Page 16

Gwyn hasn’t moved a muscle in the last nine minutes.

She stands there, frozen, and glares at me.

At one point she crosses her arms over her chest, but she realizes it makes her tits look amazing when I devour the sight of her.

After drinking her blood and coming in my goddamn pants, there’s no point in pretending I’m not attracted to the woman.

Strangely, I think of the book of Robert Frost poems my mother had when I was a child.

She’d used them to help with her English, and I have fond memories of listening to her read out loud.

When Bill Parsons lopped off my mother’s head, a few drops of her blood had landed on the cover, but I’d kept the book to pull out whenever I missed her.

Some of Frost’s words are tattooed in my mind, memorized in some attempt to bring my mother back from the dead.

The destructive power of beauty in nature features heavily in those verses, as well as in my thoughts about Gwyn.

She’s dangerous in her perfection, and I should have been prepared for it from the start.

But now, all I can think about is a different poem—my mother’s least favorite.

It unsettled her, but I think that’s the point.

“‘From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire,’” I murmur before standing to retrieve the liquor myself, since Gwyn clearly has no intentions of doing it, and I’m kind enough to bring two glasses back with me.

When I set our glasses down and pour, Gwyn doesn’t move. She hardly even breathes. As I raise my drink to my mouth, I meet her frigid gaze.

I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great, and would suffice.

“I have some questions for you,” I say, gently placing my glass down. For a moment, I expect Gwyn to continue her statuesque act, but then her hand darts forward and she throws my drink into my lap. That’s twice she’s gotten my dick wet in a less than preferred way.

“Fuck your questions,” she says, but I’m too fast. Grabbing her wrist, I tug, and her elbow lands on the countertop. She bares her teeth, and the tips of her fangs dig into that plump lip.

“I’ve taken a fine-toothed comb to each and every fucking moment between us, sweetheart. One jumps out at me, and I think I know why.”

Gwyn growls, trying to pull herself from my grasp, but I don’t let go.

She uses her free hand to push against the counter, and I grab that wrist too.

I’m supposed to be asking about her plans for Agnarr and the coven—because I don’t think it’s nearly as simple as she’s made it out to be—but for some reason, one of the many questions I’ve mulled over while falling asleep is what I come up with instead.

“You remember our road trip from Virginia, yes?”

“Which part? The part where you didn’t let me out for hours and I pissed myself, or the one where I got treated like a human?” she grits out.

My gaze is drawn to her tits once more and the way they’re pushed together against the counter. I need to get my shit together, but I’m certain it irritates her, so I don’t hold back too much.

“Your heartbeat. It didn’t change much when I told you I was a vampire.

” She says nothing as she tries and fails to free herself from my grip.

“Because you already knew. But when I brought up your dad…” I trail off, waiting for her to confirm my suspicions.

Her heart rate had sprinted out of control, and at the time, I’d figured it was a delayed reaction.

Now? Not so much. When her amber gaze darts away, I let out a soft laugh.

“You didn’t know Bill killed my mother, did you?

You honestly thought a hunter wouldn’t kill for sport? ”

“My father wouldn’t kill anyone unprovoked.

Your mother likely deserved it,” she says, but I can tell she doesn’t mean it.

Gwyn might be an accomplished actress, but now that I’ve spent days parsing between the truths and lies, I think I have a decent idea.

She won’t meet my eyes, and her body goes slightly limp. The fight has gone out of her.

Just like it did when I told her I loved her. She didn’t say it back because she wouldn’t be able to convince me it was true. I’d thought she was still angry or that maybe what I’d said to her had been her limit. I know the truth now.

She’s always had tells—I just wasn’t good at reading them.

“Did Remy not mention it?” I ask, wishing she would tell me everything that had been said by my brother—everything that had been done to my brother—during his captivity.

She presses her lips together, not willing to give me an answer.

My grip tightens, and I drag her across the countertop.

At the last moment, she twists and hooks her leg up, using all of her strength to kick me in the chest. She’s just as strong as I am, but far more agile.

With the threat of hunters essentially eliminated, there was no reason to rely on anything other than our vampire strength.

She’s not wearing any shoes, but the blow to my sternum isn’t pleasant, nonetheless.

“Fuck,” I grunt as I let go of her. Gwyn hops off the counter, and her dark hair tumbles out of her hair clip when it falls to the ground.

Without turning to face me, she shakes out her hair and stretches her neck.

Her shirt is riding up too high, and that thin strip of pale skin is enough to make my fangs lengthen. God dammit.

“If you wanted to chat, Roman, you could have called. No need to make your uncle kidnap my fucking sister.” Gwyn turns around, tugging her shirt into place. “I’ll need proof of life before I answer a single question.”

“Or you can answer them in good faith,” I suggest as I pour myself another drink. She’s lucky the glass didn’t get knocked off the table.

“I let you speak to Remy,” she says, and this time, when she snags my glass, it’s only to toss it back and swallow it in one gulp.

“And it was the least you could do after making me think he was dead,” I retort before I drink straight from the bottle. “What’s your real plan? You want to just give me Agnarr’s bloodsworns? Give me back the coven then fuck off to the beach?”

“Well, that was the plan, when you were cooperating.”

“Why? Why bother killing Agnarr?”

“He’s a threat,” she says, as if it’s the most simple answer in the world. As if it makes sense. But she’s too casual. Not a single word she says should be trusted—not without exhaustive questioning. “ You won’t kill me. You won’t send assassins after my family for decades. He might.”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

At this, she smiles. Her fangs have lengthened in her mouth, and her tongue teases the tip of the sharpened tooth.

“Oh, I expect you’ll try. But I’ve already outplayed you once, Roman.

Agnarr didn’t get to be old as the hills without being clever.

You, however, have somehow made it this far without more than a scant few brain cells to rub together. ”

I refuse to let myself rise to her bait. There is no fucking world in which I will let her see that her barbed words are perfectly designed to sink into my most inflamed wound. Because it was my stupidity that allowed this to happen—and she’s right.

“Explain what you said in the ballroom about Ansi’s cave.” I take another swig of the Brennivin, enjoying the slight anise taste.

The rueful twist of her lips, the slight hesitation, and the shift in her posture tells me Gwyn is considering telling me the truth—probably because she knows I’ve caught on to her omissions.

It’s how she kept her ruse up for so long.

Sometimes she was telling the truth. No more than necessary, but enough to make her lies easy.

Now, though, I’m familiar with it. There will be no dancing around questions or giving slightly related answers—not anymore.

“Explain.” I repeat, insisting on her answer.

“‘To her bite, they did succumb,’” she says, uttering lines from a history she shouldn’t know. “They didn’t die. Well, Hallbara and Geir didn’t die. Those two killed Sif almost immediately. But the other two didn’t die.”

“How do you know this?”

“Where do you think hunters come from?” she asks, huffing in annoyance. “And witches?”

It’s not something I’ve ever contemplated or been told about, so I don’t bother trying to come up with an answer. “In your case, the ninth circle of hell, I’m sure.”

For a fleeting moment, I catch her smile, and it pisses me the fuck off.

“Your history is our history,” she says after a moment, but then her lip rolls inward and she takes a deep breath.

“They couldn’t turn anyone until after Agnarr and Ketill were Made.

After that, well…Geir mostly stayed in Europe, but Hallbara started colonies everywhere.

Why do you think vampires appear in basically every culture? ”

I swallow, doing my best to make my heartbeat steady, and I don’t allow my expression to show anything other than dull surprise. Until I’m certain, I can’t show my hand. “Are they still alive?”

“No,” she says, and her lips turn up into a sultry smile. “None of them.”

She’s fucking deranged.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and Gwyn tries to jump across the counter to snatch it out of my grasp when I pull it out. Sticking my arm and elbow out, I block her from taking it when I answer Nico’s call.

“Big fucking problem,” Nico shouts down the line, and the sound of screeching tires makes me wince. “It’s Emile.”