Using one hand, I drew in the stars for a final attempt, forcing them free with a flick of my forefinger.
Missed. Again.Andadded another blistering vacancy to the wall behind my target.
“Gods fucking damnit,” I cursed, lunging forward and kicking the mannequin in the chest with my boot. It toppled over, where it would stay until tomorrow morning when I’d come back to clean up my mess and patch the new perforation I’d created.
At least this hole was only the size of a watermelon and not a damn horse.
I grumbled through the corridor, passing through the grand foyer and then starting up the staircase towards my room. I knew when to accept a loss, and tonight was one of those times.
My heart jolted against my ribs as my hand was yanked from the railing and I was swept away by an arm around my waist, tugging me off the step and into its owner's chest.
“I’m not in the mood, Sebastian,” I grumbled, wriggling to get out of his firm grip.
He guided me to an alcove along the staircase, pushing me back into a carved, ivory column. Dark brows and cerulean eyes leveled with mine in an all too serious expression. “What's wrong, love?”
“Nothing exactly. I’m just in a mood.” A slight fabrication, but what did it matter? Something was always wrong nowadays, and if I admitted that every time someone asked me how I was, they would send me to a shrink. Granted, that might not be the worst thing to happen to me. Everyone and their mother knew I could benefit from some sort of medicinal herb, but all of the ones I had tried when I was younger came with too manynegatives. Though the gods knew I could use something to take the edge off.
One of my eyebrows lifted. “What are you doing this evening?”
Sebastian’s face fought a grin. “You, ideally.”
Choosing to ignore the lustful ache between my thighs, I asked, “Wanna get high?”
“I haven’t smokedsince I was like…fifteen,” I giggled, passing Sebastian the blazing herb wrapped in a hibiscus petal.
“Really?” He put the end between his lips, drawing in the pink, floral smoke. “I haven’t in a while either, but not that long. A year or two maybe,” he said through a breath of haze.
“It’s sweeter than I remember.” I licked my lips, a slight stickiness on them from the herb.
“Depends on where you get it from.” He coughed under his breath, smoke pooling from his mouth. “Azain just so happens to have the good stuff.”
“Last time I smoked it was some old ass stuff my best friend at the time had found in her brother's bedroom.” I snickered at the memory.
“The first time I smoked I was fourteen, and we got so high that we tried to break into the castle's kitchen in the middle of the night.” Sebastian chortled through a deep cough.
“Who’swe?”
He shuffled on the bench and outstretched the joint towards me. “Sawyer,” he said under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, nodding apologetically.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You can’t break something that was already in need of repair.”
“That’s some high bullshit if I’ve ever heard it,” I quipped, and he let out a hearty laugh.
My mind instantly whizzed elsewhere, and I asked, “If you could put your jewel anywhere on your body, where would you put it?”
“I know where I’d put yours.” His eyes dipped to my nipples and then someplace lower for my third jewel.
I tucked the damp end of the leaf between the tight seal of my lips. As I drew in a breath, an ethereal sense of calm flooded my cells, and for the first time in forever, I wasn’t worried about a single thing.
I ruined my boyfriend's relationship with his best friend? Oh well. Beaumont who? Never heard of him. Sawyer was in love with me? Big whoop. Samara was super hot and Sebastian used to sleep with her? Who cared? I still sucked at wielding the stars? Whatever.
“I should do this more often,” I chimed through an overstated smile while practically throwing the joint back at him. “I feel fucking great.”
He chuckled and ashed the leaf against his thigh. “No. It’s not good for you. Once and a while sure, but do it too often and?—”
“And what? I become even funnier than I already am?” I giggled, swinging my feet off the edge of the bench like a child on a swing.
