Chapter 9. Ambrose
Isadora pushed the pasta around her plate with a long, drawn-out sigh.
My chest hollowed instantly at the sound. Her mood hadn’t improved much since the late lunch incident, and now I’d managed to ruin dinner too.
I wanted to show Isadora that I could look after her. That I could cook and clean and protect... and, if she ever wanted it, pleasure. That I could be everything that she ever needed.
And I’d been so sure this meal would be the one that won her over. I’d boiled the pasta for exactly eleven minutes. Simmered the sauce for the fifteen minutes the jar had instructed. Sprinkled the cheese on top just as one of the videos had suggested.
It wasn’t exciting, but it was supposed to be foolproof.
There was no way I could’ve fucked it up badly enough to elicit the look of distaste she wore now.
“Um, Isadora?” I ventured, keeping my voice low. My muscles tensed, bracing for the snap of her well-deserved temper or the sudden, violent clatter of crockery.
She lifted her gaze slowly, lips pressed into a thin line that made my stomach tighten.
This is how you learn, Ambrose, I told myself.Isadora deserves better than this.
After worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I tried again. “How can I make it better next time?”
“How about not using blue cheese, for a start?” she snapped.
I blinked, thinking back. The cheesehadbeen unusually pungent. But as someone who only ate mortal food when Blaise insisted on using me as his guinea pig, I’d assumed it was justone of those strange preferences. How was I supposed to know cheese came with rules?
I mentally addedresearch cheesesto the ever-growing list of ways to learn how to appease Isadora.
She shoved the plate away from her with a sharp scrape, her nails tapping irritably against the tabletop as her stomach growled.
I was on my feet at once, hurrying to the pantry to find something else she could eat. The shelves were almost bare. I clenched my jaw, grabbed the jar of cookies, and carried it back tentatively.
Isadora’s eyes narrowed as I set it in front of her, and I held my breath.
Her stomach growled again, louder this time, as she reached for a cookie. She bit into it with disdain and muttered, “Stale,” under her breath, but ate it anyway.
Relief loosened something in my chest. My own stomach gave a loud, traitorous rumble in response, a reminder that I would need to feed soon too.
I glanced up at Isadora, hoping that the cookies had softened her mood.
She had already pushed her chair back. One leg was crossed over the other, her foot bouncing with restrained fury as she stared out the window toward the stretch of garden where the wards were weakest.
I knew better than to interrupt her now.
Idefinitelyknew better than to mention feeding. Not after the last warning. Not if I wanted to keep my tongue where it was.
If I could just convince the hob to either come back or leave entirely, maybe Isadora would finally be able to shake the dark cloud that seemed to cling to her.
And then, maybe, I could broach the subject of feeding without risking her hexing my tongue off for daring to bring it up again.
I certainly didn’t feel entitled to her attention. But my body was edging dangerously toward starvation now, and I needed to find a way to remind her of that gently, without turning my need into her burden.
“I wish that damnable creature hadn’t decided to free itself by taking my favorite sweater. It was a Wyrdwood, you know.Vintage,” she said, her tone lamented. “It took me ages to find someone who had one in my size.”
I had half a mind to correct Isadora, to tell her that it was only a myth that you could “free” a hob by giving it an item of clothing, but I decided to say nothing.
This whole situation was wearing her down. I could see it in the way her shoulders stayed tense, in the sharp edge to her voice. Being so isolated didn’t help—just the two of us, tied to the house, always watching the wards in case the hob tried again.
So far, Isadora had only let me scare it off when it got too close, but I wasn’t allowed past the wards. But scaring it from behind the wards wasn’t enough. I needed to prove I could do more than stand guard.
