tall glasses of orange-coloured liquid, a pot of tea with a woollen stripey cosy on it, and several cups that rattled as she moved.
Vail was quick to stand and take the tray from her, relieving her of its weight as he gave her a chastising look. “You should have called for me.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not some wilting little flower. I think I can handle a tray of drinks.”
He frowned at her. She huffed and stomped past him, muttering about him being overbearing.
“Court females gave you a seriously wrong impression of women,” she groused as she sank back into her own armchair.
Vail arched a single black eyebrow at her for that one, but set the tray down on the rickety wooden coffee table without saying whatever had crossed his mind.
“Where were we?” She beamed at Hartt.
Vail growled at her.
“Oh, hush.” She leaned over and patted his knee. “You know I love you. I’m just being polite.”
Or she was trying to get him and Fuery killed.
“Hartt had a spell done, one to strengthen our bond. Shaia told me that Hartt spoke words that triggered this spell and allowed him to take some of the darkness from me.” Fuery refused to look at him when Hartt scowled at him, kept his noble profile to him and his focus locked on Rosalind.
“And how is your lovely mate?” The witch’s smile brightened further, reaching her eyes.
There was mischief lurking there.
Fuery had brought Shaia with him on a few of his visits with Vail, and had complained about how Rosalind had taken a shine to Shaia and was intent on bringing her up to speed on modern times. It had put ideas into Shaia’s head, desires that Fuery didn’t like.
Such as wanting to join the guild as an assassin in training.
“She is well. About this spell…” Fuery trailed off as Rosalind lifted a glass towards Hartt. He seized Hartt’s arm as he reached for it, holding him fast. “I would not.”
Hartt stilled and stared at the drink the witch offered, and her innocent, surprised expression that didn’t quite hide that glimmer of mischief her eyes had gained when she had gone for drinks.
“It is poisoned?” He looked at Fuery, sure the witch wouldn’t want to poison him.
Rosalind gasped and placed her other hand to her chest.
“You wound me. He wounds me.” She turned a hurt look on her mate, who just sighed, and then glowered at Hartt. “How ill you think of me considering I just saved your bloody life.”
Saved his life was a stretch. For a time there, he had been convinced she had been trying to finish him off.
When she pouted and her brow furrowed, he held back a sigh and took the glass with his free hand. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it. He couldn’t smell any poison, and he had trained for centuries in the art of detecting it.
He risked a sip.
His eyes watered as sharp needles pierced across his face and punctured every millimetre of his tongue. His right eye twitched viciously and he grimaced, wanted to growl as the torture didn’t abate when he swallowed the tiny sip of liquid. It only got worse. He choked and coughed as acid blazed up his throat.
Rosalind grinned from ear-to-ear. “That never gets old!”
Vail pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and shook his head. “Little wild rose.”
Her smile faded. “I know. I know. But it’s funny.”
She drew out that word.
Hartt failed to see how it was funny. He also couldn’t believe it when Vail took a glass for himself and drank it without it affecting him. Had the male built up a tolerance to whatever infernal ingredient the juice contained?
Vail shrugged. “She uses a spell to enhance the acidity and effect of the grapefruit, but it is quick to fade and the juice is then safe to drink.”
Hartt regretted taking it so quickly now. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his prince as he risked another sip, such as what a grapefruit was and why the witch found the effect it had on their species so amusing.
Vail was right, though. The second sip of the drink was sweet and rich with the flavour of passionfruit and mango, and other fruits he could identify from his visits to the mortal realm.
His body screamed for nourishment of another kind, bringing to mind the tempting scent of Mackenzie’s blood. He ignored the hunger it ignited in him and focused on the juice. It