LADY BAEVERA
Standing at the entrance of the tavern, I surveyed the inside.
Rowdy male laughter and clinking glasses. The place reeked of sweat, pipe smoke, and roasted meat.
I glanced back at the road behind me, now swallowed by dusk. I should be out there, not in here. But I was hungry and not just for food.
My leg throbbed with every step. I needed to bloodfeed if I wanted to fast-track the healing process.
Pulling my hood lower over my face, I stepped inside and quietly ordered the cheapest meal on the menu. A watery pottage and a chunk of bread. I was running out of coin.
Twelve gold coins from the tips sounded like a lot, but five days on the run, making costly decisions to stay hidden, hopping villages and inns, it was bleeding me dry. Thankfully, tonight’s lodging was alread
