Page 118 of Blood and Buttercups

I’m surprised he doesn’t have a butler posted at each entrance.

I try not to gawk at the house as we pass through halls and rooms, feeling quite sure I’ve never seen this much hardwood, stone, or deer antler chandeliers in my life. All the curtains are drawn, and the lights are on, making it feel like it should be midnight and not midday.

“When were you infected?” I ask.

“Oh, let’s see,” he says absently, leading me into a large kitchen with granite counters and stainless steel as far as the eyes can see. “It’s been two years now. My first bite was just after New Year’s, and I had my second dose right around the end of March. And then I entered the final stage just before summer.” He chuckles to himself. “That was an adjustment.”

I’m on edge, not liking the casual way he talks about it.

“Do you miss the sun?”

“A little, yes. But the pros far outweigh the cons.”

“You can’t go outside unless it’s overcast or the sun is down, you have to drink blood, you’re on a carnivore diet, and you must take pills to remain sane.” I frown as he pulls a wine bottle from the fridge. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure I agree.”

“I was terminally ill with renal cell cancer.” He pulls two wineglasses from the cabinet. “The doctor gave me three months.”

I cross my arms, not sure how to respond to that.

“A friend of a friend knew a woman who claimed she could give me more time. I looked into it, and I found out she meanta lotmore time. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I could pay for immortality.”

“What’s the going rate these days?” I ask morbidly.

He chuckles. “Four million dollars.”

I choke a little. I’ve never even seen that much money.

Ethan gives me a wry look as he swirls the deep red liquid and pours it into the cups. “Don’t worry—I have no intention of charging you.”

“Shouldn’t that be…clotted?” I ask, grimacing at the smooth liquid.

“It’s a blend of cabernet, lion’s blood, and an all-natural, organic blood thinner. It’s far smoother than the synthetic concoction they most likely started you on.”

Speaking of my prescription, I’m due for my dose, but I’m not drinkingthat.

“Where’s Olivia?” I ask.

With a vexed expression crossing his face, he walks to an intercom and hits a button. A moment later, a man answers, “Yes, Mr. Brennan? How may I help you?”

“Miss Edwards would like to see her friend now. Is she available?”

“Olivia returned to her room about twenty minutes ago. Would you like me to have Marietta fetch her?”

“Yes, please.”

Ethan turns back to me and lifts a questioning hand. “There. Better?”

“You’re going to let her go,” I say. “That was part of the deal.”

“Yes.” He sighs—likeI’mbeing difficult. “Though it’s not as if being here has been a hardship for her.”

I don’t answer, instead choosing to wait in nervous silence until a maid enters the kitchen. Olivia is behind her, looking frazzled but physically okay.

When she sees me, she lets out a gasp of relief and hurries forward, hugging me hard as she whispers, “I’m so sorry, Piper.”

“It’s not your fault.” I pull back, my eyes zeroing in on her neck. “Are you all right?”

Her gaze cuts to Ethan, who merely leans against the kitchen island and sips his spiked blood. “I’m fine.”

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