Page 89 of These Vile Hearts

A melancholy smile paints her features blue. She presses a hand to my cheek. “Well, I’ve met very few lovable people, and you happen to be one of them. It’s extremely rude.”

“Me being lovable is rude?” I force a smile.

She nods, closing her eyes. “You have no idea how rude.”

Oh, but I do.

Pressure builds in my eyes and in my throat. I take a slow, steadying breath. I would love to not cry right now. Judging from how dry and aching my eyes are, I’m afraid I may have already done that last night, which probably made Maddox fall instantly in love with me.

Her lips are mismatched in size, I’ve just noticed. The top is small and perfectly pointed like the letterM; the bottom is full and waiting to be enveloped by someone else’s. An ever-present pout. Last night’s rage-filled kiss wraps around us like a palpable memory. Her slow breathing hitches, and I catch her gaze on my mouth too.

I press my lips to her forehead, whispering, “Only a monster would find someone like me lovable.”

“Oh, have you not heard?” she whispers back. “I’m the mortal queen of the monsters.”

27

Maddox

Trying to leave Castor’s Nightshade home feels like the moment right before I gave myself my first injection. When my hand hovered over my stomach with the needle, almost jabbing it in but stopping right before. Because it felt wrong, purposefully causing myself pain.

Castor’s incessant fussing over me does nothing to help the matter.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You don’t want to stay and rest?”

“I can make you some coffee.”

“Here, I’m making you some coffee—don’t say no.”

Then he does, of course. And when I ask how he learned to make this supposedly revolting mortal beverage he casually says, “I learned how so I wouldn’t have to sneak into Arborfell every morning to steal from them. There are plenty of books on the topic.”

My struck expression must make him think I’m horrified that he’s been stealing from mortals, because he flashes me a guilty smile. When, really, I’m horrified because…fuckingbecause. Because itwasn’t supposed to be like this. Because he’s a dryad king, so this should have been simple. Because Ihatedryads.

Except maybe I don’t?

Part of me wants to scream,Stop being so nice to me, you asshole. I’m literally trying to murder you.And the other part of me wants to shut him up with my mouth, ask him if we can pick up where we left off. Just the thought has me aching in a way I shouldn’t be. The kind of delicious ache only cured by fingers and mouths and a feverish touch.

“Maddox?”

I’m standing on his front step finally, trying to leave so I can gather the poison I brewed for him. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

My heart both leaps and sinks, a combination that leads to a flat line. “Yeah.” The word leaves my lips in the form of a sigh.

Almost as if it’s second nature, he takes my face gently in his hands, cradling my chin as he brushes a thumb along my jaw. He doesn’t kiss me, though. Just looks into my eyes.

“Not scared, are you?” I tease, hating myself for it.

A huff of a laugh. “Why are you so obsessed with me being afraid?” he says.

“Thought youwantedto kiss me.”

“I want to look at you first.” His fingertips move into my hair, dark gaze roaming over my face. After a moment, his eyebrows lift slightly at the corners, tugged up by some secret sorrow that I don’t understand. But Castor is just like that. Hefeelsthings, and when he does, they move across his face for everyone to see. The opposite of me. It’s one of the most beautiful things about him.

When I met Durian, I thought he was the more handsome of the two brothers, and he technically would be if you asked a Hollywood plastic surgeon. With his golden hair and perfect white teeth and flawless skin. Beautiful like a brand-new car. But Castor is beautifullike a campfire in the middle of an evergreen forest. One that smolders as it dies.