Page 57 of Mortdale

That ticked him off, it seemed. Because he grasped my chin. “His name is Arthur.”

“I’ll call him Art.”

“You’ll call him Arthur.”

“I’ll call him Art behind your back.”

He reached for the hem of my skirt, pulling it down until it covered my legs. “You plan on seeing him a lot behind my back?”

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. “You smell like her.” And I hate it a little.

He was still holding onto the fabric of my dress. His hands pressed against my legs. “I’ll shower it off.”

I’ll still remember. I reached to unknot his tie, sliding it off his neck and pressing the silky material on my bleeding nose. “Next time, I ask that you do your business where I cannot see it. I might not have much, but I do have some dignity—which I’d like to keep. Only if it is okay with you, my lord. Of course.”

It was ridiculous to even consider this a marriage, and there was really no dignity to speak of; I just didn’t want to see her again. Them together. The images of them my mind kept conjuring—I wanted them gone.

I slid off the armchair, my hip brushing his shoulder as I stood and grabbed a whiskey bottle from the tantalus on the corner. “Put the tie and the bottle on your tab.”

Resisting the urge to run as far as possible from him, I gracefully pulled the doors shut and dragged myself up the stairs.

The door to my bedroom was wide open. Thomas stood at the foot of the bed, red eyed and jaw torn right open as he stared at the little body laying on top of the blanket I’d laid on the floor.

“Thomas,” I hissed, shutting the door and climbing under the bed with Piper. “I told you that you can’t eat this one.”

“Just a little taste,” my familiar rattled like a growling croc. “She keeps picking me up and kissing me. I can’t bear it. She’s all evil bones. They must taste nice.”

“Shoo, Thomas.”

Why did she keep sneaking into my bed?

“Kid, I’m going to take you to your room, okay?”

She turned around, thrust her sticky fingers into my hair and grabbed me to her with the might of a thousand titans. And then I was caught like a squirrel in a steel-jawed trap. If I moved, she pulled harder. If I tried to disengage her slimy claws, she brought her feet to my stomach and sank her toes into my ribs.

Breathing out a sigh, I stopped fighting. “I hate your uncle,” I murmured.

“Maybe you should let me eat the vampire,” Thomas groggily rattled.

“He’ll choke you and kill you.”

He crawled over my chest. His stinky paws rested against my chin as he offered, “I’ll bite slow.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and not because of his fetid breath. “You’ve said even bugs taste better than the vampire you ate that day.”

“And Thomas stands by it. But Thomas will eat the vampire. If you ever offer him to me.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, my eyes drifting shut as I felt him curl up against my neck.

I am not sure how, but I managed to fall asleep like that, with Piper’s tiny yet mighty strong feet pressed flat to my stomach, her chocolatey, sour breath on my face, and a fistful of my hair sticking to her slimy fingers. And my rat’s gurgly snores in my ear.

Chapter 11

Willow

Christof kept dusting around me. It had become pretty obvious he was tasked to keep an eye on me when Liam wasn’t around because there wasn’t a speck of dust on anything in the mansion, ever. “I see we’ve moved down the family tree.”

The woman’s portrait was something of a dream. Her beauty was not of this earth. She sat posed by a window, with her pale blond hair propped up tightly against her head, pinned back with pearls. Her eyes, staring away from the painter, were coloured with so many shades of green. She had a face full of soft, delicate features that reminded me of someone. Whoever that spectre that had saved me that day was, they’d been attached to this portrait. After days of searching through the mansion for her again, I’d returned to her, day after day—alas, fruitlessly, because not a shadow had flickered.