Page 136 of Nightshade

“Let’s just pretend, in another universe, that I believe your little disintegration theory and I really can’t go back. At the very least, someone here remembers her. Isn’t that what so many in Nightshade grapple with? The fear of forgetting? Of never having actually existed?” At the unyielding look in his eye, I inwardly groaned. “Pretty please?”

“Adding pretty to please doesn’t make the idea any more attractive.”

“It’s a more dignified way of begging.”

“My attendance there is business. Not pleasure.”

“Even better. No expectations, or awkward pressure to share a dance.”

His lip curled as if the thought of dancing repulsed him. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

When he turned to leave, I lurched forward. “What if I offer something in return?” The question flew past my lips before I could stop myself.

Halfway to the door, he halted and turned around. “And what do you deem so valuable in exchange?”

Damn my heart for pounding against my chest like it wanted to escape this humiliation. “Myself.”

Brow raised, he tipped his head. “Did you just proposition me, Miss Ravenshaw?”

“Unless … well, I mean … yeah. Yes. I guess I did.” Every breath seemed to flutter out of me, shaky and unsteady, ruining what little confidence I had left. “Last night in the library, you almost kissed me. What made you stop?”

“Change of heart.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, suddenly wishing I could rewind back thirty seconds. Too late, though. I’d cracked open a bottle of humiliation, and I had no choice but to guzzle it down. “Am I not your type?” With a held breath, I waited for him to answer. To get the rejection over with so I could breathe again.

His lips curved to the slightest smile, and hands behind his back, he casually strolled back toward me. “Unfortunately for you, you are precisely my type.”

“Why is that unfortunate?”

“Because I will fuck you in all the worst ways.”

“I’m a big girl, Mister Van Croix. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve learned how to survive you aloof Byronic types.”

“I don’t doubt that, Miss Ravenshaw.”

“Then, what do you doubt?”

He did that damn studying thing again, his jaw shifting, chewing on whatever thoughts churned inside his head. “That I would survive you.”

Something strange stirred inside my chest, as I watched him make his way back to the door. A foreign ache that I didn’t recognize until he exited my room and closed the door behind him.

I was attracted to the man.

Painfully so.

* * *

Nothing left a bitter taste in the mouth quite like having to eat crow.

Fingers fidgeting, I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Anya fold a mountain of linens stacked on the table. She regarded me with a tight-lipped glance, never breaking pace with her chores.

“I … think I owe you an apology. It, um … seems I was having a nightmare.”

“No bother, dear.” Except, years of living with Aunt Nelle had taught me that when an older woman rolled her shoulders back and cleared her throat, she was definitely bothered.

“It is.” I nabbed one of the linens, grateful for the distraction of folding. Maybe it was my being an Aries, but apologizing was never my strong suit. “It just … seemed so real. I’ve always had bad nightmares, but that one was so vivid.”

“It’s the nature of this place. This cathedral. Its haunting walls wrap around you sometimes and won’t let go.”