The first inhale burns my lungs, and I revel in the strong tobacco scent as I hollow out my cheeks before blowing out a cloud of smoke.
This is definitely not one of my finest moments, but then again, I haven’t been on top of my game since I met the little pixie Fae.
She keeps messing with my head in ways I can’t predict or control.
I wish I’d uncover what makes her tick. What would it take for her to take me seriously?
I know I don’t have the best track record when it comes to females, and I’ve never really cared how they regarded me. My debauched reputation preceded me, and it kept expectations low for a reason. I was always ready for a night of demented ardor and wild abandon, but not one lick more.
Yet, as I’m plagued by dreams of her every night, and my waking hours revolve around wondering what she’s doing, who she’s spending her time with if it’s not me, and what would it feel like to hold her in my arms, I’m realizing I’ve unknowingly put myself in a corner.
Taking another long drag from the cigarette, I let the embers burn my fingers. I welcome the slight sting as a reminder that I can still feel physical pain. I might not have much humanity left in my body, not after six hundred years, but some aches never go away.
Like the ache of losing all your family at the murderous hands of the Fae.
Or the ache of knowing that the one female who captured your interest for more than just a fleeting tryst is probably the only one in the entire realm that wouldn’t bed you, wouldn’t trust you with either her body or her soul.
“Gloominess doesn’t suit you, pretty boy.”
Her voice shakes me out of my thoughts, and I raise my gaze to see her approach me on nimble limbs, quiet like the split-second before a blade finds flesh.
She really is a formidable spy. I didn’t sense her entering the room at all.
Sariah snatches the cigarette from my fingers, plopping herself on the dining table between the silverware and squashing the stub against a porcelain plate.
“What’s gotten you in such a mood this fine evening?”
“You’re late,” I answer, pointing at the now cold feast that the servants had prepared for her hours ago.
She picks a grape and pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly.
“I was out. I came as soon as Nella informed me about your dinner plans upon my return.”
“Out?” I ask in mild surprise.
“Visiting the barracks with the boys. Wanted to see how my Dark Umbras are faring in the vampire kingdom,” she answers with measured words.
“The boys?”
It seems all I can do is repeat her words like a broken tune.
“Mattya and Axel. Don’t you have them on welcoming duty at the edge of Drovillan, far away from the castle?”
“Oh.”
A black coil of envy swirls inside my chest; an ashen and foul taste taking residence in my mouth.
“You could have asked me to accompany you,” I say through gritted teeth. I don’t like how my voice has taken on a whiny inflection. Can’t find it in me to pretend that I’m unbothered by this turn of events either.
She rests her elbow on her knee, tilting her head as if she doesn’t know what to make of me.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Blaise,” she says in a soft voice.
“I know that. I just, urgh, I can never win with you!”
“Didn’t know we had some sort of competition going on that requires winning,” she laughs before gasping, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re jealous, pretty boy!”
“Of course I fucking am,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. My loud voice booms through the dining hall, ricocheting off the marble walls just for a second before it gets drowned out by the earsplitting chaos of glass shattering.
