Page 37 of Bloodgrove

Only when he soaked another napkin in the liquid and turned toward her throat did he notice how close they sat. Their legs brushed, her skirts spilled over his feet, and her hand lay hot within his.

Morning sunlight entered the gloomy dining room, and within the vastness of the grand townhouse, they were suddenly very close. His careful touch became forbiddenly intimate.

Elodie’s pupils widened the same moment she noticed it. He saw her swallow and her breathing grow shallow as he leaned toward her throat.

His mouth dry, he placed his fingers carefully beneath her chin to keep her still while he cleaned the wound. Her collar had been torn open, and blood and water ran down into her décolletage. His gaze followed the rivulet, enchanted. Perhaps he wanted to know what it would be like to become her lover. To follow that copper taste with his tongue…

“You have a good soul,” Elodie whispered, her grey eyes resting on his flushed cheeks.

“My dear Duchess… if only you could hear my thoughts,” he murmured.

She hissed when he pressed the iodine against a deep cut.

Carefully, she laid her hand over his and stopped him. “I am sorry for my friends’ prank. And that I couldn’t apologize for it properly. Eric told me where he found you during the ball—I am sorry for that as well. I have not been a good hostess, and still you help me without being asked.”

“That should be expected.”

“But it is not.”

“Instead, you behave as though it were normal for a man to bind you with thorns.” Because that was clearly what had happened, the wounds told an unmistakable story: thorny vines had wound themselves around her throat and hands.

Will sat upright again, trying to bring some distance between himself and the compromising situation. Yet her skirts continued to brush against his legs like careless caresses.

“In the end, it became tedious—and painful—but at first…” She bit her lip. “He thought it amusing to tie me to the gates of the Senate. I only just managed to free myself before the senators arrived.” Elodie laughed and rose.

Had it truly been only another prank in their endless rivalry? Perhaps even a harmless one, by their standards, if their games usually ended with people dead.

Elodie paused beside him. “Please continue to do me the honor of accompanying me when I accept invitations. The entire city is practically boiling with curiosity to see you again. And it annoys Eric.”

Will sighed, but nodded. He knew this part of the game—swimming through high society and conducting sparkling conversations devoid of depth. Shimmering, shining, seducing. He doubted anyone would pour blood over him a second time.

Now it was Elodie who placed one finger beneath his chin and made him look up. “Perhaps I need more people like you in my life. With pure hearts and black souls.”

Following a thoughtless instinct, he caught her hand before she could withdraw it and pressed a gentle kiss to her palm.

“I am your servant.”

When she did not pull away, he kissed her wrist, the torn skin and ragged edges of the wounds. His mother had kissed his injuries until they stopped hurting, but these made his head feel light and quickened his pulse. Warm, fresh blood stuck to his lips, and instinctively, he licked it away. For a moment, he imagined placing his mouth against her throat, following the marks there and drinking her blood hungrily, like a vampire.

She watched him as though hypnotized.

Slowly, he released her hand. The tension held, both unable to look away. Her pupils were blown wide, devouring nearly the entire stormy sea of her irises. Her racing heart drove fresh blood into her wounds.

Finally, Elodie looked away.

She left without a word, but her taste remained on his tongue.

Copper and salt.

Chapter 21

Will slipped out of the house with the first orange rays of morning sun, past a yawning Hedgefort and into the biting autumn air. Winter offered its first greeting. Dead leaves from the few trees danced around his boots, and the sea lay like a sheet of polished lead.

I am your servant.

His own words, spoken so lightly, guided his steps through the narrow streets. When Elodie’s small figure had disappeared into the vastness of the house, he had made a decision. She was not alone, because she had him. She had paid with her own blood to bring him from the Capitol to Bloodgrove, and now it was time for him to fulfill his part of their bargain.

That the memory of Elodie’s skin beneath his lips and her taste on his tongue had cost him long hours of sleep was another matter. Something inside him wondered what it would be like to follow that path, to discover how it felt to stir the storm in her eyes and feel her bare skin beneath his hands. What it would be like to love a woman.