Underground
Lisabet Sarai
Z doesn’t need blades or blood to take me where I want to go. His unnatural power alone would be enough. He understands how the ritual excites me, though—the slow glide of metal across my breast or along my thigh, the rush of bright pain, the flare of desire as ruby droplets gather in the knife’s wake.
I never told him about the blades and the blood. He just knew, as he seems to know so much else about me.
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