Page 22 of Bloodgrove

After a while, his gaze drifted from the narrow alley behind the house to Elodie. She had braided her thick curls and wrapped them in a silk scarf, though a few unruly strands curled against her cheeks.

Around her neck and shoulders, he could make out the edges of bandages, and he flinched at the memory of the frenzy with which the vampire had attacked her throat. Now, only a few hours later, she seemed hardly troubled by it.

Over the rim of his cup, his gaze wandered farther, and he discovered something lovely in her features where he usually saw only stormy determination. She was young, and behind her exhaustion she hid a dreaming heart. He almost forgot the powerful fury who had written in the air with blood and brought monsters to life.

And what did that make him? The cool morning breeze from the sea carried the scent of salt and ice. He was far from being the victim.

“I always dream after a ritual,” she said suddenly, looking up at him. He knew at once that she had felt his gaze.

“What do you dream of?” Without meaning to, he held his breath. Did an eerie voice whisper to her as well? Did her belly swell with a child, did a tongue invade her most intimate places? He shuddered.

“Blood.” Elodie searched his face as though she expected to find recognition there. “A castle made of flesh and bodies without skin. Black night pulsing with red veins. Eyes watching me from everywhere, like stars across the heavens. Fat old men with tiny cocks.” She laughed softly and rested her head against the doorframe. “You must think me mad.”

Will did not know whether she found what she had hoped for in his reaction. “No. Quite the opposite.”

Elodie raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I dream of albatrosses and salted honey.” He didn’t dare to say more. Perhaps she knew what he meant. Even so, he hoped to see some spark of recognition in her, while at the same time fearing her disgust.

He found neither. Much as she had found neither in him.

“I cannot tell you whether you should trust your dreams. In Bloodgrove, they play cruel tricks. Plenty of wine before bed helps.” Her fingers traced the rim of her cup as the first hint of pink slowly reached the narrow courtyard alley.

Eventually, they would have to address the other beast between them. “What did you do last night?”

Elodie laughed at a joke only she understood. “We reanimated a chimera we stole from Eric.”

Will nearly choked on his milk and pushed away from the doorframe. “What?”

“I imagine such magical tricks must seem distasteful to you.”

“The creature bit off one of your guests’ heads!” Will still did not understand how the hierarchy of things that disturbed him and those he could accept was supposed to work. Only days ago, vampires had been at the top of the list, nearly impossible to comprehend, but now blood rituals and chimeras had replaced them. Where murder belonged on the scale, he could not say.

“Nothing else happened, and thanks to your help, we were able to stabilize the ritual. Soon we will know whether it succeeded. But already the city will be talking about an eighth contender in the race for the Red Hand. And what is a blood incantation without a few deaths?”

“Really?” Will crossed his arms. Barely an arm’s length remained between them, and beneath Elodie’s glittering gaze, even that distance seemed to shrink.

“It is charming how innocent you still are.”

He did not contradict her. In the Capitol, he had learned there were only two ways to survive in society: remain innocent and inconspicuous, or become scandalous and infamous, tolerated only as long as one remained entertaining. After that, one was cast into the gutter, where the common people enjoyed their freedom. They could not, however, afford an interior designer.

“Perhaps you truly are not some great sorcerer,” Elodie continued, tilting her head as she studied him. “And yet… What was that last night? Who spoke through you?”

“You asked me that before, but I know nothing but a name.” Will stepped closer until only inches separated them.

Perhaps he had not been in control of himself when he pressed Elodie against the altar, but even now his pulse quickened at the memory. Perhaps a god had guided him, but he had felt the soft skin of her thigh, and the memory of her parted lips belonged to him alone.

His gaze moved over her, tracing every nuance of her bold expression, then drifting along the line of her shoulders, the half-hidden bandages, and down to the fingers wrapped tightly around her cup. Her nails were long and pointed, and suddenly he imagined them scratching across his bare skin. “I have never seen anyone summon magic the way you did. Every instinct says to beware of you. To run far away.”

She barely reached his chest, but only now, standing directly before her, did he truly feel the difference in their height.

“Are you afraid of me, or of my magic?” she asked, tipping back her head. Her fingers toyed with a strand of his hair, and he shivered. “I suspect you find me more intimidating as a woman.”

Will swallowed. “Not intimidating.”

Elodie tugged gently at his hair. “Then what?”

“You as a woman and you as a mage are inseparable. Last night, I could not tell which tempted me more.” His voice was rough, and he had forgotten why he had stepped so close. She took control with effortless ease.