I don’t see her move. Her hand latches around my throat, and we’re moving before the choked gag leaves my mouth. The manor blurs around us as she runs, one hand on my throat. My head spins, even after I’ve squeezed my eyes shut. I hang onto her wrist with both hands, legs kicking, trying to find traction against her body or the floor.
We jolt to a stop, and I tumble across the ground. I let out a pathetic gasp as I land on my back, the wind and sense knocked out of me. I blink up at the ceiling, only to realize there isn’t one. We’re outside.
Jesus. This is the first time I’ve been outside since Sebastian dragged me here.
Despite everything, I devour the sight before me. A mostly-darkened sky, touched with streaks of light from the setting sun. I blink, then close my eyes. There’s a cold wind blowing, tickling my wet hair against my shoulders.
“For fuck’s sake, Beatrice!”
It takes me a moment to place the garbled voice. Oskar. I blink again, tilting my chin toward the sound. I’m lying on a slab of stone bricks, and behind me, there’s a massive greystatue. Tilting my head, I realize it’s an enormous replica of Sebastian. Hewouldhave a statue of himself.
“Where’s Sebastian?” Beatrice demands. Her voice echoes through the space, bouncing back at her.
I push onto my elbows, struggling to breathe. Luckily, I’m not bleeding.
“Where is he?” she repeats.
I follow her gaze to the corner, where a massive stone table stands against an ivy-covered wall. Oskar sits with another man. I don’t know his name, but I recognize him. He’s one of Sebastian’s men, one of the watchers.
“Not here yet,” the man says. “And you should be thanking your stars for that, Beatrice. He’d skin you alive for that move alone!”
“I’ve had enough,” Beatrice says, but her voice wobbles and so does her bravado. “She’s useless, and I’m done wasting time with her. I don’t know how long he’s planning to coddle her, to let her live in that room, doing nothing. If she’s not going to break the curse, what are we letting her live for?”
“Beatrice.”
We all startle, turning to look at the courtyard’s entrance. Sebastian stands in the open doorway, jaw set as his attention flickers briefly over each of us. He looks to me last before returning to Beatrice.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
“No, Master,” she says. Gone is the fearsome, untouchable bitch she was seconds ago. Now, she looks small and pathetic, childish in her tantrum. Good. Let them all seeexactlywho she is.
“I disagree,” he says. He strides forward, hands tucked in his pockets. His approach is smooth, but slow, like apredator closing in on prey. “I gave you simple instructions, didn’t I?”
“You did,” she says. She presses her lips together, as if trying to keep from saying more, only to immediately break. “Why do you let her live? Why is shehere, Master, if not to do as you’ve instructed?”
An unexpected flicker of pity stings through my chest. Beatrice may not be locked in a cell, but she’s stuck in a worse prison than I am. She truly believes everything she’s saying, as if the world exists only for Sebastian’s purposes.
“He is not god!” I shriek. I’m looking at Beatrice, but my words are for everyone in this courtyard. “None of you are. You’re nothing but monsters.”
Beatrice bares her teeth at me, a violent hiss radiating from her throat. She lunges for me, her movements surprisingly slow. She doesn’t make it halfway to me before Sebastian catches her throat. He holds her in place, squeezing hard enough to draw a sharp breath.
“Let me make one thing clear, Beatrice,” he says. His voice drops, a rumble so deep it sounds more like a growl. “She is irreplaceable.Youare not. You touch her again, and I will ensure it’s the last thing you do.”
Her lips part, but there’s no sound. Tears trail down her cheeks as she stands, perfectly still in his chokehold.
“Leave this courtyard immediately, and do not return until I give explicit permission. Nod if you understand.”
It seems to take all of her effort to do just that.
Sebastian releases her, and she goes without another word.
When Sebastian returnsme to my room, he doesn’t leave as I expect. He lingers at the door, hand on the knob, back to me. And then, he steps into my room, closing the door behind him. He leans against the heavy wood, studying me from where he stands.
“She isn’t wrong,” he says. “I should not let you live as you do. Openly defying me. Refusing even the simplest of tasks. Wasting every meal we deliver. I should kill you, Grace Pruce. I should hand you over to Cora and let her dissect you for parts, until we can make something useful of your father’s blood.”
Tears roll down my cheeks, but I don’t break eye contact. I will not allow him to make me small, to make me as pathetic as Beatrice just looked.
“You are not wrong either,” he says. “We are not gods. We are vampires. And perhaps wedodeserve to burn.”
