Page 80 of Blood Oath
They want to know the real me? Fine.
Tipping the glass back, I down it. All of it. The flavor is unexpected but pleasant, the alcohol warming me up from the inside out. By the time I’m done and I set the glass down, even Silas looks impressed but faintly alarmed.
Swiping a drop from my lips with my pinky, I pop it into my mouth and shrug. “So am I.”
Bael’s attention is pinned on my mouth. “Fuck me, that was hot.”
Oh. I didn’t think that through. Now, I have the undivided attention of four ravenous legacies. It doesn’t help that the fae mead is spreading as a pleasant warmth throughout my system, relaxing my muscles and loosening my tongue. It’s not as heady as the buzz I get from a kill, but this is still dangerous territory.
What if I let something slip in this state?
Better to retreat.
Standing, I grab my plate and walk to the kitchen. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed early.”
“Wait.” Baelfire hurries after me. “Stay a little longer. What about dessert?”
I want all of you for dessert.
No. Bad Maven. This is why I avoid alcohol.
Silas is suddenly on my other side, gingerly taking the plate from my hands to put it in the sink himself. “You promised to give us a chance.”
“No, I promised a day of pretending we’re a real quintet. Even though we never will be,” I tack on forcefully because it’s imperative that they finally grasp that.
“This was hardly a full day. Keep your promise and give us tomorrow.”
I scowl. “I will not just play house with you four all day. I came here for a reason.”
Shit. What was my excuse again? I can’t think of it when they’re both so close looking at me like this while the fae mead starts to kick in.
“Right. The wedding. We’ll be your dates,” Baelfire beams. “Everett will get rid of the snowstorm once you promise we can go with you.”
“No. I’m going alone.”
Because there is no wedding, and I have a shifter to kill.
“We’ll just follow after you,” Silas challenges. “I hope your relative doesn’t mind legacies crashing the party.”
Gods, why are they such bossy, annoyingly attractive men?
“Unless you didn’t come for a wedding after all. Perhaps you came to meet with…others.” Silas’s voice has lowered, and he’s studying me like he would dissemble my mind to get an answer.
But I don’t know what answer he’s looking for. What others would I be meeting with? I can’t think of a response to play my cards close to the vest. I’m too damn tired, thanks to that episode.
Crypt must have moved through Limbo because he steps out directly in front of me, studying my face as one corner of his lips drags down slightly.
“Let our girl go to bed. She’s exhausted.”
Dream-walking incubi like him can sense that. Usually, it would bother me that he can tell I’m dead on my feet, but I let it go because it finally gets Silas to soften, too.
“Just keep your promise of one day. Let us have tomorrow with you. No games.”
I frown at him. He thinks I’ve been playing games? Since when? For the last few days, I’ve successfully driven him up a wall. Where did all that annoyance and frustration I’ve worked so hard to cultivate in him go?
“Fine,” I relent, stepping around Crypt. “But if any of you try to bother me while I’m sleeping in, I’m gone.”
Truthfully, I plan on slipping out early in the morning to kill Lykoudis and get his heart. Hopefully, the snowstorm will have calmed by then. Leaving them in the kitchen, I retreat to the guest room I picked and prepare for an early bedtime before dropping onto the luxuriously soft bed with a groan.
