“The body is buried in the yard,” he continued, and Jane perked up.
Abeast’sbody? That excitement returned to her chest, and she tried to focus on that feeling rather than the guilt that threatened to fester there.
“You hold that thought, and stay here,” Jane hoisted her skirts and was prepared to move. “I would like to see this grave.”
Before any of them could protest, she hobbled out of the kitchen and to the conservatory, every other step accented by the enthusiastic tap of her parasol against accursed floorboards.
The hairpin. She needed to find the hairpin and the last place she remembered seeing it was when she was lost in the delirium of blood loss in the conservatory.
As she entered the room, Terence jerked awake from where he slept in one of the plush armchairs. Blood stained the very fringes of its golden upholstery. He rapidly blinked the sleep from his eyes at her sudden arrival.
Jane didn’t need to search for the pin for too long, as she found it on the sideboard. She strode over and took it, holding it up to twist it beneath the natural gray light filtering in through theskylight. Brownish blood still crusted the blade, and the ruby glow of the Tiffany lamps made those stains bleed.
“Jane?” Terence’s bleary voice took her attention away from the hairpin. He slurred, “What is the matter?”
She arched a brow at him (though not for too long, as she still thought of the fleshy remains of his visage in the cellar). She turned to him and held out her hand.
“Paw,” she said. A demand, one meant for a dog.
Without a word, he gave her his hand, placing it in the middle of her own, and she gripped it to stay its tremor as she used the pin to prick the heel of his palm.
“Jane?!” Terence yelped, more out of surprise than pain, but she didn’t let him take his hand back. She watched as the bead of blood bloomed, without the steam of the beast’s wound, nor the gold of the demon’s.
She scowled as she licked her thumb and swiped it across the little wound, cleaning it.
“Roll your sleeve up for me, won’t you?” She gestured to the arm of the hand she bit.
Terence furrowed his brow as he covered the arm, clearly skeptical. “For what reason, Jane?”
“I think I’m onto something,” she said and held up the hairpin. “This is made from silver. When I stabbed the beast—er, rather you, I suppose—it was as though I burned it—”Then I had a nightmare, and I saw…something, and it seemed adverse to silver as well,“—I need to see if silver can protect me.”
Terence searched her face, mouth tight. He nodded slowly. “Silver is the most pure of substances in many cultures,” he mused aloud, almost to himself, as he began to roll up his shirt sleeve. “I suppose it’d be a protection for you…” He winced as he hissed, “Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner?”
Jane didn’t answer him and took him by the wrist. At first, she flinched as she came into contact with scar tissue at his wrist. The skin there was smooth, just like the scar she’d peeped across his throat, as if rubbed raw again and again, the skin burned away to never properly heal. As her thumb circled in the center of his wrist, Jane thought back to the shackles in the cellar. How long had he resorted himself to being chained and hidden, bearing such scars in an effort to protect others from himself? Her heart softened slightly. It all seemed so noble—maybe even good.
Terence’s breath hitched beneath her ghostly touch; without a second thought, as she held it up, she kissed the pulse in his wrist. A wordless apology—a silent recognition of his sacrifice.
She then looked further up his arm to the pockmarks of where she stabbed the beast. She leaned in close enough to feel the heat of his blood against her cheeks as she peered closer at the wounds, with their cauterized edges knotted like melted wax. She pricked the skin of his forearm just as she did with his hand, and swiped the blood away. The new wound wasn’t at all like a burn mark like those scarring him now. It didn’t sizzle, and she didn’t smell burning meat.
Human flesh is unaffected…
Beneath her, she was acutely aware of the heat from his body flush against hers and the rise of his chest as another breath hitched. A blush crept up her neck to settle in her ears, and her silent vow to fear him further wavered.
Her eyes fell to his lips, shivering as they were parted with a low breath. She wondered if he enjoyed the sensation of her blood painting his mouth.
“Jane…” Terence started. His fingers curled until he caged her hand in a loose fist.
Jane’s heart pummeled at her ribs.
Liar, beast, specimen.That was all he had become to her within the span of a single morning.
But he was a good specimen to her—
No.
Her heart couldn’t be at war with her sensibilities like this. Not now, not when she was a prisoner in a beast’s domain.
She suddenly felt a need to sink her teeth into him again, unsure of how else to channel the frothing emotions. But she stepped away before the urge germinated into temptation.
