Page 30 of An Acquired Taste

“Like a flicker in the darkness,” Sebastian continues, his eyes lowering to the floor. I can tell he’s sinking inward, like he’s retreating from something, or someone. Is it me? “A single match in an endless cave…”

“But a light, nonetheless,” I say.

He blinks and looks up at me like he’d forgotten I was here. His expression goes thoughtful, and he nods. “Yes,” he says. “And that is always something to cherish.” His eyes linger on mine, and for a moment, I think I see something like gratitude in them.

Chapter Fifteen

“Come in,” I call, expecting it to be Ellen here to deliver breakfast and take my blood, as usual. But instead, it’s Trent who steps in with the tray containing my usual breakfast spread.

I sit up in bed, frowning. “Trent? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, his eyes on his shoes and his freckled cheeks aflame. “Just that Ellen’s unable to make it until later tonight, so I’m helping out.”

“I see.” It’s strange how quickly I’ve gotten used to our morning routine, but of course Ellen is her own person with needs. As soon as Trent shuffles over with the tray, I reach over to take my coffee. I sip it and lean back against my pillows with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. When I open them again, Trent is still standing there, wringing his hands.

“Um,” he says. “I’m also… supposed…”

“Oh, yeah. My blood.” I swap my coffee to my other hand and hold out my wrist for him.

Trent pulls out the tourniquet and syringe but hesitates. After a few moments of waiting, I glance up from my coffee to his face, and am alarmed to find him looking rather green-tinged and even more anxious than normal. “Is everything okay?”

“I… yes, of course,” he says, looking very much not okay. “It’s just that, um… I’ve never done this before. I’m certified, but,uh…” He grimaces. “I’m a little squeamish around blood, to be honest.”

I huff a laugh at the ridiculousness. I would tease him about working in the wrong household, but he already looks like he’s vibrating with nerves. And his anxiety is becoming infectious. I’m not so eager to have someone inexperienced prodding at my veins, especially when I need this done every morning. “Is there no one else who can do it?” I ask, pulling my wrist back.

Trent rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “Er… I could check…”

“No. You know what?” I down the rest of my coffee in a couple of gulps, set the mug aside, and reach out to grab the syringe from his hand. “This is ridiculous,” I say, climbing out of bed and getting to my feet. Trent looks away as he realizes I’m clad only in a gossamer nightgown, but I’m too full of righteous indignity to care. All of the important bits are covered, anyway. “There’s no reason why Lord Sebastian can’t get his own blood,” I say.Especiallyafter we spent yesterday evening together.

Trent’s eyes widen. “I’m not so sure he—”

“Atleastwhile Ellen is away,” I continue, ignoring him. I’m not going to stop and doubt myself; I have to ride this wave of anger as far as it will take me. I grab my toast off the breakfast tray, finish it in a few savage chomps, and stride toward the door. Trent trails after me, looking like he wants to argue but can’t quite find the words. I whirl to face him in the hallway, and he nearly plows right into me before catching himself. “Where is he?” I demand.

Any remaining intent to argue withers in the face of my determination. “Library,” Trent says in a small voice.

“Of course he is.” Always with the damn library. Like his books aresopreferential to my company. I march down the hallway, still in my nightgown, the wooden floors cold against my bare feet. At some point Trent stops following—probablyafraid to be complicit in my behavior—but I don’t pause to knock at the library door before entering.

Sebastian sits frozen in the same chair as last time, book in lap. For a moment, we just stare at one another. “What is it?” he asks. He slides a bookmark between the pages he’s reading, sets the book aside, and stands. “What’s wrong?”

I take a deep breath, pausing to collect myself and steady the rapid thumping of my heart.

Now that I’m here, in only my thin nightgown, I’m beginning to realize that this may be an ill-advised move. But I’m here, so I thrust out the syringe in his direction. He glances at it, and then up at me again, one eyebrow arching. “Ellen isn’t in today,” I say.

“I’m aware,” he says. “I sent Trent.”

I frown. I’m about to tell him there’s no way I’m letting an untrained boy jab a needle into my vein, but I don’t want to get Trent in trouble. So instead, I ask, “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

He grimaces. “Amelia,” he says, as though I’m being unreasonable. “I’d rather not.”

I flush. “Why?” I demand. “You did it yourself at the ball. I know you’re capable.”

His eyes flash. “It’s not a matter of capability.”

Perhaps it’s unwise, but I feel victorious summoning up any kind of emotion from those icy depths, so I press onward. “Then what?” I ask. “Do you not want it?” I flash back to the reactions of all the vampires who drank from me. “Are you even drinking the vials that Ellen takes?”

“Of course I am drinking them,” he snaps.

“Then what’s the issue?” Maybe he’s bluffing, trying to spare my feelings. Either way, I feel a sudden, urgent need to know. I step toward him, holding out the syringe in one hand and the bare wrist of the other. “Have it fresh.”

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