Page 115 of A Steeping of Blood
With a trembling exhale, Jin took Flick’s other hand and did the same, each swipe sending a zap of current through her veins. He turned to grab a roll of bandages from the other side of the bench and she tracedthe strain of his neck with her eyes, wishing she was bold enough to use her fingers. To touch the heron tattooed on his skin, to brush away the errant strands of his dark hair.
He straightened, unraveling the roll and gesturing for her to lift her arm so he could wrap it around her wrist, the tip of his tongue slipping out from the corner of his mouth as he focused on keeping the gauze straight and neat.
She was starting to wish she had more bruises to tend to.
“Almost through,” he said, his voice low and rough. He tucked the end with a satisfiedhmmand moved to her other wrist, winding the gauze around and around until he tucked that away too. Then he hesitated, and before she could ask what was wrong—or try to get the words out anyway—he flicked his gaze to hers and lifted her wrist to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the sliver of exposed skin.
Her exhale was a crush of a gasp, half knotted in her throat.
“The secret to speedy healing,” he explained, and flashed her a smile. It was the lovely lighting washing him in gold, it was the sweet scent of whatever dusted the air, it was the romantic wallpaper behind them—something,somethingpossessed her to lurch forward, and Flick stole his lips between hers.
Jin froze for a long, treacherous beat of her heart.
And then he was lifting her arms to his shoulders with tender hands and scooting closer and kissing her back. His lips were as soft as she remembered, but where they tasted bright before, they were darker now. Heady, the metallic tang of the blood he had sipped almost dangerously sweet.
His teeth grazed her lower lip with a groan, and heat surged through her, making her dizzy. He reached for her waist, tugging her even closer, adjusting his legs so they fit together in a way that made her heart soar, her pulse driving beneath her stomach.
She pulled away first, a realization sending her pulse roaring faster than the wings of a hummingbird. Jin studied her, smoothing back her hair and lifting up her chin. His eyes were glazed, and before he could press his lips closed, she saw the flash of his fangs.
“What is it?” he asked.
Did someone like Jin Casimir fall in love? Or was everything in his life temporary, lived in the thrill of the moment? She didn’t know, and so, she said nothing.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
“No!” she said far too quickly. “It’s not that, it’s… I—” Goodness, what was she supposed to say? “I like you, Jin. Quite abundantly.”
Relief washed over his features, too intense to have been surrounding this moment alone. It gave Flick hope.
“I like you too, Felicity. I cannot imagine an existence without you, much less an eternity,” he said, entwining his fingers with hers.
Flick pressed her other hand to her heart, afraid it would burst if she didn’t contain her emotions. Did that mean he wanted her to be a vampire too? Didshewant that? A question for another day, she supposed.
He laughed.
“Too much?” he asked, the light back in his eyes, however faint. “I can reel back the charm at any given moment, love.”
He was teasing, she knew, but she could tell from the tenderness in his eyes: He couldn’t reel it back even if he tried.
40JIN
Jin was undead, but he’d never once in his life felt more alive. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t kissed Flick before. He had missed her, yes, she was beautiful, yes, but the knowledge that he could have lost her as he’d lost his parents today was what made him realize how much he cared for her.
Loved her.
Bloody wicked knives, man.
And he was angry. It roiled beneath his skin, rising every time he blinked and saw the purple-and-green bruises on Flick’s arms, now hidden beneath ribbons of bandages. The Ram had hurt her. Worse, she had made her feel as though she were ruined, less than. Useless. Just when Jin had thought he couldn’t loath the monarch any more than he already did.
As they squeezed through the Athereum’s tunnel, he was grateful for the cold air that struck him like a blow. He could barely think as Matteo relayed the address of the Horned Guard minister he knew to Sidharth’s driver. The three of them climbed into the carriage, and Flick sat beside him, a vision against the moody reds and purples of the carriage interior.
“I never thought we’d be meeting the Council,” Matteo said, leaning back.
Jin didn’t know if he wanted to. He reached for the calling card in his pocket, an odd, weighted coin. It was rounded, compared to the Athereum marker, the shape reminding him of a piece of candy. Onlythis was metal, a dull, brushed gold with an engravedCin its center. Why had his father given it to Arthie and not him? Did he not think Jin was as capable as Arthie?
Don’t be silly; you know you aren’t.
“Flick can’t forge,” Jin said as the carriage trundled along. “So we’re going to have to convince them to join our side.”
