“Sure,” I mutter.
I walk to the desk, watching as red reappears in Faust’s eyes. I wonder what he would have said about my blood if Aliz wasn’t here. I pick up the wineglass, blood swirling inside, and hand it to Aliz. I expect her to gulp it down, but instead she eyes it warily. Then up at Marcus. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You do realise you’re a vampire, right?” I whisper. “You’re supposed tolikedrinking blood.”
“I know,” she says before pinching her nose. She tilts the glass back, a droplet slips past her lips, running down her chin. Her tense shoulders loosen, and she makes a sound that tells me Marcus’s blood doesn’t taste sour. She finishes the blood in a single gulp. Then she stands, completely frozen, looking at the empty glass. Her eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, as though she can’t believe what she just drank. “That was incredible.”
The lines on my body sting. I feel the thorns digging into me, telling me that I shouldn’t let her drink someone else’s blood. I breathe slowly, ignoring the pain.
“Thank you,” she adds, looking at the dean’s Familiar.
“Marcus has agreed to donate a liter over the next four days,” Faust says. “Tomorrow we’ll start dosing it with synthetic blood, though I suspect this problem might continue until Miss Smith accepts to become your Familiar.”
I stare at him plainly, allowing myself a smile. “You know that won’t be happening.”
“How are you getting on with your search for the library?”
“We’re getting closer,” Aliz says. “Do you think I can turn into a bat now?” she asks, and the dean sighs.
“The hormone required for transformation is only released with a bite,” I say, and Aliz gawks atme.
“How do you know that?”
“Because unlike you, I actually pay attention in class.”
She narrows her eyes, as though she’s thinking of a rebuttal, but instead she turns back to her cousin. “When can I come and pick up the rest of the blood?” she asks, glancing at Marcus again.
“I’ll send it to you,” Nocth says. He presses his fingers to his temple. “The sun will be rising soon. You better be on your way.”
I take Aliz’s wrist and draw her out of the office.
I could let go of her wrist, bony and cold between my fingers. But something stops me, as though the wind might steal her away from me if I let go. I shouldn’t have these thoughts. I shouldn’t want to be close to her, especially not after what happened tonight. But for some reason, her tears, her pain, the danger in her crimson eyes, only flames the temptation drawing me to her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, as pine needles crunch beneath my boots, and wind batters the forest. Tynarrich glows atop its hill.Home.Nowhere has felt like that to me in the last four years. I slip my fingers from her wrist down to her hand.
“I know,” I say, and fix my eyes on her. Her disheveled hair falls over her brows, blown about by the gale. There’s a spot of blood by her lips. I wipe it away, catching a glimpse of her fangs. “We’re going to get through this.”
“We will,” she says. Her gaze is soft, warm. Safe.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
I sit on her coffin, scribbling into the black notebook in which we are supposed to record our dreams. The chase through that strange palace, the painting coming to life—all of it feels more like a memory than a dream.
After what Nocth told me, regarding proximity, I’ve decided to stick closer to her. So I study in our room, instead of the library, and so far, my neck has barely itched at all. I continue writing my description of last night’s dream until I get to the end of it. I can’t write any of what happened next.
Aliz’s breathing changes, the sound muffled by the wooden lid of her coffin. Then a gasp.
I stay still, with my legs folded, and stare at the notebook. Then I feel her trying and failing to open the coffin. I jump down, stepping past the saltward, in case she’s overcome by thirst again. The lid creaks open, and I find myself staring at her family’s emblem, the moon surrounded by thorns.
I hear short breaths, and then her voice, thin:
“Cassie?”
“I’m here,” I say, waiting for her to climb out and face me. “Are you all right?”
She doesn’t reply, the only sounds coming from her are the breaths, deeper now. A minute later, she clears her throat, and says, “I think Marcus’s blood worked.” The lid of her coffin raises the rest of the way, and she gets out, more disheveled than she’s ever let me see her before. Her white hair sticks up in every direction, and one vest strap has fallen off her shoulder.
