“Only time will tell what it will do to her,” Headmaster Blackthistle murmured, and it sounded like the creepiest thing I had ever heard.
36
BRAM
Nobility made me fucking sick.
Darkmore’s office was spinning as the fae whiskey burned through my veins, and it was funny because I wasn’t even moving.
The flickering candles around us cast dancing shadows and a warm glow, illuminating the rich mahogany of his desk. Darkmore sat behind it, judging me with his white eyes.
I was just lounging on the plush cream sofa that tried to swallow me whole, with one leg thrown over the armrest. My foot bounced restlessly, and I took another long swig from the bottle of fae whiskey Dex had gotten me, the familiar burn of the alcohol a welcome sensation amidst the suffocating order of the room.
Darkmore’s dark blond hair brushed hisshoulders as he leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk. “Give me the bottle.” He reached out a hand for my whiskey.
“No,” I scoffed, clutching the bottle harder.
“Give me the bottle, Hemlock.” His voice left no room for argument. “Now.”
“Such a fucking buzzkill,” I snarled, handing it over.
My brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, thick and heavy. I wasn’t even sure what I was doing here. I’d planned to skip the session. Fates, it doesn't matter now.
He merely raised an eyebrow, placing the bottle out of reach. “You're welcome to it after our session, Hemlock. Let's focus on why you're here.”
I rolled my eyes, feeling a warmth in my belly from that last drink. "Let's not and say we did."
Being drunk made everything distant. My problems, my pain, the shit that's been eating at me—it's all just out of feeling now, flickering in the dim light of my mind. I could be detached. It was peaceful that way, not to think, not to worry, not to care.
Darkmore sighed, the sound whispering through the room. "Let’s start with Pandora.” He cleared his throat. “I mean Gravesend. You were there when she...consumed the dark magic and the soul. How did it make you feel?"
I wanted to laugh. How did it make me feel? Hysteria bubbled up inside of me, this absurd urge to just giggle at the seriousness of it all.
I smoothed a hand over my face to stifle it, but the question hung in the air. But answering it was like trying to catch one of Dex’s fucking shadows.Impossible.
A dark chuckle rumbled in my chest. “You think I care about that little?—”
“I know you do,” Darkmore interrupted, his gaze threatening. “If you didn’t, you wouldn't have stayed there. Why the attachment to her?”
“I dunno,” I mumbled, bouncing my leg more vigorously.
“Yeah, you do.” He leaned back and arched a brow.
“I don't like what she represents, alright? She's everything I hate,” I seethed, my head still fuzzy.
“And yet, you can't seem to stay away from her,” Darkmore prodded with that analyzing fucking expression.
My lips curled back in a sneer, the tattoo of wolves on my chest seeming to bristle with my rising irritation. Even Chaos was pissed. “You sound like you're about to start assuming my feelings, Darkmore. Everyone already knows about yours in regards to her.”
His expression softened for a moment. “I've had thoughts of disposing Pandora's tormentorsmyself—which includes you. And, as your counselor, I must refrain. We all have our roles to play, Hemlock. I want you to be better. I know you can be.”
“And if I wasn’t your student?” I slurred.
He didn’t answer. That was telling.
Scoffing, I stared at the ceiling.
“Were you worried about her?” he asked softly. “It’s okay to worry for someone, especially with what happened.”
