Page 75 of Ghoul as a Cucumber

I glance into those pitch-black, fathomless eyes, and my heart does a little skip. What’s he going to do to me tonight?

A delicious shiver runs down my spine. I can’t wait to find out. And with Ambrose learning from the dark prince…

All those perverse things he’s whispered in my ear, which of them will he want to try first?

What will I let him do?

As Edward leans in close, his full lips resting in a pout, I know the answer is…anything.

“Edward, I…” I try to come up with the words, but they’ve disappeared beneath the intensity of his gaze and the molten lava coursing through my body. “Ambrose has something to tell you—”

“You were murdered!” Ambrose blurts out.

Edward’s eyes narrow. “Don’t toy with me, adventurer. I have ways of wringing truths from you that are more vicious than the Roman could even imagine.”

“I resent that,” Pax calls gleefully from the doorway. “I have an excellent imagination. Once I invented this drinking game where you have a turnip and a trident and—”

“I’m telling the truth!” Ambrose cries before we are subjected to an in-depth recitation of the rules for Pax’s turnip game. “We figured it all out. You didn’t merely fall out the window. You werepushed.”

“That’s why you have that bruise on your neck,” I explain. “It’s from someone’s hand.”

Edward rubs the spot on his neck, his dark eyes unfathomable.

“Your unfinished business was to find your murderer,” Ambrose waves the letter around. “Well, we’ve uncovered the truth for you.”

In a hurried breath, Ambrose excitedly explains his deductions into Edward’s unfinished business and how we found our way from the Countess de Rothschild to the Hugh Bancroft museum. He leaves off some of the more disturbing stuff I told him about Hugh’s secret room, which I think is wise.

“Hugh has a room in his house dedicated to me?” Edward’s eyes flash.

Of course, thatwouldbe the one feature Edward focuses on in this whole sordid tale.

“The guilt of what he did to you ate him up inside. I know it’s no consolation, but…” I place the letter on the table in front of him. “This is our proof. This is a letter where Hugh explains that he wanted you to give up your life in Grimwood and return to your father’s court to make him value the arts. This was what the two of you fought about before you fell. The countess heard you arguing right before glass smashed. It all makes sense.”

I unfurl the letter in front of Edward. His eyes scan the first couple of lines, but then he falters. “I…I don’t recall this letter at all.”

“Perhaps you blocked it out. It was dated only a few days before your death. According to the countess, you and Hugh quarrelled in your room mere minutes before you fell to your death.”

“I cannot believethis…” Edward’s eyes return to the letter. “That scoundrel pretended to be my friend. He thinks all my artistic works were mere pageantry? And then he had the audacity tostealmy work. Howdarehe? I’ll cut out his tongue. I’ll flay him with my own hands…no, that will be messy. I’ll…I’ll send Pax to deal with him!”

“Just say the word, prince.” Pax cracks his knuckles. “I’ll make ravioli out of his spleen.”

“Edward, Hugh’s already dead. He drowned in the Thames, haunted by the guilt of what he did to you. But I think you’re missing the point here. We’ve solved your unfinished business.”

“You…does this mean…” Edward’s eyes blow out. “You’ll bring me back to life again? I can be Living?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t wish to waste another moment without you in my arms.” Edward inclines his head. “You may begin my transformation.”

“Yes, I will. Right now. I just…” I grasp for the silver cord that twines from his chest, but it slips through my fingers. I try again, but the cord slides through my grip again, like a piece of spaghetti sliding off the edge of a plate. “Hmmm.”

“Hmmm? That’s not the noise my woman should make before I strip her and fill her belly button with sweet wine and sup—”

“No, hang on,” I place my hand on his chest, over the silver cord, closing my fingers around it. But it’s no use. Edward’s body isn’t glowing with light, either. Nothing feels right. “Something’s wrong.”

“Bree?” Ambrose’s voice rises with concern.

“Nothing’s wrong!” Edward puffs out his chest so that my hand sinks inside it, even as his face screws up in pain. “Who cares that what you’re doing is excruciating when I’m going to be a human again. It bothers me not that it feels as if you’re pulling my soul out through my nostrils when I’m going to be able to sweep you into my arms and finally,finally, I will show you what some princely cock will do and—oof.”

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