He looks down his nose at me, as frazzled as ever. Sparse hairs cling to his sweaty red face. His pants sag and it looks like he missed a few loops on his belt. “Well, I guess I must invite you in.”
Bowen steps aside and I brush past him, throwing myself into the chair opposite his desk. “You’re my advisor now, huh?”
“Yes, it appears your previous advisor has gone into early retirement.” Bowen reaches for his pipe from the ashtray beside his laptop and taps it out. I notice, as his sleeve tugs up from the strain, a set of very small bite marks on the inside of his wrist.
I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Interesting. And so you were unceremoniously assigned my thesis, even though you think my research is a crock of shit.”
“Crock of shit.” He laughs. Emotionally impassable. If I hadn’t seen him myself at Hades House, I’d probably take his snobbery at face value. Now I know it’s an act. “Not a crock of shit, no. I’m not so severe with my language, Miss Moro.”
“You mocked me in front of everyone, said I was studying bat dung.”
“Did I?” He looks so pleased with himself. “What an arse.”
“We agree on one thing then.”
His blue eyes jump up from his pipe to catch my gaze. His expression transforms into something hard and severe. “Now, now, Diantha.”
I grit my teeth at his fuck-ass paternal tone. “So you didn’t request me?”
“I had no hand in how students were reassigned.” Annoyance crests in his voice.
“What shit luck then.” I laugh. “Forced to read what I’ve written while you live your little double life.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a living donor, no?” I say, using the turn of phrase I picked up from Orfeo.
His cheeks begin to rapidly color. He looks like a chewed wad of bubblegum. “And what would that be?”
I learn forward until my elbows rest on his desk. “You know what it means, Bowen.” I reach over and push his sleeve up his wrist. Before he yanks away from my touch, my fingers graze the wound.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses through clenched teeth.
“Fresh bite marks on your wrist and, I think, enough vampire blood coursing through your body to have altered your chemistry. That’s why you’re always sweating, right? You’ve swapped blood with a Mediterranean vampire?”
Bowen says nothing back. He just fusses with the mess on his desk and begins packing his pipe with shaky fingers.
“I don’t care, by the way. I’ve always been a believer. You’re the one who seems to be at war with your own desires.” I shrug. “Me? I don’t give a fuck. Sleep with whoever you want—vampire, demon, siren. All I need is to get into the catacombs. Tonight.”
He stills and says, “Impossible.”
“Is it?” I shake my head. “Even with your reputation on the line? Because maybe I didn’t make that clear—I am blackmailing you, Professor Bowen.”
“Diantha, please.” He tries to deploy his usual holier-than-thou tone, but it’s not working on me. “I don’t have access to a key—only the provost and department chair do. I have to check the key out before our field trip and return it that same night.”
“Liar,” I seethe, my voice hard with all my frustrations.
“No,” he pushes back, equally as fierce. “No, not about this. I promise, which probably means nothing to you.” His tongue darts out to quickly wet his lips. “Given the circumstances of our meeting.”
“I’m not playing a game. My entire life—my sanity, my future, myfamily—is hanging in the balance because of this…thisworldyou like to dabble in. You may fuck vampires, but this is all still a joke to you. You have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with.”
“I do realize,” he says softly. “Of course I do. I know how dark their world can be.”
For a moment, he looks so sad that I nearly crack. I’m not this person. I’m not some hard-ass capable of shaking people down. I want to apologize and run away, go back to my apartment, crawl under the sheets, and sleep for a thousand years.
But I can’t.
“Do you know anything about the cult of Asteria?” I ask.
