“Okay,” she says. She’s still beaming at me, and it’s takingall my focus not to look at her mouth. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.”
“Five times minimum.”
“Can I try now?” she asks. She’s literally bouncing on her toes, as if she’s momentarily forgotten I’m the one trapping her here at all.
I take a step away, giving her space to move from the wall. She levels her feet shoulder-width apart and closes her eyes. Palms toward me, she scrunches her entire face as she concentrates.
Nothing happens.
We stand like this for a long time. Long enough, I finally allow myself a glance at her mouth. Her lips look soft, full, so fucking delicious I’m desperate to bite them. I’d happily bite any part of her. Her neck, her tits, her stomach, her thighs.
Fuck.
I fed this morning, but I’m clearly overdue. I need to eat more when she’s here. I make a mental note to do just that, and then I spend the next several minutes studying the ceiling of Grace’s bedroom.
I’m surprised nicer quarters weren’t on her damned list. Clothes. Entertainment. Food. But apparently this dingy closet-sized room is adequate for her. I glance at her twin-sized bed. I don’t recognize the blankets—I have no idea where Beatrice found them. They look old though, as if she dragged them out of a dusty attic.
She probably did.
I make another mental note, and then, I feel it. The softest pinch in my stomach that radiates down to my knees. It’s not enough to make me fall, but I have to shift my weight to keep from losing my balance.
Grace’s eyes are still closed. Her mouth is movingsilently, and I can’t decide if she’s muttering a spell or if she’s giving herself a pep talk. I doubt Cora has taught her a spell though. That’s too advanced, and the reminder pangs my stomach far harder than Grace’s attempt at magic.
We have so much work cut out for us, and if the witches realize she exists, we might not have the time to accomplish it.
“C’mon, Grace,” I bark. Her magic fades from my skin, but I push harder. “Do it. Think of how much you hate me.”
Her eyes flash open. Gone is the excitement, the twinkle of determination. The blue flames are back, framed by her slanted blonde eyebrows.
“Trust me, I’malwaysthinking how much I hate you,” she says. She closes her eyes again, but her face remains strained. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what?” I goad. “You’re too weak? Too soft?”
“Maybe,” she mutters.
I suck in a deep breath, even though I shouldn’t. Her scent fills the entire room, and this close, I can hear each pulse of her heart. Warm, decadent blood. So close, so devastatingly delicious.
“Fuck that,” I say. “You’re not. You tore a hole through my chest. You threw me across the room. So do it. Enough with the excuses. Make me?—”
Her magic rams against me like a drunkard, clumsy but effective. I don’t fall to my knees. It’s not a strong enough wave to fully take me down. Itisenough to send me staggering across the room. My legs feel unsteady, like they’re not entirely my own. I don’t stop moving until I’ve crashed against the opposite wall.
Almost immediately, Grace releases her hold on me. She leans forward, dropping her hands to her knees. Through heavy breaths, she stares at me, eyes bright with triumph.
“That’s one,” she says. She’s grinning, even as she gasps for air. “Only four more.”
“The challenge is to bring me to my knees,” I say. I make a grand gesture toward my legs. “Clearly, I’mnoton my knees.”
“Oh come on,” she says. Her voice pitches. She rises to her full height, only to slump back against the stone wall. “I still took you down! I moved you across a room—and on command!”
“I know,” I say. My lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “And it’s good. It’s progress.”
She rolls her eyes and starts for the bed, face already morphing into a scowl.
“What, no clothes then?” I ask.
Once again, her eyes spark, and for the moment, her demand of freedom is forgotten.
11
