Page 84 of A Heart of Bluestone

The faint glow of lanternlight brushes over the sunkissed hue of his cheek, the sharp cut of his jaw, the sawdust blond of his hair, and I think fleetingly that he looks like caramel caught in sunlight.

My mouth tightens with a twist.

He hasn’t noticed me yet. Or he has and he just isn’t bothered enough to look my way.

I could turn around—and go back to the washroom. I should do that, hide out a while and try my luck again in an hour or so.

The decision is made.

It thrums through me and the weight of my foot lifts off the floorboards, prepared to backstep my way around the corner, to safety.

I keep my eyes locked onto him. The lift of his chin, the contour that strikes across his cheek, the way that the grey sweatpants hang on his hips, barely held in place by the loosely fastened string.

My slipper flattens on the floorboards, silent.

I lean onto it, then slowly draw back the other one. I backstep around the corner, until—

The heel of my slipper catches on the edge of the rug,and slaps.

I still.

And Dray turns his chin, those pale diamonds finding me.

His lashes lower at the sight of me. A fleeting tick of his jaw.

My mouth puckers and I lift my chin.

I could still turn around and make a run for it.

But since Dray only considers me before turning back to study the portrait—the old, faded painting of an ordinary-looking woman in a big old dress, a pastiness to her complexion, a greying streak to her brown hair—I decide I can move forward.

Dray seems compelled to ignore me, still.

I take the chance that I am right.

My grip flexes on the silicone rim of the caddy. Bottles and phials rattle with each step I take down the corridor.

But as I get closer, Dray turns his back to the portrait, then leans against the wall, hands in his pockets.

The gleam of his eyes follows me, sharp under the dark length of his lashes. “You’ve been making friends.”

My frown is uncertain,cowardly. My steps don’t falter. I’m too close now, but too far from the way I came.

“It’s not any of your business,” I murmur.

His chin lowers before he picks at a ball of lint that’s stuck to the sleeve of his sweater. “The connections of a Craven happen to be my business.”

He flicks the lint pill onto my path.

So close now, just a few more heartbeats and I’ll be passing him. Then I can run. If I start now, he’ll catch me.

If he’s even inclined to.

It’s hard to tell, really.

His tone is so flippant as he says, “Or do you forget our alliance?”

I fight the roll of my eyes. “I have no alliance with you.”

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