Page 66 of Of Vows and War: Special Edition
Then I felt her magic. I basked in her aura. That was when I decided it had to have been whatever that pull was. Surely there was no other explanation for being so infatuated with someone that you would take their constant ire and the unending torment of knowing they are not yours over not having them near.
Genevieve made me realize I had been wrong. She did not feel like gravity in the way that Ash did. Asher was someone you could not help but love and want to follow. Genevieve though, was like the desert. She starved me of everything but her heat. Tortured me with the obsession of her endless reach. Nothing existed but her, and it hurt. I desperately wanted out of her grasp, and yet I found myself unable to escape. The mortal princess offered mirages in the form of her hurried affection or moans of pleasure, but when I got too close she stole it from me, proving that hope was futile.
As we approached the door to the tavern, I wished beyond anything that I could be free of her. More than that, I prayed to the gods that I never escaped her.
A bell rang above as I pushed the door open, Genevieve quickly letting go of me and walking forward. “We need a room, please.”
Was my jaw on the floor? Yes, it must have been.
Or maybe my ears were simply clogged with wax. Surely.
“Just one?” the fae behind the bar asked. Genevieve nodded in confirmation, reaching into my pocket and grabbing loose coins.
“Just for the night. We will also need drinks sent up. Something strong.” And then, without much care for how greatly she was overpaying, Genevieve tossed the gold at the male.
He stared at her in bafflement before nodding, grabbing the coin as quickly as he could and pocketing it. With no further words, he pulled a key off the wall behind him and handed it to her like she was a queen and it was his tithe payment.
Not another sound was uttered as she whipped her head around and began ascending the stairs. Gods above. I followed, saluting the still dumbstruck owner as I passed him.
Genevieve led us to the room that was marked with the same number as the key, unlocking it and nearly slamming the door in my face. Then, almost immediately, she turned and faced me with a menacing glare. What the fuck was happening?
“You will not touch me, breathe in my space, or even speak to me unless necessary. The only reason I got us a room was for my comfort and safety, understand?”
Throwing my hands up, I muttered, “Got it.”
A knock came not five minutes later, freeing me from my frozen state of horror. Genevieve had commandeered the bed, her body hidden beneath the blankets and her curls played out on the pillow. Opening the door, I was met with the same male from before. He held two exceptionally large bottles of who knew what, his smile large.
“The best whisky I have,” was all he offered me before shoving the bottles into my hand and practically prancing down the stairs. Oh, we overpaid bya lot.
“Your relief is here,” I said, closing the door with my shoulder and making my way to her. She did not pop out, so I took one of the bottles and pushed it beneath the blankets. Her sigh was outrageous, like someone who had lived so long they no longer saw the colors or vibrance of the world.
Ridiculous.
“Drink up, I would not want you to have to hide under there all day because you are too sober to enjoy my presence.” It was a low blow, a bitter one, but what was a male to do when the girl he loved acted like he was diseased?
“Oh please, you know that is not true,” she said, taking my bait. Glee filled me as she threw the blankets off of her. “Not even all the alcohol in the world could make me welcome your company.”
Her curls were a disaster atop her head, not even her fussing able to fix them. When she finally gave up with a curse and a huff, she popped the cork off the whisky and tipped it back. Greedily, I watched her throat bob as she took more and more of the drink. She did the same with me, took and took until she was full. I wished then that I could simply give it all to her.
“Why are you drinking so heavily?” I asked, walking over to the small wooden table. It did not even reach my hips, just barely high enough to graze my thighs. The chair was not much better, and I was forced to practically squat just to sit.
“Maybe I always drink this much. You do not know me, Henry, no matter how much you pretend you do.” Once more mumbling under her breath, she silenced her incoherent whispers with the bottle to her pink lips again.
Uncorking my own, I too drank. If she was going to be a drunk little priss then I would too. Back and forth we sipped, stealing glances at each other here and there. Until finally, I broke.
“What is it, Genevieve? Why are you so angry with me? How have I hurt you other than by simply fucking loving you?” There was a slight slur to my words, and I realized that there was no longer a bite or burn to the whisky as it sloshed into my mouth and down my throat.
“I do not want a lovesick puppy that sits in my lap and begs for attention only to yap and bite my ankles when I do not offerit!” she shouted, standing with a stumble. I wanted to rush to her—to steady her—and then shove her onto the bed and show her just how much of a dog I could be. Alas, I remained still. Trying to be good.
“You overestimate your allure, sweet princess.” There was a bite to my tone, proving her point. Groaning, I brought a hand to my face, rubbing at my skin and trying to remember why we were here in the first place.
“No, you overestimate my patience, idiot demon. I will never love you. There is no future in which we are together, no world in which I would ever stand by your side. So get over it!” Her accent was strong from the whiskey, that wicked tongue of hers sounding heavier and heavier as she swayed and yelled.
Rage and lust converged within me, twisting and turning and wreaking havoc in my mind. Standing as well, I pointed my finger towards her, taking quick and uneasy steps her way.
“You are a blight in my world. A stain on my life. Do you think I want to love you? That I dreamt of obsessing over some mortal girl? This is not what I wished for myself, Genevieve! Yet here I am, wanting you so desperately that I can think of nothing else! Every bit of this isyour fault!”
“My fault? How could it possibly bemyfault that you will not leave me alone? You are weak, pathetic!” Her arms flew up, her flowing white blouse lifting and exposing the creamy skin below her navel. Something within me snapped.
