Skartovius adds, “We won’t charge recklessly as you did at the North Mines.”
My body tenses. I’m still showing him my back, but the way they’re speaking to me aggravates me beyond measure. Like I’m a foolish child—which is probably exactly how they see me after what I did.
When they act like this, I get defensive. And when I get defensive, the “brat princess,” as they like to call me comes out involuntarily. It’s a coping mechanism I’ve developed to try and avoid further conflict with the men I care about, and to try and get them back on my side. Because I know better than anything: These vampires enjoy the challenge of putting a brat in her place.
I can’t forget what Jinneth told me; how I felt when defending my mates in her presence.“I won’t ever take them for granted again.”That’s what I thought when she besmirched them without knowing them. And they proved themselves by coming to my rescue. Again.
I need to remember Skartovius Ashfen, Vallan Stellos, and Garroway Kuffich are not my enemies. Even if they frustrate meand treat me like a newborn doe at times. In their minds, it’s to protect me, and I make their lives infinitely harder by putting myself in scary situations.
For now, I ignore Skartovius’ jab, worried how I might react if I turn around and face him. He’s too brooding, too strong, and I feel too vulnerable and weak to battle him with words.
To try and calm myself, I think about thegoodthings that have happened recently. We survived Trithea Plaza and the debacle with Alacine’s and Barnabac’s covens. My mother thinks there might be a way to utilize my Loreblood to help vastly more people without it affecting my memory or psyche—the way it has ever since Sister Cyprilis drank from me—if we can essentially disconnect my blood from my body. The idea of learning how essential I am and having an actual plan of action is reason for celebration.
I also promised Jinneth I would get us an escort to see her former friend, Old Endolf, the curmudgeonly old alchemist from the Firehold I am also acquainted with.Getting my mates to help in this current situation might be a tall order.
“Why Alacine Mortis would want a particular interfolk, I wouldn’t know,” Skartovius says once he realizes I’m ignoring him.
I appreciate him co-opting the Nuhavian vernacular, using “interfolk” instead of “halfkeeper,” to speak about the transitioned people of the two cities. I can feel his words drilling into my back as he speaks them with barely veiled contempt. He knows I’m at fault, and he wants to hear me say it.
Finally, I spin on him, finding him closer than I realized, less than five feet away. I stand my ground, snarling, “Because she knows I care about her.”
“Now your friend has become a liability, weakening our hand against the Spymistress,” Skar shoots back.
I throw my arms up, my frustration boiling over. “What do you want from me, Lord Ashfen?! To say I’m sorry for jumping into another risky situation?”
Skar scoffs, likely at the “Lord Ashfen” title I shot at him—the impersonal status for an impersonal man. “That would be a start, brat.”
Gesturing toward the wall where Vallan stands, I add, “Cordea would have died, you know, had I not shown up. I’m sure of it. Does that not bother you?”
Vallan simply grunts.
I let out a frustrated noise, turn to resume pacing—
As strong, spindly fingers land on my arm and spin me. Suddenly I’m staring up at Skartovius and his dangerously attractive face, all twisted and pinched with anger and . . . something else.
Concern. That’s what it is, though he’d never admit it.
“You willnotshow your back to me again, temptress.” He keeps a firm hold on my arm. Finally, as our eyes lock, his frustration froths like mine. I see the break in his gold-flecked eyes. “What do we have to do to keep you from hurting yourself?”
“You can’t stop me from doing what I think is right!” I yell in his face.
“We don’t want to stop you from doing what you think is right. We want to stop you from doing what weknowis stupid.”
I bare my teeth like an animal.
“Yes, show me those fangs, brat princess,” he says with a humorless smile.
I pound a fist on his chest, shouting unintelligibly because I know he’s right and I have no defense against his words. But sometimes words mean nothing and only action can voice my frustrations.
After he doesn’t react from my first punch, I try slamming my fist against him again, as if willing him to act.
This time, he catches my fist with a blurring motion, stopping me cold.
I inhale sharply, fear pumping my heart wildly. “You want to punish me,” I eke out. “Discipline me. I can see it, because you’re a monster.”
Garroway mutters from the table, “Now, now, everyone, maybe we should try bringing the temperature dow—”
“And you wish to be disciplined, or you wouldn’t press me so,” Skar cuts in, his smoldering eyes staying on my face. His gaze flicks toward the tendons of my neck, all tight and protruding, and his eyes turn a darker shade of red and gold.
