Page 44 of This Violent Light
Worse, I’ve memorized her insecurities too. Her demands. Her wants. Her endless fucking needs.
In the week since she got new clothes, she’s added multiple items to her list. A pair of shoes like the ones she saw Beatrice wearing (granted). A mirror in her bedroom (denied—potential weapon). Makeup and face wash from the human world (granted, though according to Grace, Amelia gotallthe wrong stuff).
Still, I’ve realized there is nothing Grace demands more of than herself.
Cora stands in the kitchen, leaned against the counter. She holds a mug of tea, watching me through the rising steam. Whatever she’s drinking today smells of mint and dirt. I raise my eyebrow in a silent question.
“That counts as asking,” Grace says. She presses closer, glaring at me. She’s tall for a woman, only an inch or two shorter than I am. “If youmustknow, Sebastian, today was terrible. I didn’t move a pillow or change the color of Cora’s mug or even freaking feel a single thing. Ifailed, okay?”
She’s breathing hard now, chest heaving as her face flushes with blood. I’ve been engorging myself for the past week, feeding twice daily until I feel sick with it. I’ve brought two new bloodletters from the neutral territory, keeping them on site for twice what I’d normally pay.
It doesn’t matter. It’s not enough, and I’m starting to doubt there ever will be enough.
Her scent fills my every breath, until all I can smell is delicate lavender and hot blood andGrace. Despite the fullness in my gut, I hold my breath in my throat.
Fuck.
“Can we go now?” she asks. Her blue eyes are wild, darkened with whatever makeup Amelia brought back from thehuman realm. She might think it was the wrong stuff, but hells, she looks stunning.
“No,” I say. My voice is steady, even as my thoughts spiral away from me. “We need to get past this, Grace. You should be farther than?—”
“I know,” she snaps. “Trust me, I know, Sebastian. I know. Unfortunately for you, I’m an incompetentidiot. I can’t do anything right. Not even a basic kid’s spell. So you can forget about me breaking the curse. I’m too stupid?—”
I capture her chin between my thumb and index finger. She startles, falling silent. I’m frozen too. I hadn’t planned to touch her, and now, I can feel the heat of her skin, her blood, beneath my fingers.
She’s so soft, so fragile. I could crush her bones with my bare hand, and it would be nauseatingly easy. It makes me want to push her away, out of sight, out of harm’s way.
It makes me want to pull her closer.
That choice feels easier. A tiny tug, and she steps into me. I tilt her chin, forcing her eyes to mine.
“You are not stupid,” I say. I glance at Cora, then back to Grace. Her eyes are blue, but not like flames. Like shallow water. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t need to be told,” Grace says. Her eyes remain firm on mine, but her mouth bobs as she searches for something to say. Finally, she wets her lips, and I can’t help tracking the movement. Her lower lip glistens as she speaks. “I know who I am, Sebastian, or at least who I used to be. I was fun. I was happy. I was kind. I liked who I was, but I also knew who I wasn’t. I wasn’t smart. Or strong. Or interesting. Coming here might have changed my life, but it hasn’t changed me.”
I stare into her eyes, letting a brief silence fall over us. I’m grasping for something to say, for a way to give herconfidence. To make her understand she’s more than she realizes. Far, far more.
But I’m not like Grace. I don’t know how to be fun or happy or kind. I only know violence and anger and pain, and none of those are particularly useful right now.
“Oh this place will change you,” Cora says. She’s still in the kitchen, her voice high and mocking. “Just wait…”
I don’t acknowledge the resident witch, and Grace doesn’t either. She’s staring at me as intensely as I am her. It’s only the reminder of our audience that makes me move. I release Grace’s chin and guide her into the hallway. Without telling Cora goodbye, I close the door between us.
Grace doesn’t speak as we walk through the manor. She keeps her arms tight at her sides, and if she’s bothered by my hand on her back, she doesn’t show it. Her eyes have shifted into the color of ice.
We’re several turns in the wrong direction before Grace glances at me.
“My cell is the other way. Where are we going?”
“The ballroom.”
She instantly stiffens beneath my touch, and my stomach tightens in response. It’s not that I regret the incident with the Nectoa, and yet, a part of me wants to erase it. For me. For her.
She’s quiet as we walk, and though I grasp for something to say, I am too. Before long, the heavy oak doors come into view. Grace stops, turning to face me.
“So that’s it then?” she asks. Her voice cracks. Her eyes water, making them bluer. Brighter. Prettier.
“I am not going to hurt you,” I say.
