Chapter 5: Lines in the Sand

Back at the General’s palace, I flopped sideways on a plush couch. The place was so big you could get lost just trying to find the bathroom. Velvet cushions, gold-trimmed everything—it all felt like overkill. But I needed a minute to collect myself before facing Caleb.

I’d planned to wait for Caleb to come back so I could throw a fit, but ended up dozing off.

When I woke, Caleb was holding me in his arms, his breath hot on my ear, a sharp pain in my neck.

I didn’t even flinch. After five hundred years of being drained, I was used to it.

As he drank my blood, his hands wandered, moving slowly up from my waist.

I sighed softly.

After sleeping with him for five centuries, it’d be a lie to say I didn’t feel anything.

But I, Lillian, have never shared a man with another woman.

I’d always drawn a line in the sand about that—at least, in my old life. Here, the rules were written by someone else.

Suddenly, I pushed him away, tears streaming down my face: This time, I refused to let him see me break.

"You like that Rachel Quinn, don’t you?"

Caleb was stunned, then frowned:

"Enough. I’m seriously hurt this time. Come here."

I ignored him and ran barefoot across the hardwood, crying out:

"You never loved me! Those immortal girls mocked me for five hundred years, and you never once stood up for me. What am I to you?"

A faint red glow started to shimmer around him.

He was getting angry.

I shivered a little.

"You’re my mistress. That’s your place. As a human, do you really think you deserve more?"

I staggered, muttering:

"Mistress… I don’t want to be anyone’s mistress. If it weren’t for you, I could have married a regular guy and been a real wife."

The red light on him deepened, his voice cold and menacing:

"I warned you before. Behave. My main wife will never be a useless mortal with no powers."

"Enough. Stop it. Come here."

My feet moved before my brain could stop them, dragged by a habit that felt older than my own name.

After being his blood donor for nearly fifteen minutes, he shoved a pill into my mouth.

"Lillian," his rough hand gently stroked my fingers, "remember your place. Don’t bring up Rachel Quinn again. She’s hardworking and talented, worthy of respect. Don’t drag her down."

A tear slid down my cheek. "Caleb, let me go."

He suddenly smiled:

"Lillian, unless you die, don’t ever think about leaving me."

My heart dropped.

I gritted my teeth. "Aren’t you afraid your future main wife will mind me being around?"

His gaze flickered, as if thinking of someone.

His arms around me loosened a bit. He said, "When the time comes, you’ll have somewhere to go."

The scent of blood on him suddenly overwhelmed me.

My pupils shrank.

Oh crap. Did I just sign my own death warrant?

I felt that old, cold panic—like the time we almost got caught sneaking out of the foster home past curfew. Only now the stakes were cosmic.