Page 60 of This Violent Light
“She requested you,” Cora says. “And something called Pad Thai. She said you’d know what that means.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say. My words are close to a growl, but Cora doesn’t seem to take the hint.
“If she’s causing too many problems,” she says. “Perhaps she can stay in my room. You’ll know she’s safe, and my smell alone will keep vampires from breaking down her door.”
She’s fishing still. I can hear it. Saying one thing, hoping to reveal another. Grace must have said something. She probably told Cora that we’re an item now, that we’re having Pad Thai for date night or whatever the fuck it is humans do in the mortal world.
“You’re dismissed,” I say again, harder this time. When Cora starts speaking, I cut her off immediately. “I’ve already murdered six people today. I would rather not add you to the list.”
It’s cruel, but effective. Cora doesn’t look back as she strides from the room, chin proudly lifted, as if she’s not bothered by me. And maybe she’s not, maybe she knows she has this embarrassing truth over my head.
I flex my hands again. I should storm straight to Grace’s room and set the record straight.
She kissed me.
I kissed her back, but only because I’m a man. A simple man with simple urges.
She’s lucky I didn’t kill her, and if she so much as thinks about trying it again, I will.
I stare at the empty doorway for a prolonged moment before finally striding to the bathroom. I’ll do all of those things, but first, I’m going to shower.
I strip out of my pants and socks, leaving them strewn across the tiled bathroom floor. A quick glance in the mirror confirms what I already know: I’m soaked in blood. Even with my clothes discarded, dark red stains my skin. I stare for another moment before cranking the shower water as hot as it will go.
Aside from the clawfoot tub, which is white and gold, everything else in the bathroom is black. The interior of the shower is black tiles and a collection of soap containers on the wall. I dump an excess of soap in my right palm and use it to wash my hair and body.
I don’t realize I’ve avoided my left hand entirely until it’s the only place blood remains. Water thunders against my chest as I hold my bloodied hand in front of me. Even without smelling it, I know it’s hers. I’d held this hand against her face, right where she’d smeared her own blood.
Despite knowing better, I press the hand to my lips, trailing my tongue over my palm. Sharp electricity spears through me. My cock is already hard. My brain is already fuzzy, desperate, needy.
Fucking needy little witch.
It’s her fault. Kissing me, touching me, when she has no right fucking with my head.
It’s her fault I’m licking her blood off my finger.
It’s her fault I’m gripping my shaft, fucking my bloodied hand, pretending it’s her warm cunt instead.
I let the thoughts consume me, until I’m thinking only of her soft skin and her sunshine hair and those blue eyes. Until I’m coming so hard I lose my balance and have to steady my opposite hand against the wall. My cum spurts across the black tile, and I gasp as I get control of myself.
I stare at the mess, feeling relief and irritation flare through me all at once. I feel better, and yet, I already know, it’s not enough. One kiss, and she’s turned me as needy as she is.
I curse. Wash the rest of her blood off me and pretend I can’t still smell her. Shut off the steaming water and throw on a fresh pair of clothes.
Grace has started a dangerous game, and now it’s time for me to end it.
When I knock,she ignores me. I know she’s in her quarters—Oskar told me as much after I dismissed him. He lingers behind me, undoubtedly grinning. I shouldn’t have knocked. It seemed like the thing to do, given the day’s events, but I already regret it. I’ve set a precedent, an expectation that, just because we kissed, I’ll now be a gentleman and not walk in unannounced whenever I please.
I lift my hand, pausing with it on the doorknob.
“Hells,” I mutter.
I ignore Oskar’s snickering behind me and shove into Grace’s room. Surprisingly, she’s not in bed. She’s just reaching the door, and she stumbles back to avoid getting struck.
Her blonde eyebrows slant, and her mouth mirrors them.
I know what that mouth tastes like.
It’s a stupid, unnecessary thought, especially right now. I grit my teeth, banishing it and all similar ideas from my head.
