Page 34 of A Heart of Bluestone

Head bowed, Dray’s deadly stare lifts up from beneath his lashes and pierces through me like polished swords.

The silence is deafening. It’s thick and suffocating, and I hardly hear the crackling fireplace through it.

Tremors steal my hands. I clench them into fists at my sides.

For a coward, I’m pretty damn foolish, too. Just never could snuff out that snark in me. Not with Dray, not with Oliver, not even with my father at times.

I get myself into all sorts of bother with this tongue.

“You must have tedious days if you’re seeking me out,” I start, as though my voice doesn’t croak under the weight of my pounding heart, as though he doesn’tseethe thrum of it below my clavicle. “Not enough to fill your time?”

Dray’s mouth whispers into a curve.

His smirk is so small and slight that it sends chills down me, all the way to my tailbone. Tiny hairs erect all over my body, as though a thousand invisible spiders are scrambling all over my flesh.

Dray keeps his stare locked onto me from beneath his lashes, a dangerous shadow cast over his face from the dim orange firelight.

“The tray wasn’t meant for you,” he says in a glacier voice, a careful enunciation of each word, and every one feels like a warning. “It was meant for theshrew.”

I don’t flinch at the slur.

It’s one I’m used to in my circles. A ghastly term for a made one. But it’s hardly bothering me right now.

I’m not too concerned with slurs.

I’m concerned that Dray might just shove me into the hearth and watch me burn.

“I know that.” My whisper betrays me. The reveal of my cowardice, like I just need to make myself as small as I can, and then he might leave me alone.

He never does.

Dray arches a shaped, dark eyebrow. Even that feels like an arrow notching. “And you still saw it fit to stop me?”

Dray kicks from the door. In one step, just one step that has my whole body clenching, he unfolds his arms from his chest, then slips his hands into his trouser pockets.

Slowly,casually, he advances on me.

The suspense of it is a torture in itself.

He knows it. That’s why he does it. To quicken my heartrate, to curl my toes, to set my teeth on edge.

“I don’t like my plans to be interfered with, Olivia.” The firelight deepens the dark hues of his sweater, the cashmere turning to spilled ink. “I especially don’t like littlewaifs—” I frown at the harsh infliction behind the word, like the muscles under my face just won’t submit and twist fully into a scowl. “—spoiling anything I do.”

I lift my chin with the courage I don’t possess.

It’s just attitude, that’s what my grandmother says. ‘Born bad, this one, a rotten attitude.’

Still, my bottom lip trembles with my voice, “There was a time you didn’t mind anything I did.”

Dray’s smirk fades from his pink lips.

Out the corner of my eye, Oliver shakes his head, a slight gesture. Serena stills, pauses picking at her nails, and slowly, turns her chin to her shoulder.

The scoff comes from Landon, his shoulders jerking with it. A scoff, not of laughter, but disbelief.

I shouldn’t backtalk at all.

I should shut my fucking mouth and get on with it. Take my punishment. But…

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