Of Wicked Blood (The Quatrefoil Chronicles #1) - Olivia Wildenstein Page 0,102
learning the shape of my mouth, and then his pressure firms, molding my lips to his. I raise the hand he’s not clutching to his shoulder and grip him, worried I might topple right off my chair. In perfect synchronicity, our lips part and our tongues meet.
The kiss turns messy, almost violent. And I’m scared of how much I adore it. How little I care that we are making out in the town’s most popular hangout.
I dig my fingers harder into his shoulder, and he groans, and I think I’ve hit a bruise and start to pull away, but his fingers flex on the back of my head, mashing my mouth to his. I take it he must not be in pain. Still, I touch him more lightly, and then I’m gliding my palm toward his neck. When I graze the edge of his bandage under the cotton turtleneck, he springs away from me.
I slap my palm over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He’s breathing heavily, and so am I.
“Yeah. Just a kneejerk reaction.” He drags my fingers off my mouth and threads them through his. “Who knew librarians could be so wanton?”
His mouth chases mine again, catches it. The second round is slower, sweeter, made even more so by our handholding and his thumbs stroking up and down my knuckles.
A slight squeal makes me jerk away from him and flush down to the roots of my hair. Alma is tottering up the stairs, Bastian right behind her.
I hunt his bespectacled gaze for disapproval but find none.
As both take their seats, he says, “And here I came to Brume because I was worried about Slate. Should’ve known not to be.”
“Now that you’re reassured, you can go home.” Slate releases one of my hands but not the other, and sits back, looking like a satisfied man while I probably resemble a tween with a face rash.
“I could.” Bastian leans forward, forearms overlapping on the table. “But I think I’ll stick around a while longer. Just until school starts. Spike isn’t half as fun and chatty as you guys.”
“Spike?” Alma asks, eyebrows popping up.
Bastian smiles. “Spike is Slate’s pride and joy.”
Slate shakes his head, but a corner of his mouth has flipped up. I vaguely remember him mentioning that name over the phone earlier.
“Is he a dog?” Alma asks.
“A German Shepherd-pug mix, maybe?” I wink at Slate.
Bastian frowns.
“Disregard Mademoiselle de Morel. The wine’s going to her head.”
I pinch his ribs, but then blanch because I probably just hit a bruise. “Sorry.”
He tightens his grip on my hand, his smile reaching his eyes.
“Spike’s a cactus,” Bastian finally announces.
“You named a cactus?” I blurt out.
“An Eve’s Needle,” Slate says, as though it somehow makes his plant baptism more normal.
Again, I ask, “You named a cactus?”
“Yes. I named my cactus.”
“Do you name a lot of inanimate things, Slate?” Alma asks.
Bastian snickers, but Slate doesn’t.
Very seriously, he says, “Spike’s very animate. As are all the other things I name.”
Alma tosses her head back and laughs, which makes Bastian crack up. I find myself grinning. And not just at that moment, but throughout the rest of dinner. Even though today was one of the worst days of my life, tonight is one of the best nights.
I squeeze Slate’s hand, and the ring’s shape and heat remind me of how he walked into my life. Every bit of the anger and hatred I felt for him a few days ago has disappeared.
I lean toward him but not to kiss him . . . to whisper, “I hate the reason you stayed, but I can’t imagine you gone.”
He releases my hand to tuck another lock of hair behind my ear. “Cadence de Morel, if I survive—”
“You will.” I flatten my palm against his chest, drinking in the steady pulses of his heart. “You will.”
His gaze softens. I don’t like it soft; I want it firm and resolute.
“Just because the last generation failed doesn’t mean we will,” I add quietly but not gently. “We are so much more prepared than they were.”
Slate heaves a deep sigh, and then he gathers me against him and nestles his chin in the crook of my neck.
And he holds me.
Just holds me.
I slip my arms around his back, hoping not to graze any bruises.
It’s crazy, but I don’t want him to ever let go. I don’t want him to get on a train and leave.
For now, a ring keeps him in Brume but what happens once it comes off?