Page 178 of Blood of the Fairest

"I don't know."

"But you feel warm. You wouldn't feel warm if you didn't have blood, right?"

My gaze shifts to the enchanted wine behind her. I suppose she'll be drinking both bottles, after all.

"I don't know," I repeat.

Crones, this hurts.

I want so desperately to be more to this beautiful creature than just a passing reflection. I long to be someone she can rely on if she ever faints with fever in the hot spring again. More than a pal or a friend, more than just a confidante or a Favored.

I want to be…hers.

I want her to stay here—but how can I ask that of her when I'm not truly here, either?

Verena's hand settles on my bare chest. I adore the feel of her touching me, but somehow it's another reminder of what I can't be to her. Not really.

"You even have a heartbeat," she murmurs. She takes my chin in one hand, guiding me to meet her determined violet-blue gaze. "You're real, Eris. We just need to find your body."

I study her. "You mean Wulf needs to find it. You still plan on leaving, even if you won't share your latest plot with me."

She looks torn.

That's answer enough for me. I stand, maneuvering so I can set Verena in the chair.

Then I turn to pour her a goblet of the enchanted wine, hoping this will at least take the edge off the torment she hides so well, since I was of little help.

"Let the wine breathe for a moment," I mutter.

My bare back is turned toward her. I stop filling the goblet when her fingers brush over the raised scars. I know they span most of my back and shoulders, with a few on the backs of my legs.

Her voice is mournful. "What happened?"

"Reinhilde didn't like that I left the mirror on a full moon," I say simply.

When I move to sit in the chair across from her, I find Verena's expression surprisingly murderous for one who hates violence so much.

"She seriously had you whipped just for leaving the mirror one night out of the month? That motherfucking bitch. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I helped the Three Stooges murder her." Then her expression softens, and she picks up the goblet in front of her. "It must have hurt like hell, healing all alone in the mirror realm. You didn't have anyone to help you, so they might've gotten infected. I think that's why the scars are so⁠—"

"Unsightly?" I guess.

Just like the rest of me, I've never seen them, but I'm sure they didn't heal pretty.

"I was going to say raised. The doctors told me scars tend to look thicker and more discolored if they got infected along the way." She rubs one of her wrists idly before peering at me. "If it makes you feel better, I have scars, too. On my real body."

That piques my attention. "You do?"

She nods. "Mostly on my wrists and one thigh, but some on my arms, too. That's why I got those tattoos I told you about, to hide them and…some other ink I didn't pick."

I frown. "How did you get them? Was it from…"

Whatever it is you don't talk about anymore?

I try to find better words. Some way to ask what lurks in her past that makes her wake in a panic nearly every night.

What makes her check the lock three times before she goes to sleep? Is it some horrid, otherworldly monster that doesn't exist in Eidengrau?

Before I can find the right way to finally seek answers from her, Verena surprises me by simply answering.