She’s dramatic. Her room might have been cold for her taste, but she certainly wasn’t going to die. Cora went nearly a year before telling me she needed extra heat in her quarters.
“Careful,” I warn her. My voice is low, menacing, and for a brief moment, Grace looks as scared as she should. She shrinks against the wall, eyes flickering over me, waiting for my attack, I assume.
When it doesn’t come, she narrows her eyes, leaning forward again.
“You’re not going to kill me,” she says. “Youneedme, remember?”
“I do,” I agree. I’m speaking through my teeth, letting the frustration and irritation boil too close to the surface. “But that doesn’t mean you’re untouchable, little witch. So unless you want me to go back to your little apartment and leave your friend in a hundred pieces, I suggest you cooperate.”
“For all I know, she’s already dead,” Grace says. In asharp motion, she tucks back beneath the covers and rolls onto her side. “Do what you will, Sebastian. I’m going to sleep.”
“When I send breakfast in the morning, you will eat,” I tell her. “Understand?”
Her only response is to pull the blanket tighter around herself. I mutter a curse and start to close the door, only to pause when she snaps back upright. She lifts her chin, glaring at me as she speaks.
“I don’t like eggs,” she says. “And I don’t like meat.”
“What?” I ask. My voice dips dangerously low, but Grace only glares harder.
“I don’t like eggs,” she repeats through her teeth. “And I don’t like meat. If you want me to eat, send something edible. Like a salad. Or soup with grilled cheese.”
“Do you think this is some sort of restaurant?” I growl. “You think I’m here to cater to your every whim?”
“Yes, clearly that’s what I think,” she deadpans. “Am I not at a five-star hotel with a Michelin chef?”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I snap. Another burst of heat flares through my chest, not from the witches’ magic, but from Grace’s irritating scowl. She’s talking gibberish and she knows it.
“Bring me tomato soup and grilled cheese,” she says. “Treat me halfway decent, and I’ll do whatever you want. Give me some entertainment, like a TV or some movies. I like rom-coms and psychological thrillers, but only if it’s a crime of passion. Oh, andLegally Blonde. Also, I’m starting to stink. I need a shower. And new clothes. And shoes would be?—”
“You are a needy little thing,” I bite out. “You will eat whatever the fuck I send you.”
Before she can reply, I storm out of her room, slammingthe door behind me. Beatrice grins at me, and I can guess all the taunts she’s not saying.
“Save it,” I tell her.
“Yes, Master.” The amusement is barely concealed in her voice.
I stride down the hall, ready to ignore every one of Grace’s ridiculous demands.
“Sorry, Master,”the servant says. He stands at the library’s entrance, holding a plate of six eggs and four strips of bacon. All untouched.
A deep growl radiates from my chest. Fucking needy little bitch. Demanding things to make a point. Screwing with my head as some sort of payback.
“Tell Oskar to accompany Grace to Cora’s,” I tell him. I turn back to the book opened before me. “I am in no mood to deal with her today.”
“Yes, Master,” he says.
Only once he’s left the room do I allow myself to react. I throw the adjacent chair against the bookshelves, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when it explodes against the wall.
The relief is fleeting.
I slump back at the table and do my best to ignore thoughts of Grace. I’ve been working on this season’s budget. For the manor, for the vampires. Oskar will have to meet with the werewolves soon to discuss numbers, and my ego already hurts thinking about it. The Night Realm was once wealthy, second below only the Day Realm. Now, we’re in fucking poverty. We’re surviving on dwindling levies and our few exports: stone, salt, minerals. It’s barely enough to afford usbloodletters, and now, Grace is wasting food for her own entertainment.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m not going to get anything done until I take care of this.
I shove away from the table and head for Beatrice’s room. She answers on the second knock, eyes sultry as she looks over me.
“Need to fuck out some of that frustration?” she asks coyly. She presses her palm to my chest, long fingernails digging through my shirt.
