But what if he wasn’t?
My fingers inched closer, then pulled back as Val groaned, his head turning restlessly on the pillow.
“Sammy... Amari… please…” The names escaped his lips in a pained whisper.
I froze, watching as his fingers clutched at the sheets, his breath growing more labored.
“Don’t... go...”
I retreated, needing time to think. Val was in no condition to help anyone, and I couldn’t risk waking him until I was certain where his loyalties lay.
And until I was certain he wouldn’t immediately drain me.
While I wrestled with my indecision, my eyes traveled around the room. Dust was on every surface, and it looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a very long time.
My fingers twitched with the need to tidy up. Under normal circumstances, I would have resisted because I wasn’t bound to Val, but cleaning his space would replenish my magic.
I started with the desk, carefully organizing papers and closing books. The dust made my nose itch, but not in a sneezing kind of way. It was a warning that this room might give metoo muchmagic.
As I worked, I glanced periodically at Val, watching for any sign he might wake. His condition worried me, yet Valentino expected him at dinner?
I noticed an old journal tucked beneath the bed, its leather binding cracked with age. I hesitated before picking it up, my curiosity warring with respect for privacy. In the end, curiosity won. I needed any information that might help us escape.
The journal fell open to a page marked with a pressed black rose. The handwriting was messy, with splotches blurring some words as if raindrops had fallen on the page.
Today my father told me he will have to kill Mother. She is too far gone to bloodlust. He spoke as if we were discussingputting down a rabid wolf rather than his wife. I saw right through his paper-thin mask over what I suspect is pure agony.
How can what gives us our life also be the very thing that can take it? How can the same crimson elixir have driven my mother to madness? I remember when she taught me to play the piano, her fingers graceful as falling petals over the keys.
Now those same hands claw at her own skin, my father, and me. Will I one day end up like her? I search for the same hunger in my eyes. Sometimes I think I see it there, waiting.
I’ve started counting how many times I think of blood each day. Is thirty normal? Fifty? When does awareness become an obsession? When does an obsession become bloodlust?
The splotches weren’t raindrops—they were tears.
I snapped the journal shut, and I stood motionless, feeling like an intruder. This had been Val’s childhood room, where a boy had once counted his thoughts of blood and watched his mother descend into madness.
It’s no wonder so many demons had wanted house mages dead. We were thieves of privacy and indiscretion, slipping into their most sacred spaces, touching their possessions, and uncovering their secrets.
I’d become the unwilling archaeologist of Val’s past, piecing together a life from artifacts he never intended anyone to see. The thought made my fingers tremble as I returned the journal to its hiding place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
VAL
Amari’s muscular arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. I sank into him as his lips brushed across mine. Reality finally came crashing back, and I pushed him away.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shoved his chest, but he didn’t go anywhere. He was rock solid even when he wasn’t in his gargoyle form.
“I’m tired of you grumbling about how lonely you are.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal that he had kissed me unannounced. “Let me take your loneliness away.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he smiled at me, his green eyes sparkling.
“I’m not into men.” I started to walk away, but then his hand clasped my arm. I turned my head and looked at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He smirked, and I felt my temper flare. His hand was warm on my skin, and it was firm yet gentle. He moved his thumb, and goosebumps ran up my arm.
“Invite me to your bed.” His voice was low and seductive. I was pretty certain I’d seen him hanging around with women before. Maybe he hadn’t bedded them, or maybe he enjoyed both.
