Page 46 of Hupotasso
“Jag’s sweets cupboard?”
I sigh and wave my hand at her, signifying this is of little importance, but answer her all the same, hoping it will distract her from my comment about the baby.
“He established it centuries ago and ensures it’s always stocked. He haunts the kitchens, fancying himselfa chef. He has a notoriously sweet tooth and a penchant for cooking disgustingly decadent desserts.”
“I married the wrong vampire,” she snorts.
I grit my teeth at the sudden jealousy that flares at her words. It’s as ridiculous as it is short-lived, but my fangs descend all the same.
“Like I said,” I snap. “I’ll allow you more freedom. Kitchens, library, dining room. But don’t venture back near Sophie.”
I don’t know why I offer this. It makes no sense to have her roaming the castle. But I know how much she loves to read, and it just slipped out as a feeling hit me. One I’m not familiar with.
‘Guilt’
“Falcon!” She shouts after me as I leave, “What did you mean before? What did you mean about our child?”
I shake my head. Of course I hadn’t distracted her.
Her words ring in my ears as I stalk towards my study.
‘Our child.’
Yes, it would be. Half hers, half mine. Would it look at me with her eyes or mine? And either way, could I truly kill it at birth? Would I kill a baby? And if I’m honest, could I kill Angelina?
I shake my head.
‘She’s just a woman, a human woman, and I’ve lost count of how many I’ve killed over the centuries. She’s no different to my daily meals.’
But the sting of Jag’s words ring in my ears.
“Your father would be proud.”
35
When Eleanor sees my ashen face she stands up and walks towards me, arms open, and for the first time, I walk into them.
“What is it?” She whispers as she draws me to her sumptuous sofa before the fire.
I don’t know where to start. Should I tell her that I’ve been to the kitchens and met Asumpta? Or that I begin to fear Falcon is going to do something awful to any future child of ours, after he just intimated it won’t be raised under his roof?
And then there’s the issue of the templates.
Either way, boy or girl, any child of mine is going to end badly.
Unless I get out of here.
I brush the hair from my eyes and think about where to begin as she pours us both a cup of tea.
As usual, she looks immaculate and I look like something Giselle would say the dog had dragged in.
“This is starting to become a habit,” I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You know I love our little drinks and conversations.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she smiles gently. “Angie, I’ve been right where you are. I know it’s none of my business, your marriage…”
