“Or me,” Clare adds.
My mother waits to see if anyone else is going to speak. And when they don’t, she asks, “But the rest of you, all of you?”
“Yes,” we all say together.
“Oh, you poor child,” my mom says.
“Oh, she’s not a poor child,” Fly tells her. “She’s a very happy girl. Very, very happy.”
“Well,” my mom says, straightening her teacup. “Each to their own. I find one husband is more than enough.” She smiles at my dad, who smiles back warmly.
I see the love radiating between them and my mind flicks back to that hovel of Briony’s, and I realize just how damn lucky I was growing up here with them.
“And why have you come to Slate Quarter?” my dad asks next.
“To talk to the people,” Briony says, reaching down to tickle the dog’s head. “I think there might be other lumomancers among us, and if there are…” She trails off.
“And if there are?” my dad repeats. “What are you hoping will happen?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Briony says, “but I don’t think the system is fair. I don’t think the academy is either. Or the Quarters, or all of it. And then there are the demons. I think we, together, can destroy them forever.”
My dad whistles. “That’s an awful lot for one young woman to take on.” His eyes stray to mine. “It’s a lot to unravel.”
“It is,” Dray says, helping himself to another of my mom’s cakes. “But if anyone can do it, it’s Little Kitten.”
“‘Little Kitten’?” my mom says. I roll my eyes. “Well,” my mom rises to her feet and collects up all the teacups, “I don’t think any of that will be happening tonight. So why don’t I make us all some supper?”
“You want us to stay?” I ask.
“Of course,” my mom says, surprised by my question.
“It might not be safe,” I tell her.
She looks me square in the eyes. “All the more reason to stay, then, Fox.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Briony
While the others help Fox’s parents chop and cook vegetables, squabbling as they do, Fox takes me by the hand, silently leading me out of the kitchen and up the rickety staircase.
“Are you taking me to show me your old childhood bedroom, Professor?” I ask him, knowing by the look in his eyes that is definitely not his motivation for pulling me up the stairs.
He halts on the landing, swiveling to face me and taking my chin in his hand. “Yes,” he tells me. “But I’m also pretty ravenous myself, Miss Storm.”
He presses his thumb against my pulse point, and the tension between us is electric and tangible.
“So you’re not feeding on deer anymore then, Professor?” I whisper in the darkness.
“I should,” he tells me, his eyes flashing scarlet red. “But I’m too weak for you, Miss Storm. Can you forgive me?”
I smile at him, take his hands in mine, lift them to my mouth, and nip at the tip of his thumb. His eyes flash crimson again and then he’s dragging me into the back bedroom.
I expect to find it bare and empty, but the old bed is still made up with a handmade quilt, one that’s lovingly been crafted. There are books lined up on the floor. A pile of clothes neatly folded in the corner. And a few old pictures pinned to the wall.
Fox pulls me inside and shuts the door. There are no lights in this house but he doesn’t attempt to light a candle or illuminate the room with his magic. Instead, we stand in the darkness, the beat of my heart loud, his masculine scent strong.
He backs me up against the door, cupping my chin again and lifting it, elongating my neck as he does. With the other hand, he brushes my hair away from my face, over my shoulders. And then he’s running his fingers up and down my throat again, making my toes curl with anticipation.
