through my chest.

"I can handle that for you," I say as casually as I can. "You'd probably enjoy death at my hand, drifter." He opens his mouth to snap back, but I hurry over him. "And you don't Link after one time." I roll my eyes.

To Link with a succubus, the partner in question has to have consensual sex three times, making the conscious choice to be magically tied to the succubus for the rest of their lives. It's not as intense as bonding with a Matched, but anyone who Links with me will always be able to find me, feel me, and want to take care of me. They'd need to be near me too, with only small instances of separation. If any of those things is interrupted, the Linked can turn violent in an attempt to get to me. Call it Aletha's grand design to ensure succubus's survival or call it a cruel trick, either way it's a certainty that's dangerous at the best of times.

A pang of guilt twists my chest, a painful memory threatening to steal the breath from my lungs, but I force it away with anger simmering on my tongue.

"It's three times," I hiss. "Don't they teach you that at your drifter school? What's it called again, Traitors United?"

"Easy, dove," Jagger warns, his eyes jumping between Zev and my little stare down.

"No," I snap. "He's making it hard. I've offered up two very good solutions on how to not kill me before handing me over to the Collector and he's acting like I'm trying to run again. I'm not."

"I don't believe you," Zev growls.

Instinct purrs in my blood, whispering at me to soften my gaze, to push out my breasts, and send my influence into this frustrating wall of a male. But I can taste him now, a spiced chocolate flavor on my tongue, and he has no desire for me whatsoever. Not even the little bittersweet hint I tasted back at The Red Lion .

This drifter will not be seduced into believing me.

So I'll have to show him.

I sigh, shaking my head as I pull my wrists apart, my strength still powerful enough to shred through the thick, expertly knotted ropes with half a thought. I do the same with my legs, spreading them slightly as I pop my hands on my hips.

"See?" I ask, and almost laugh at the shock on both their faces. "I'm being a good little monster and not running. You're magic stings and leaves a massive hangover. I don't want to die."

Not yet.

"If you run?—"

"I won't ," I say, exasperated.

Zev slowly steps into my space, a tall wall of muscle and disdain as he glowers down at me. "If you run, succubus," he says, a low warning in his tone. "I will chase you. And I won't stop until you're caught."

A ripple of warmth shivers over my entire body, shaking loose an ache that is desperate to be soothed. What the fuck is wrong with me? He's threatening to kill me, not fuck me into oblivion.

Goddess, I need to feed.

"Understood," I say, doing my best to quell the need churning in my core.

Zev's nostrils flare, just a fraction, and his eyes widen, almost like he can scent my desire. I don't dare look away, don't dip my head in shame. My body is reacting to a long-put-off need, nothing more.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the way he's terrifying and alluring at the same time. Nothing to do with the way he's built—all strong and powerful and most certainly not breakable. Nothing to do with the fact that both of these drifters could handle me and then some.

Nothing to do with the fact that I've been craving exactly that for ages now.

Nope. Not. At. All .

"Destowne," Jagger says, his liquid velvet voice breaking through the staring competition Zev and I are holding.

I win. Naturally.

"Destowne," Zev grumbles, turning to the horse and stroking his flank one more time before he tugs gently on the reins, turning it west.

Jagger hangs back, falling into a slow, steady rhythm at my side as we follow behind Zev.

"Is he always this…" I search for the word, unable to land on the correct one. "Grumpy?"

Jagger laughs, and the sound is just as warm as his voice, tickling along my skin in a delightful way. He's my captor, but also my ticket inside the palace, so I shouldn't think his laugh is inviting, but I can't really help it.

"He's worse in the mornings," he answers.

"I'll be sure to wake him up before dawn, then," I say.

Jagger wets his lips, his wide, effortless smile showing off straight, white teeth. "Brave, dove," he says. "Reckless, but brave."

I flash him a look, silently assuring him he has no idea just how reckless I can be.