His eyes flick over me as a troubled frown crosses his face. “And yet you’re never around when there are people to witness it. Are you avoiding me?”
“Would you blame me if I was?” I ask with a sigh as I place my book down. I make sure to keep my hand placed between the pages, so I don’t lose my spot. “Even if I didn’t despise you, my life doesn’t revolve around you. I’ve been busy.”
Wilder goes limp, sulking into the table as he continues to stare at me. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“My life isn’t presently in danger.”
“That shows your naïvety, Eel. Morozov has been asking about you. Incessantly.”
I roll my eyes at this. “He needs to get a hobby. One that doesn’t involve obsessing over me.”
“He’s paranoid,” Wilder hisses as he sits up. He glances around the room as if making certain that we are still alone. I wonder if any of that paranoia has spread to him. “And you aren’t doing a good job at making yourself seem like you’re not a threat.”
“I’ve stayed away from him. What more do you want from me?”
“Would kissing me a time or two in the hallway really have killed you?” he grumbles.
“Very possibly, yes.”
“Well, Professor Morozov wants to have you come to dinner,” Wilder grumbles. “So not kissing me may have killed you. It depends on his intents.” He slaps his knees. “Hopefully, you won’t befordinner.”
I snort at that, and he narrows his eyes.
“You have a rather cavalier way of facing a reality of becoming a vampire’s next meal.”
“I’m not going to be eaten by any vampires,” I reply coolly. “Besides, I just won’t go…” I trail off as Wilder is already shaking his head emphatically.
His hair flies around his head with the force of his shake. “If you do that then you will be worse off than if you just submitted to his wishes now. Men like Morozov will tolerate you so long as they think they have power over you. You refuse him? Bronwyn, you would disappear.”
I release a heavy sigh as I glance up at him. “If you’re so scared of him, then why don’t you do something about him? Eliminate the threat by taking care of him. I know someone you can contact if you need him…discreetlydealt with.”
I trail off as I realize that I sound exactly like my father. I glance down at the table wondering why that idea scares me. I love my father, I look up to him, and yet I don’t want to become like him.
Wilder swallows. I’m not sure how it is possible, but he pales even more so. “You want me tokillhim?”
I bite down on my lip. Do I? Going to the proper authorities is out of the question, I can’t afford to draw too much attention to myself. Assuming they would even believe me if I told them that a vampire had infiltrated their ranks and was now obsessively trying to figure out if I’m actually in love with Wilder. No, killing him would be the simplest option. Not that I intend to do it. I prefer to keep my hands clean unless I am left with no choice. And while Wilder is here and oddly bent on keeping me safe, I still have other alternatives.
I smile up at him as I rest my chin in my hand. “That’s what I’m insinuating, yes.”
“Bronwyn, I can’t kill him. My father would… as much as I hate him, he is our partner. No, no, we can’t do that. Promise me you won’t do anything of the sort.”
“You’re really tying my hands here,” I grumble.
“Just what sort of merchant’s daughter are you?” he asks, sounding a little aghast.
I can’t help but feel myself smile. I hope he is thinking about all those times he carelessly mocked me, it’s a little nice for him to be now realizing that he was playing with fire by getting on my bad side.
I trace my finger over the cover of my book, not looking up at him. “I’d answer that only if you told me just what your father and Morozov are planning. And how you fit into it all.”
“You know I can’t tell you that. The less you know, the safer you are. You’re already involved enough as is.”
Finally, I look up, my eyes immediately locking onto his crimson gaze. “So, why not just tell me?”
He bites down on his lip but pushes to his feet instead of responding. “I will come and collect you at the dinner bell.” His eyes flick over me and he sneers, once again slipping on the arrogant veneer that I know so well. “Please dress nicely. You’re supposed to be pretending to be my fiancé after all, and I have standards.”
He turns to leave, but I’m not letting him get away withthatlast word. I pluck my quill out of the little pocket I keep it in on the leather casing that holds my spellbook and flick it into the back of his head.
He flinches and turns glaring at me. “Madwoman.”
