““The Wing Leader stared at her for a long moment, and then said, “You can choose, witchling. Blue or red.” “What?” “Does your blood run blue or red? You decide. If it runs blue, it turns out I have jurisdiction over you. Little shits like Vernon can’t do as they will to my kind—not without my permission. If your blood runs red … Well, I don’t particularly care about humans, and seeing what Vernon does with you might be entertaining.” “Why would you offer this?” Manon gave her a half smile, all iron teeth and no remorse. “Because I can.” “If my blood runs … blue, won’t it confirm what Vernon suspects? Won’t he act?” “A risk you’ll have to take. He can try to act on it—and learn where it gets him.” A trap. And Elide was the bait. Claim her heritage as a witch, and if Vernon took her to be implanted, Manon could have the grounds to kill him. She had a feeling Manon might hope for that. It was not just a risk; it was a suicidal, stupid risk. But better than nothing. The witches, who lowered their eyes for no man … Until she could get away, perhaps she might learn a thing or two about what it was like to have fangs and claws. And how to use them. “Blue,” she whispered. “My blood runs blue.” “Good choice, witchling,” Manon said, and the word was a challenge and an order. She turned away, but glanced over her shoulder. “Welcome to the Blackbeaks.””
