Page 40 of Curse the Flame

I almost take it, but not before Cassandra’s warning flashes through my mind again.

I fist my hand.

Aiden notices immediately. His expression closes off, though not with anger. More like it’s pain he expected and, yet, he still wasn’t prepared to feel it.

I feel bad, but not so bad that I keep myself from asking, “Is it safe to drink?”

He lowers himself back into his seat. “It’s just water. You can drink water and nothing will happen except you aren’t thirsty anymore. I vow it.”

Good to know. I point at the covered dish. “What if I eat that? Will I have to stay?”

I don’t know what it was that I did, but the air in the dining room suddenly changes. At the same time, he ducks his chin to his chest, avoiding my curious—and suspicious—gaze.

Shadows gather around Aiden’s chair, spilling across the floor in dark ribbons that move like living things. The candle flames bend toward him. When he lifts his head, his eyes are no longer black.

They’re pure white.

My heart nearly stops beating.

The man sitting to my right is still Aiden. I know that somehow. But there’s something else looking through him now—something old and ancient and super powerful.

I don’t move. Maybe he’s like the cyclops, I think in a panic. If I stay perfectly still and perfectly quiet, he won’t notice me.

The thing—the god—that should be Aiden notices. He closes his eyes and, for several terrible seconds, the shadows continue to coil all around him. Then he draws in a slow breath. When he opens them again, his eyes are back to being black.

“Leuce.” The name carries through the room without him raising his voice. “Come.”

A woman appears beside the table.

I don’t mean she enters through one of the doors. One second, there’s empty space beside Aiden, and the next, a woman stands there in a flowing white dress. Her skin is pale, her hair even paler, falling in long waves nearly to her waist. She is so beautiful that I immediately dislike her a little, which is unfair, but sue me. I’m having a difficult who-knows-how-long-it’s-been. Day? Let’s go with day.

I’m having a real difficult day.

Ignoring me completely, she inclines her head at Aiden. “My lord.”

“Take the dish away. Tell the cooks that I expect that there will never be a pomegranate placed on my table again. And if it wasn’t the cooks, then I’ll handle whoever was responsible.”

Her gaze flickers briefly toward me before settling on the covered plate. If she’s curious, she hides it well. She lifts it with both hands as though it’s something sacred.

“Bring more water,” Aiden continues, “and ambrosia. Nectar as well. Nothing bound to this realm.”

Leuce bows. “Of course.”

She disappears with the pomegranate.

The moment it’s gone, some of the pressure in the room eases. Aiden looks at the empty place on the table, and I realize he hadn’t once asked me to eat it. He doesn’t seem disappointed that it’s gone, either.

He looks relieved.

Leuce returns almost immediately with a tray. Two silver pitchers sit beside a small bowl holding something pale and golden that looks like much thicker communion wafers. She places everything before me, then steps back.

“The water and ambrosia are safe,” Aiden explains. “They’ll sustain you without binding you to the Underworld. The nectar is also safe for you to drink, Blossom.”

One pitcher looks silver; that’s the water reflecting the container. The other holds a viscous liquid that’s more of a golden color, similar to the wafter things. I lift it high, taking a tentative sniff.

Sweet. Floral. Suspiciously pleasant…

Yeah. “Is this alcoholic?”