Page 12 of Blood Gift

“No. You shouldn’t have. Why would I not feel conflict over my sister’s death?” The words almost choked me. Damn. I used to be such a good liar, too. “I’m the reason she walked into that situation. I’m the reason she’s gone.” Because I couldn’t refer to her as being dead without guilt stabbing me in the chest.

“You weren’t responsible for what Kristoff did to you.”

“Yes. I know that. But it’s like the nightmares.” I tapped the side of my head. “It’s one thing to know it but another thing to actually know it.” I picked up my purse and went to the door—better to go for a cup of coffee I’d said I didn’t want anymore, than to stick around and rehash the same lies.

Does he know?

I stole a glance out of the corner of my eye as we left the store side-by-side once I made my purchase.

In his jeans and leather jacket with sunglasses to complete the look, he was a heartbreaker. I’d get lots of dirty looks from all the average, everyday humans who wished they could be with him instead.

If they only had a clue who they were lusting over—and what he lusted over, which was definitely not flesh.

If he knew Mariya wasn’t really dead, he had a fantastic poker face.

Was this some sort of reverse psychology situation, where he was waiting for me to break down? Would he be more and more sympathetic until I crumbled and admitted it was all a story made up by me?

That was obviously not going to happen. I wasn’t going to get Elias killed for leaving the Nightwardens, especially since I was the one who told them to run away together.

I had covered well up to this point and had no intention of screwing things up.

The coffee shop windows were all done up for Halloween.

I rolled my eyes. “The most wonderful time of the year,” I whispered to Holden as we walked in and he ducked to avoid the paper bats hanging from the ceiling.

I couldn’t help laughing at him a little.

“I would think you’d feel right at home,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Please. I wish I had the time to go through all the ways they get it wrong.”

He knew I was talking about humans, with their completely bastardized traditions and rituals. Witches with pointy hats and broomsticks. How did they think women sat on those damn things? I wished somebody would try to get me on a broomstick. They’d end up with the business end sticking out of their ass.

“Isn’t it better that they don’t know what to look for?” he murmured, elbowing his way through far too many people.

But it was a Sunday, late morning, and the craving for pumpkin spice latte was too much for humans to resist.

If I never saw another girl take a photo of a cup of coffee to upload to social media, I would die happy.

“You mean it’s better that they don’t know we walk among them?” I asked as I got in what I guessed was the line.

I was starting to regret my decision, but humans weren’t the only ones with a craving for pumpkin everything. One of the few areas where I could relate to them.

“Exactly. It’s good cover.”

“It’s insulting,” I muttered, grinding my teeth. Orange and black crepe paper, how tacky. Who chose the colors, anyway? “It’s one of our most important festivals, and they treat it like an excuse to bother the neighbors and develop cavities.”

“I’m sure Christians feel the same way about Christmas,” he offered.

“You’re just trying to pick a fight, aren’t you?” I sneered up at him. “That was one of our feast days, and they took it for themselves. Even I know Jesus Christ wasn’t born in December.”

“I didn’t know it was a sore spot for you.”

“Don’t get me started.”

“I would never get you started on purpose, believe me.”

“Ha, ha.” I looked around, already bored with the conversation.

---