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I drop to my knees and immediately start lapping at the puddle of blood on the floor. It won’t do much to sate me, because it’s mine and there’s so little of it, but my body doesn’t know the difference.
Once my bloodlust sets in, there’s no controlling it. I become a slave to my baser instincts, whether it’s rage, sex, or hunger. Sometimes all three at once.
“Good dog,” Edward says. He switches off the light, bathing me in darkness.
Apparently I was wrong about being entirely shameless.
Chapter Four
Mariah
In the time it took for me to have a meltdown in the bathroom, someone has neatly folded and stacked the clothes I dumped out on the bed. I doubt one of the cleaners could’ve slipped in without me hearing them, much less Chastity in her click-clacking heels.
The back of my neck prickles, a familiar reaction to the realization that although I may be the only one standing here, I’m not alone.
I’d be unsettled if I wasn’t so used to the feeling.
“Thanks for folding my stuff,” I mumble. “Whoever you are.”
I stack my clothing in the dresser, stow my case in the closet, and head downstairs to find food. I get lost twice and have to ask the staff for directions to the conservatory—a sunny, tiled room strewn with potted plants and wicker furniture. A full place setting complete with a covered serving platter rests on the glass table. I lift the lid and find a turkey sandwich and a green salad waiting for me.
To my relief, neither Chastity nor Christopher show themselves in the time it takes me to eat my sandwich. Edward comes to fetch me just as I’m finishing my salad.
We jump in a golf cart and head off on a more detailed drive around the fields, with Edward pointing out the types of grapes they grow. I nod along, half-listening but mostly trying to picture my mom here as a little girl.
“Bet you don’t get views like this in the city,” Edward says.
“My grandpa used to take us to Assateague to see the wild ponies every summer. We drove through a lot of country along the way.”
“Your mother always did love horses.” He smiles at me, and I find myself smiling back. As disappointing as my introduction to this side of my family has been, it’s nice to be around someone who knew my mom when she was young.
“What was she like back then?” I ask.
“Isabella was the most vivacious person I’d ever met. She was always dancing and singing. She liked to tell fortunes. I had her read my tea leaves every morning just to have an excuse to talk to her. Her knack for predicting things before they happened was extraordinary.”
“She had the Greyson gift.”
“You’re a Greyson.” He eyes me curiously. “Do you have the gift?”
I think about the incident with my luggage on the bed.
In general, people reacted one of two ways when they learned that my mom was “gifted.” Either they dismissed her as crazy and kept their distance, or they showed up on our doorstep in the middle of the night asking her to summon their dead relatives. Occasionally, the former became the latter, usually after a few drinks. I’m not sure which type Edward is yet, so I decide to keep things vague.
“Not really,” I say. “Sometimes I have weird dreams, or see strange shadows, but nothing like my mom. She was the real deal.”
He makes the turn for the winery. After a short break in the conversation, he asks, “Did she know she was going to die?”
My throat clenches. “I think she knew a lot sooner than she told me.”
“Did knowing it was coming make it easier?”
“I thought it would. But when you know tragedy’s inevitable, hope becomes a luxury. It would’ve been nice to hope, at least for a little while.”
He parks in front of the winery. Just as I’m pivoting to climb out, he says, “I never should’ve let things go as far as they did with your mother. Once you cross a line it just gets easier to cross another, and then another.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. “For what it’s worth,” I tell him, “Mom was a big believer in fate. Whatever’s meant to happen will happen, or so she’d say.”
He seems happy with this answer. “Well, regardless of how it all came to be, I’m glad you’re here now.”
