Page 142 of Blood & Betrayals

Yes, little fae. Later.

I swallow, my breaths coming out shallow and labored. 1015 calls me little fae. Could this be the same person? Or is this just a massive coincidence? Another person who sees me as weak. Is this fear I’m feeling? Yes, but it feels different.

Are you watching me?

The pen glides across the paper, and I look down at what I wrote. I quietly curse myself for asking the question. My hair is standing up on the back of my neck, and I can feel eyes on me from every direction.

Yes.

The answer comes after a single beat, a fraction longer than it took last time. Was there a note of hesitation? My head snaps up, and I look around, still finding nothing out of the ordinary. But there is still that feeling of nails raking down my spine.

You won’t find me, little fae. But don’t worry. I’m not a threat.

The words appear beneath his latest message, and they’re almost comical. Nothing about this situation feels non-threatening.

My heart thunders in my chest as I press the tip of the pen to the crisp white paper.

Are you a liar?

It is a useless question. What liar admits to lying?

Not to you.

And for some weird, sick, twisted reason, I believe the words I’m reading.

Tell me who you are.

A stranger.

That isn’t an answer.

It is the only one I can give you.

I feel a wave of rage, and I turn the page, the paper tearing a little. I open my textbook to a chapter on the realm of Gytera and begin taking copious notes, trying to distract myself. My pen stutters on the page as a new message forms on the next line, stopping me from continuing.

You’re getting very used to getting your way.

I growl and angrily score out the message so hard that the paper tears under my pen.

Brat.

The word shocks me into pausing, and I grip the pen so tight it creaks in my hand.

Constantly needing to get your own way.

I slam the notebook shut and lunge to my feet, shoving the textbook into my bag. I draw a rune on the cover and throw the notebook into the trash can on my way out of the library. It immediately bursts into flames, a contained inferno that reduces the notebook to ash and cinders. By the time I’ve calmed down enough to notice that the sun is setting, I’m almost home. Irritation ignites in me again. My rage with a faceless weirdo has kept me away from both studying and enjoying this beautiful evening.

Alice is lounging on the couch, cradling a bottle of red wine. She has her legs tucked up, leaving just enough room for me to collapse next to her on the couch. Alice holds the bottle out to me, not saying anything, not even moving her gaze from the television. Sighing, I take it and gulp down a few deep mouthfuls, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“You know, for vampire royalty, you have shit taste in wine.”

Alice finally drags her gaze away from the television to look at me. “It’s not my fault your palate is as refined as a haystack.”

I flip her off, but my lips twitch. I take another deep drink, settling into the burn of the alcohol as it travels down my throat and sits comfortably in my stomach.

“Connor came round,” Alice says, having turned her attention back to the television.

“Oh?” I pull my phone from my bag and start scrolling through my messages.

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