“Where’s the girl?” Cora asks as she enters the courtyard. As always, she’s wearing thick leggings and a basic frock, both black. Her thick eyebrows slant at the empty space around me.
I’d asked Cora to meet me this morning in full anticipation Grace would be here too. Willing or unwilling, she should be here. I can’t quite articulate why she’s not.
“Assuming you messed up then,” Cora says as she settles into the place across from me. She’s the only one brazenenough—or perhaps stupid enough—to talk to me this way.
I grab the front of her shirt, so fast it startles her. Her dark eyes widen, as if suddenly reminded of the fact I could really, truly kill her. Drain her of blood until she is nothing but fragile bone and ripped flesh.
“Master,” she whispers.
If my head weren’t a jumbled mess, I might let her grovel. My nerves are shaken since meeting Walter Pruce’s daughter though, and for once, I don’t care to have my ego stroked.
“Youstink,” I tell her. She’s half over the table now, frozen in my grasp like a terrified rabbit. I can feel her heart beating through her chest, unsteady and violent. Her expression doesn’t change as I draw her closer and press my nose to the collar of her dress. “Fucking vile. It’s pungent, revolting, distracting. I’ve never smelled anything quite as terrible as a witch.”
I release her, and Cora snaps back to her seat, visibly trembling. Her eyes remain wide and her movements rigid, as if she’s forcing herself not to sprint from me, back to the safety of her quarters.
“Witches reek,” I say. I slump back to the wall, closing my eyes. I can still smell her stench, the sour odor of expired meat. It’s worse than usual right now, each violent beat of her heart stirring her blood until it’s all I smell.
“Yes, Master,” Cora says.
She wouldn’t normally agree. The Cora I’ve grown to tolerate over the past dozen years would typically have a smart retort. Now, she’s just staring, insides raging with terror, outside too frozen to move.
I should remind her I won’t kill her, but I don’t. I only clench my fists, lip snarling as I speak.
“Amelia got the wrong woman,” I say finally. “Whoever that woman was, she’s not the one we need.”
Even as I speak the words, I doubt them. I’d read up on Amelia’s research. Grace might have a different last name than Walter, but there are too many coincidences for her to not be his. She’s from the East Coast, raised by a single mom who once reported a nonexistent man missing. Most damning, she arrived to Aberlena the same fucking day we felt our chests catch fire.
There’s no way sheisn’tthe woman I need. And yet…
“Why do you say that?” Cora asks. She’s absentmindedly holding the collar of her dress, right where I’d grabbed her.
I study her face before replying. I can see it in her expression: she knows Grace is the right person. She knowsI’mthe one who’s wrong.
“She smelled…” I trail off, searching for the right word, but none of them seem right.
Good.
Delicious.
Incredible.
Fucking perfect.
“She did not smell like a witch,” I say finally. I straighten my fingers and study my palm. I’d had her hand in mine, and if I hadn’t gotten distracted, I would have dragged her all the way here.
Instead, I’d found myself inches from forgoing everything I’ve ever wanted. Forget the curse, forget lost power, forget everything but the sweetest blood I’ve ever smelled. I was ready, in that moment, to lose it all if only I got to taste her first.
Cora doesn’t look alarmed by my words. In fact, they seem to put her at ease. She drops her collar, placing bothhands on the table. Her breaths become steady, pulse slowing with each inhalation.
“She’s not of the Echo,” she says.
I lift an eyebrow, a silentsoto encourage her to continue.
“Witches aren’t born with sour blood,” Cora says. A small smile tugs at her lips, as if, despite everything, she enjoys having this knowledge over me. “It’s a spell, like any other protection we have. They cast it while we’re in the womb or shortly after birth. Grace was never here.”
“Walter didn’t think to protect his own daughter?” I press.
Because surely, no man would be foolish enough to leave his daughter vulnerable. Especially not one who smells so irresistible.
