Page 31 of Blood & Ice

He sounded resigned, not angry. He’d finally begun to adaptto dating an ex-witch. He’d been old-fashioned in the beginning, trying to act like a gallant knight. It wasn’t the way to a witch’s heart. He was slowly learning I liked to fight my own battles, not rely on rescue.

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” He sighed. “Give me a minute to step out and make a call.”

“Who are you going to call?”

He shrugged like that much should have been obvious. “Father has earned a favor from Aurea, so she’s been letting me mirror-walk back and forth from here to Blood Rose. I’ll give you an ETA when I have one.”

My throat felt tight. I wanted to cry. Wanted to shake Maverick and scream at him to wake up. This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed toactuallydrop dead. Or a very close equivalent. The four of them were supposedly locked in, unable to move but able to think. It had to be terrifying. If traumatic shit kept happening in this town, I was going to have to nominate someone as a therapist. At this point, we all deserved some time on someone’s couch.

“Thank you.”

Rook smiled gently and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Anything for you.”

“I’m counting on that, actually.”

Chapter Seventeen

Astrid

Aurea Grimsbane’s office was an odd mix of macabre library and apothecary.

And not the cheerful kind, like Poppy’s Potions. Poppy’s shop always reminded me of springtime, regardless of the season. She was a sunny person, and that light shone through in her magic. As a white witch myself, I liked that in a person.

I winced. I’d done it again. Thought of that blasted word.Witch. I wasn’t a witch anymore. I wasn’t even a full vampire. I was a rare magical crossbreed with the appetites of a bloodsucker. There weren’t enough of us to be given an official name. Every time I thought I’d gotten past the loneliness of the thought, it sucker-punched me again. What Valserak had done to me hadn’t just felt like murder. It had felt like an assault. He’d hurt me and turned me by force, sending me sobbing to my grave. He’d stolen my dignity, my sense of safety, and my identity in just that one move, not to mention everything that came after.

I scrubbed discreetly at my mouth, trying to erase the feeling of Valserak’s mouth on mine. I knew the kiss wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me in that cellar, but it still bothered me. I’d never been kissed by someone I didn’t want before that night. Even worse, some part of my vampire brain had responded to it, compelled by the power of my sire. Even now, after exchanging blood with Rook in a sort of pseudo-official ritual to make him my sire, I didn’t feel like his. My sire was dead, but some part of me missed him against my own will. It was sick and twisted. If I could have performed necromancy, I would have brought him back just to stake him all over again.

At least I had someone who could commiserate on that point. A British soldier had turned Lorcan during the WicklowRebellion in 1789. Lorcan had never told me whether he’d hunted the guy down and killed him. He’d never wanted to reveal a dark past to his quasi-daughter, as though it would make him anything less than a badass in my eyes.

Adults were weird sometimes.

The red and green rugs just beyond Aurea’s new mirror bunched a little when Rook stepped through, carrying me like a limp burden in his arms. I hadn’t been entirely sure that I could look at the foul hag without giving her the evil eye. I doubted I had something that dark in me, but by the goddess, I’d give it a shot if she provoked me. And right now, even breathing wrong in our direction might provoke me. Rook seemed to know it too, because he’d convinced me to down a number of boozy blood cocktails before returning with him. It was an easier explanation: that Rook had brought his drunk girlfriend back to his room when the truth was that I wanted nothing more than to leap across the desk to claw her eyes out. She already had a low enough opinion of Rook to believe the worst of him.

Roy hadn’t been happy to make the alcohol for me. Couldn’t blame the guy. He had a liquor license to think about. Even supernatural customers liked to drink, and I looked underage, though I wasn’t. The blood mead had been great, though.

I leaned my forehead against Rook’s shoulder, mouth slightly parted as though asleep. Vampirescouldpass out from drink, but it took a lot more to put us on our asses than most. Rook curled me closer to his body when the headmistress spoke, voice more strident than usual. From the bunch in his shoulders, he’d anticipated the tension that was already crackling up my spine. The desire to go for her throat.

She’d hurt my family, and I wanted her blood for it.

“The next time you call at this hour, I will hex you, Thorne,” Aurea said crisply. “I expressly told your father passage to and from that silly Hollow is only to be done at dusk. I don’t havetime to accommodate your late-night antics.”

“Meredith, Astrid, and I were at a club,” Rook said, managing to inject enough arrogance into the words that evenIthought he was begging for a backhand. “She started acting weird, and I’m pretty sure someone slipped something in her drink when she wasn’t looking.”

“They don’t have a doctor in Haven Hollow?” Aurea asked in a would-be calm voice.

She wasn’t. I could feel her rage from here. She blamed Rook for Vivian’s death. I could practically taste the words she wasn’t saying. She blamed all vampires, but especially this one.

I couldn’t even fault her, either. The Thornes had killed many members of her family. I’d never know how many witches Rook and his dad had killed, but I knew the number wasn’t zero. If I’d been in her position, I would have looked at Rook as a suspect too. Her own magic had disproved that theory, but it didn’t mean she didn’t hold him responsible, in part. His grandfather had started the war—after all. Robertus Thorne had killed Alixia Grimsbane in cold blood and all of us that came after had suffered for it.

I dared a peek between my lashes, staring up at Rook. We’d made the ruse look good, dressing up in appropriate club wear. It had almost been worth it to see Rook’s face when I stepped out of the bathroom wearing one of Wanda’s designer cocktail dresses. The simple black dress looked elegant, flirting with the idea of being racy. Paired with the heels, I actually looked leggy. I hoped one day we could make the story a reality, dancing together to a bass beat under the pulsing lights. Rook’s hair was artfully mussed. Honestly, I thought he might have gone a little too far with the gel. There was a fine line between tousled and porcupine and he was dancing on it.

“I trust Uncle Bernhard,” Rook said quietly. “I know she’ll be safe in the infirmary.”

I could almost hear the smile in Aurea’s voice. It was a nasty, sneering smile that could barely contain the poison she wanted to spit at him. It was evident in her voice when she muttered, “That makes one of us, Thorne.”

It was a lie. Rook didn’t trust any of his uncles. Most had died sometime during the Blood Wars, but two still lived out their existence at Blood Rose. Berhard was an old-school surgeon, coming of age when leeches were still standard treatment. Donahue was a weapons master, training elite members of the night class in medieval weaponry. I had a class with him next semester.

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