Chapter 4

The loss of the herbs took a rapid toll on my body.

Every midnight, the bone-deep chill left by years of blood loss clawed through me, and my heart raced without warning. I needed replacement herbs as soon as possible.

That night, I pulled on a black coat, drew up my hood, and climbed over the estate's back wall.

The largest underground market in Santvela was hidden beneath an abandoned subway station.

By day it was just a cordoned-off construction zone. After dark, the iron gates opened for anyone bearing a nightwalker's seal. Vampires, hunter middlemen, underground doctors, and agents working for ancient clans all traded there.

Drawing on my experience in the North, I quickly found an underground apothecary that asked no questions.

I traded my last gold brooch for a box of Silverfrost powder.

The substance wouldn't kill a vampire outright, but it would worm its way into the bloodstream and slow their healing. Whenever rain fell or the temperature plunged, the afflicted would feel their bones constricting as though wrapped in fine silver wire, the pain too severe to stand.

Cecilia had burned my medicine. I would let her learn what real bone-deep agony felt like.

After buying the Silverfrost powder, I didn't leave right away.

I rented a battered wooden table in a corner of the market and lit a stick of my own calming blood perfume.

A faint scent of cold pine quickly masked the stench of blood and mildew that hung in the underground space.

The perfume could ease the headaches that plagued vampires who had suppressed their hunger for too long, and it could help humans recover from the aftereffects of mental compulsion.

I sat quietly behind the table, waiting for my first customer.

Less than half an hour later, a set of steady footsteps stopped in front of me.

I opened my eyes.

The man was tall and wore a sharply tailored black overcoat, his face half-concealed behind a silver-gray mask. He showed no sign of the fangs vampires bared when they fed, yet his presence carried the kind of pressure only a high-ranking vampire who had lived for centuries could give off.

"You made this perfume?"

His voice was low and betrayed no emotion.

"I did."

"It can quiet blood-noise headaches?"

"It can. But it only relieves them. It won't cure the underlying cause."

He studied me for a few seconds, then set a black-and-gold token on the table.

It was the highest-tier payment chip issued by the Night Council. A single one could buy the entire corridor where my table stood.

"Come with me."

I didn't reach for it.

"I don't sell myself. Only perfumes and consultations."

He seemed not to have expected a refusal. Behind the mask, a flicker of interest crossed his eyes.

"Lucien Valentine."

He leaned slightly forward, bringing his gaze level with mine.

"Chief Regent of the Night Council, and the man who needs your perfume the most."

I had heard the name, of course.

Lucien was one of the oldest vampires in Santvela, responsible for subduing feral vampires and eliminating anyone who violated the secrecy laws. He was said to be ruthless and dangerous. In the past hundred years, no one in the Night Council's interrogation chamber had dared tell him no twice.

He nudged the token closer to me.

"Become my exclusive blood perfumer. I'll give you a clinic, supplies, and the Night Council's protection. Your formulas will remain yours. I won't touch them."

I looked at the token.

The Blackwood estate had no room left for me. I would need new equipment to make the Moonfrost again.

I needed a patron powerful enough to shield me, but even more, I needed one who wouldn't steal what I had built.

"Contract first."

Lucien let out a quiet laugh.

"Done."

I picked up the token.

"Deal."