Page 72 of Blood of the Fairest

Whether that is because she wants to keep me far away because I still frighten her, or whether she simply dislikes me, I swear that I will earn Verena's trust if it is the last thing I do.

18

Verena

As huge and impressive as Isenmere Castle's throne room is, I'm going to say it: thrones suck.

Sure, the ornate, carved-stone behemoth I'm sitting on is pretty. It's exactly what I would expect in a fairytale kingdom that worships the faerie of pride or vanity or whatever.

But my ass is already starting to go numb as I wait for Merrick here, as the trembling castle guards suggested I should.

At least it doesn't smell like Wulf in here. I made extra sure of that by changing out of the dress that had some of his B-word smeared on the sleeve.

I still can't believe I bit him.

I can't believe how it felt as that tart, sweet, delicious minty blackberry dripped down my chin and slid down my throat, soothing the burning thirst as the Huntsman's strong body strained against me, his clear desperation for more heightening the bloodlust until⁠—

Bad Verena. No. We don't think about the B-word.

I'm not over the effect that feeding had on Wulf.

Or how it affected me, for that matter.

I keep telling myself there's no way I'm that wildly attracted to the same guy who tortured me, so it must have been the thirst fucking up my head.

I'm so pissed that Eris didn't warn me about that not-so-fun surprise side effect of Queen Reinhilde's feeding that I haven't looked at him since the Huntsman left hours ago. I changed clothes, chatted with Snow White more, puttered around the not-poisoned-apple tree, and found my way here—all without acknowledging the man following me through reflections.

Like much of the rest of the castle, the throne room is a stone masterpiece. To my right, massive stained-glass windows turn the late-afternoon light outside into a spray of jewel-toned rays across the polished stone floor. Mirrors span the wall to the left, refracting all the rainbow light flooding this huge, long room until I can't decide whether it looks spectacular or like Isenmere is trying to bring back disco.

"Verena," Eris tries yet again, this time from one of the mirrors on the left side of the long throne room.

I huff so that my veil puffs out, wordlessly flipping him off.

He makes a sound of frustration. "Once again, I'm sorry. I assumed you already knew that feeding is always a highly erotic stimulant for those who are fed on."

It's always highly erotic?

Oh my god. I have to get out of this world.

Having to drink blood is bad enough—but I'm not about to arouse other people against their will every time I bite them, just so I don't starve to death.

Eris goes on. "You drained that scoundrel in Isenhold, after all. It's only now that I'm realizing he must have been unconscious for the fun bit."

Stop. He did not just call it the fun bit.

When I still say nothing, Eris grumbles something under his breath and vanishes completely.

Not thirty seconds later, he reappears in the mirror, sighs softly, and rests his forehead against the glass.

"If you truly think I'm sadistic enough to keep that detail from you, punish me however you like. Curse at me, or call me Bug Juice or any other horrid nickname. Just…” His voice becomes surprisingly miserable. "Please don't ignore me. You've no idea what this feels like for me, to finally have company I crave after so many stifling years of isolation with the monster who trapped me."

Sympathy twinges in my throat.

I chose to be alone in my world for plenty of very good reasons. Still, I remember how giddy I felt when I finally made a couple of real friends again, in St. John's. I was beyond anxious about coming across like a weird loner and messing everything up in the early stages.

If they had given me the silent treatment like this, just as I was finally opening up again…

He's right. I'm being a jerk—and besides, it's not his job to warn me about everything.