“Fine,” I say, even though theremustbe a way. For now, I’ll deal with it. “What about her menstrual cycle? Have you found a solution?”
“Mywhat?” Grace snaps. She shifts until she’s blocking Cora, forcing me to look at her. “You’ve been talking about my period?”
“In case you’ve forgotten,” I say. “You’re surrounded by vampires. We drink blood. You spilling it every month doesn’t exactly bode well for your survival here, now does it?”
“I thought witches are rancid?” she asks, eyebrow lifting.
“Most,” I say. Without permission, my gaze flickers to her throat. Her jugular twitches with her pulse, begging to be tasted. “You smell fucking divine, Grace. Like nothing I can describe. We’ve yet to have a single conversation where I haven’t dreamt of draining every drop of blood from your body.”
The blush leeches from her face, leaving her pale and wide-eyed. Good. Let her be reminded of reality.
“Let’s go,” I tell her. Once she’s stepped into the hallway, I regard Cora again. “Tomorrow must be better.”
When I head down the hallway, Grace sticks closer tomy side. Her eyes dart around us as we walk. I could tell her not to worry—none of my followers are stupid enough to attack her if she’s with me—but I keep that to myself. Fear is good for people like her.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
We passed her quarters a few hallways ago. I figured she hadn’t noticed. All the doors look the same in this part of the manor. Unmarked, heavy wood, accented with iron rungs.
“Sebastian?” she presses.
“Patience, little witch,” I say.
She makes it two more turns before she clears her throat.
“If you’re taking me somewhere to kill me, you should at least let me know. I’d like to request?—”
“Of course you would,” I cut her off. I stop in front of the library door, leaning against the wall to glare at her. “Youwouldhave a request regarding your murder. If only you put as much attention into your casting as you do your neediness, we’d likely be done with this by now.”
She presses her lips together, eyes flickering away from me. She swallows, and I follow the subtle movement in her throat. I take a breath even though I know I shouldn’t. Her smell fills my nostrils, invades every thought, until I’m only thinking of her blood and how sweet she would taste on my tongue.
“I’m trying, okay?” she says. Her voice breaks, forcing my attention from her jugular to her eyes. Her dark blues water with unshed tears, and I watch, waiting for them to fall. Instead, she blinks them away, swallowing again. “I know you and Cora don’t believe me, but Iamtrying. I just…I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m in this strange place with crazy people, and they’re asking me to do something that shouldn’t exist. Okay? It’s just?—”
“Here,” I interrupt. I can’t take it anymore, the shaking lip, the welling eyes. I lean around Grace, my breath held, and open the door to the library.
She turns, stepping hesitantly inside the room. It’s as dark, dank, and dusty as ever. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, all filled with ancient and weathered texts. A long dark wood table, cluttered with papers on one end and Grace’s set-up on the other. Across from the table, there’s a small fireplace and two overstuffed armchairs. The fire is lit for the first time in over a century.
“What is this?”
“Your requests,” I say. I don’t mean to snap the words, but I do. “Your tomato soup. YourLegally Blonde, whatever the hells that is. And once you’ve eaten every fucking drop, you’ll get your shower and change of clothes.”
She looks over her shoulder at me, and that softness I glimpsed yesterday returns. Fuck me, she’s pretty like this. I can’t explain why, but I despise her for it. For that smile, for the gentle blush on her cheeks. I despise the way it makes me picture her naked, sudsy, head tilted back in the shower, water streaming between her breasts. Too easily, I imagine myself pressed against her back, fingers tracing?—
“Thank you, Sebastian,” she says. She reaches for my hand, and I jerk back as if her touch burns.
“Go eat,” I tell her. Distance. I need distance. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
The hard stare is back. The heavy grimace. She hates me again, and I suddenly realize how vital that hatred is.
8
ALL OF YOU, MONSTERS
GRACE
Two days later, I decide Cora is right. I am hopeless. I’ve been staring at two bowls—one filled with clear liquid, the other with black stones—for half the day now. Cora won’t tell me what I’m supposed to do, only that somehow, I need to combine the stone and water with my mind.
I glare at the bowls. Wait for something,anythingto happen.
