“Is that guy going to bring me dinner?” she asks, jolting me from my thoughts. “I’m getting hungry.”
So am I, I realize. Not hungry, exactly, but less than overstuffed. It’s dangerous, considering we’re confined together.
“I’ll call for him,” I say. I cross the room, only pausing once I’ve reached the door.
I rattle my brain, desperate for some meaningful parting words. Instead, my mind remains blank, and I eventually leave her, lying on her bed and wishing she’d ask me to stay.
14
DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT
GRACE
Sebastian looks good on his knees.
It’s not the most practical thought when I’m supposed to be concentrating. Cora has us stationed in the middle of the auditorium, a large room, but still a fraction the size of the ballroom. Sebastian is on his knees, and I stand before him, palms aimed at his shoulders.
He looks stunning. Dark blond hair tousled, mussed from where he’s run his hand through it too many times. Sharp jawline highlighted by the sunlight pooling through the window. Green eyes turned up at me, gazing like he’s at my mercy.
He’s not.
It’s only an illusion.
I stretch my fingers, flaying my hands as wide as they’ll go. Cora said it can help distribute the magic. I’m not convinced, and not only because I’ve failed every single exercise we’ve attempted today.
“All right, center yourself,” Cora coaches from the wall. She’s standing far enough away that when I look down, it’s only Sebastian I see, as if we are alone.
My thoughts try to run from me. They’ve been doing that often, especially in the days since he watched a movie with me. He’s been different since that day, and my mind keeps forgetting it’s not reality.
I might be stupid, but I’m not a fool. I know when I’m being played, and Sebastian the Vampire King is playing me. He’s trying to be buddy-buddy so I let my guard down and erupt with magical powers—or whatever the hell is supposed to happen. He, like Cora and Oskar and everyone else, thinks my magic comes down to mental energy.
I haven’t admitted this out loud yet, but I’m still questioning whether I’m the person they think I am. What if Walter Pruce wasn’t actually my father? What if I’m just a half-witch he happened to discover on the East coast during his travels? And what if?—
“Focus, Grace!”
I try. I really do. It’s just hard when Sebastian is gazing up at me, looking far more man than he does vampire. He’s unjustly good-looking. He might be faking being a decent person, but there’s nothing fake about how good he looks right now.
I can imagine this scene unraveling in a completely different way. Instead of keeping him on his knees with magic, I do it with charm alone. I rest my foot on his shoulder, let him kiss my inner thigh, all the way up to my center. My core clenches just at the thought of his tongue meeting my clit.
I wonder if he’s good at it.
Hemustbe. He’s a vampire, damn it. He’s probably had a hundred years of practice.
Then again, vampires tend to move in hyperspeed, and maybe sex is no different. He’d come before I realized we’d even started.
“On the count of three,” Cora says. Her voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts, but it’s far too late.
The goal of this exercise is to keep Sebastian on his knees. It’s supposedly easier than knocking him down, but so far, I’ve yet to restrain him. And now that my mind has drifted, I’m royally screwed. I’m definitely not centered, but I can’t let them know that. I glare at my hands, like I’m deep in concentration, furrowing my brows for full effect.
“One,” she says. Her voice echoes to the high-arched ceilings. “Two. Three!”
My magic is nothing but a buzz in my fingertips. It’s the most pathetic attempt I’ve had out of the ten we’ve done this hour. Sebastian rises to his feet as if I haven’t touched him, and I’m honestly not sure I have.
I drop my hands, gasping for breath. My magic barely made an appearance, and yet, I’m exhausted. My clothes are damp with sweat, and there are droplets—actualdroplets—of moisture on my forehead. Thank god I opted not to wear makeup, otherwise it’d be all over my face.
“Pathetic!” Cora screams. “That was the worst one yet.”
“I know,” I say. It comes out as a groan. “It’s not working.”
