Page 61 of Blood Oath
Maybe Crypt is in just as bad shape.
One can only hope.
18
MAVEN
I’m making progress.
Silas appears to be getting increasingly agitated, Baelfire looks like he might be sick every time I pointedly avoid looking at him, and Everett is ruffled.
I should be patting myself on the back. Celebrating.
Instead, I feel almost…guilty.
Which is asinine. Mistreating them is the surest way to get them to hate me, and the sooner that happens, the sooner they’ll cut me out of their lives and quintet and move on. I have to force them to do that, so I must ignore the squeamish discontent writhing in my chest.
The moment potion crafting class is over, I try to bolt from the room. I leave Silas behind since he’s still putting one of his many potions in a vial—he made twice as many as anyone else in the class, all for me to use during First Placement despite how flippant I was about it.
But Baelfire is immediately behind me as I stride through the halls, still determined not to look at him.
“Maven, wait. Please wait. I’m—fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whispers so the other students eyeballing us on all sides won’t overhear.
They’re twice as whispery and nosy after my brief attempt to get Everett to flirt with me in front of the class. He’d blushed a bit but simply brushed me off, obviously annoyed with me. I only did it to try making Silas and Baelfire mad, but they seem far more frustrated with other things. Namely, Silas is still pissed I won’t let him heal the burns, and Baelfire wants to talk about what happened earlier, which will happen over my dead body.
“You just wanted to try something, you only had one rule, and I massively fucked it up,” he presses on, stopping abruptly to snarl at a random legacy who steps within five feet of me.
Admittedly, that’s a massive perk of walking anywhere near my rejected matches: they don’t let anyone else close to me. I’ll miss that when they learn to hate me.
As soon as the legacy bolts away, the Decimus turns baleful golden eyes back on me. I’m pretty sure he could melt anyone with that look. It’s so full of sincerity and heartache.
“Tell me how I can make it up to you. Want me to beg on my knees? I’ll fucking do it right now. Just…please talk to me about what happened. Yell at me if it helps.”
I pause, fully looking at him for the first time since I fled his room earlier. Considering his words, I lift my chin as an idea crosses my mind. “There is something you can do for me.”
“Anything.”
“Make me a blood oath.”
That pulls him up short, and he looks surprised. “Blood oaths are…really fucking serious. Not to mention, illegal unless a priest or priestess is overseeing it.”
“And?”
He studies me for a moment and shrugs. “And you’re right, I don’t give a shit about that. But what oath would you want me to make?”
“Promise to appeal to the gods for a different keeper and never speak to me again.”
Baelfire recoils. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“No. Fuck, no. Never going to happen. You’re my mate, Maven Oakley. Mine.”
His.
Ugh. Why must he be so gorgeous while making that declaration? It’s far more challenging to ignore how attractive he is now that I’ve seen him naked and stroked his hot, thick, veiny?—
No. Stop thinking about touching him.
