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I wasn’t the world’s best date, though, much to my frustration. My nerves were frayed, and it was making me filter-free. “What if I glare at him? Is that—”

“A terrible idea?” Eli said. “Yes, it is.”

“Can I hex him?”

“No.”

“Make a bargain?”

“No!” Eli gave me a look that everyone in my life did from time to time. It usually meant I was a lousy patient, but . . .

“I’mhungry.” I was both pleased to realize why I felt surlier than usual and surlier because I had the distinct feeling that a good bottle of gin wasn’t going to fix this.

Alice wasn’t there, and the martini shaker was still empty. Draining her energy had me on restriction, and I still couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone else. I knew my friends would tap a vein for me, but I just . . . couldn’t.

“I swore I’d die before I become like adraugr,” I said, admitting the thing that had been plaguing me more and more. I’d survived an attempt on my life a few times, bad luck, pretending to be more human than I was, but the injection of venom a few months ago was life-changing.

Eli walked out of my apartment without a word.

When he returned, he had a bag with the top of a dusty bottle of whisky sticking out.

He pulled the bottle out and put it on my coffee table with more force than he would’ve if he were calm. Then, he looked at me.

“What?”

“If I didn’t know how hard this was for you, I’d accuse you of trying to avoid my home country,” he started. He opened a bag again and pulled out two glasses.

When I opened my mouth to object, he caught my hand. “You are impossible, Geneviève Crowe. Difficult to get to know. Fierce to the point of recklessness. But you are not adraugr.You are not monstrous, by any definition.”

I nodded because what could I say? I knew he believed it, but sometimes I felt monstrous. I haddraugreyes, and I couldflow.I was the only one of my kind, and the dead came to me at my will. The faery king called me things like “death” or “dead witch,” and more than a few people thought I ought to be deadbecauseof being a witch.

I didn’t exactlyfeelloveable.

He poured whisky into both glasses.

Then Eli reached in the bag again, and when I saw what he held I was standing on the other side of the room. A small, gleaming knife. Mother of pearl handle. Thin blade. Watching me the whole time, he pushed up his sleeve and slid the blade over his forearm.

He turned his arm so the cut was over a glass. Still holding my gaze, he said, “Given freely.”

“Eli . . .” My mind said no, but my teeth were there to remind me that I was less witch than I used to be.

I shook my head no even as I stepped closer, watching blood--hisblood, fae blood—drip into my glass.

“My life is yours, Geneviève Crowe.” He took a bandage from the bag and pressed it to his arm. “I would shed every drop for your safety, your health, your happiness.”

“Eli . . .”

He held out the glass of blood and whisky. “The fae date with eternity in our minds, dearest. Everything I am is yours, including my body inside and out.”

I took the glass with a shaking hand, and he lifted his blood-free drink.

“To eternity,” he said.

I clinked my glass to his and echoed, “To eternity.”

Chapter Eleven

After Eli’s blood gift,there was nothing to do but behave as I hoped would win the favor of the fae. His blood and his words made his seriousness exceptionally clear. No person could ask for a better partner than Eli. I didn’t deserve him, and I never would. Of that, I was sure—but I was damn sure that I would do my absolute best to try to be an asset as we stepped intoElphamea few days later.

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