I’m in the library, flipping through pages of a long-forgotten text. It’s one of many we’ve stolen from the witch covens over the centuries. I’ve been going through them ever since delivering Grace to Cora’s doorway, but I’ve yet to find anything more than passing mention of the Pruce bloodline.
I’m hoping there’s something, a hidden clue to unlock Grace’s potential and transform her into what I need: a witch who can actually access her magic. Without it, she’s useless.
She’salsouseless if she’s dead.
“That’s, what, three days now?” I ask, as though I don’t already know. As if I haven’t been counting each of her rejected meals.
I haven’t mentioned it in the small amount of time I’ve spent with her. I only see her twice a day. Every morning, I walk her to Cora’s quarters. And every evening, I return her to her own. We don’t speak, and I don’t mention the fact she’s starving herself.
I assumed if I did, she’d dig her heels in harder.
“Yes, Master,” the servant says. “I can try?—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say. I shove to my feet, crossing the outdated library. This room is one of the more neglected places in the manor. A well-worn rug covers the hardwoods, and none of the bookshelves have been dusted in years. Still, it’s a favorite of mine. The other vampires don’t visit, so it’s quiet. Peaceful. Easy to hide within, getting lost in the smell of worn parchment and ancient texts.
“Sorry, Master,” the servant says again.
I don’t respond, brushing past him and taking off down the corridor. Grace spent the day with Cora, and according to our resident witch, today wasasterrible as the others.
Every day Grace doesn’t access her magic is another day the witches might realize she exists. The last thing we need is a coven army showing up to slaughter my only chance.
As I walk through the manor, the sun falls outside. Just as it disappears beneath the horizon, countless bedroom doors open, vampires crowding the hallways. There are nearly five hundred here in residence, with thousands more spread throughout the Night Realm.
I ignore their exaggerated bows as I pass them, only stopping once I’ve reached Grace’s quarters. A lone vampire stands against the wall opposite her room. Beatrice lifts an eyebrow.
“Hello,” she says. She dips her head, eyes flitting back to Grace’s door. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
I don’t reply.
I unlatch Grace’s door, shoving it open to reveal her curled on the twin bed. Her room is disgustingly warm. Vampires don’t get cold, but witches do. They’re too much like humans. Cold and hungry and needy.
“Your room is warm,” I announce from the doorway.
The lump on Grace’s bed startles, and she springs upright. Wide blue eyes lock on mine, growing larger, then narrowing at my presence.
“There’s no way it’s morning,” she says. Her hair is a tangled mess around her face, and I’m realizing I haven’t allowed her to bathe since she arrived. She looks greasy, unkempt.
She smells fucking delicious though. This entire room radiates her mouthwatering scent, and I’m sure she doesn’t even realize it. Does she know what a temptation she is? That I can’t have anyone but Oskar or Beatrice guard her room? I’m not sure even some of my most practiced followers could resist her. Sprawled out, sleepy, smelling of blood and lavender.
“Well?” she snaps. “Is it morning or not?”
My lip ticks into a smirk without permission. She grows less cautious, less terrified by the day, whether she realizes it or not.
“I warmed your room,” I say, rather than answering her.
She regards me for a long moment. Something in her face softens, and she brushes the hair from her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says finally. A faint blush colors her cheeks, and the smell of her blood punches my chest. She swallows, face tense as if she has to force herself to continue. “And for the blanket. It’s helped.”
“Good,” I say. My voice feels hollow, tinged with bitterness. “Tell me why you’re repaying my kindness by starving yourself.”
The softness of her expression instantly hardens.
“Kindness?” she repeats with a scoff. She lets the blanket fall to her lap. I might be imagining it, but I swear she’s lost weight in a matter of three days. Her shoulders look bony beneath her T-shirt. My attention snags on her chest, where I can just make out her pebbled nipples.
Fuck me.
“You are not kind, Sebastian,” she says. If she notices my leering, she doesn’t comment. She only leans toward me, jabbing an accusatory finger my way. “You are a selfish monster. You’ve warmed my room to keep me from dying. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
