and a warm, comfortable place to rest her head at night.
Unlatching with a sated sigh, I lick what remains of her blood on my lips and wipe that delicate, bronze slope with my handkerchief. “Because as I’ve told you time and time again, I don’t share.”
With her back still pressed to my front, I feel rather than see her roll her eyes. “Ooooh, lucky me,” she quips.
And luckily for her, I’ve learned to ignore her sarcasm.
“You are, actually.” Stepping around the Chief’s daughter, I stride over to the alcohol cabinet and retrieve a clean glass from its polished wood top. “The others aren’t as gentle.”
“But you are?”
“Considering I’ve not heard you scream in quite some time, yes, I’m going to say I am.” I flash her an equally sarcastic smirk as I saunter back over to where she stands and hand her the glass. “Here, you know what to do.”
Tigerlily rolls her eyes a second time, but takes the proffered glass without protest, those deep, chocolatey irises watch me intently.
From my pocket, I whip out my granddad’s golden pocket knife and deftly drag the very tip of the blade down my palm, then squeeze my fist above the glass. “Drink up,” I demand.
As always, she hesitates only a moment, readying herself for a taste the human palate isn’t accustomed to, before tossing back the finger-worth of my blood.
“I don’t know how you drink that crap.” She gags a bit as she passes back the glass.
“Because you’re not of my kind. If you were, it would taste—”
“I’ll pass. I have absolutely no intention or desire to live forever.”
“Fair enough, but for the record, I didn’t choose immortality. In fact, the choice was never mine to make.”
The girl ponders my statement as both her flesh and mine cinch back together in tandem, healing perfectly as though nothing ever happened.
Essentially, that’s exactly the case.
But that’s not important right now.
That’s something I won’t realize that I’ve taken for granted during my two centuries of life for a while more.
“If it wasn’t your choice, how did you become this?” Tigerlily asks.
I follow the subtle movement of her hands, how they wave me up and down. “My mother.”
The girl’s face scrunches up in disbelief. “Your mom?”
I’m nodding, about to give her a more elaborate answer, when I can just make out what sounds like Beatrix and her husband’s voices out in the hall.
“Sh, sh, sh.” I lift a finger, channeling all my focus to my hearing. Zeroing in on their conversation, it amplifies in a clear yet warbled echo, as if they’re within feet of me.
“Don’t you dare.” That’s Phillipe.
“I have to. They need to know. I don’t feel right sitting in this room once a month otherwise.”
“They’re not going to take that well! You’ve seen how they react when I speak,” he whisper-hisses.
They’ve stopped, too, right outside the drawing room. He must’ve grabbed her at some point as well because the rustle of clothing resounds.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” she mutters back. “How am I supposed to teach our daughter to own up to her mistakes if I can’t be an example?”
“Captain?” Tigerlily’s voice breaks through their debate.
A shake of my head and I turn back to the girl, now thoroughly interested to see what’s about to unfold at this meeting. “I have to go. Dinner’s at six. I believe Violet told me salmon was on the table.”
I’m out the door so fast, not a word of her reply—if there was one—meets my ears as I evanesce down the dimly lit corridor in a flash.
Phillipe silences his wife with a fiery look when I appear in their wing, righting my vest, my gaze trained on their forms. “You’re here early.”
Beatrix smiles, a friendly gesture that’s far too much like her daughter’s for comfort, and snaps her gaze up to her husband. “Violet said we were right on time actually. I believe everyone else is here.”
Probably so.
I was just too preoccupied to notice.
Smiling in return, I set a hand on her shoulder and motion toward the door. “I stand corrected then. Shall we?”
Both the fairy and her husband nod, one of his hands falling to the small of her back as he directs her before him. She follows his lead and shuffles ahead, her wings flowing elegantly behind her. The Fae Lord, however, stays back beside me.
“She’s still processing. Please forgive whatever comes out of her mouth.” He sounds oddly anxious; remorseful, too.
Chuckling, I clap him on the back and guide him toward the