Page 24 of Will It Hurt?

“That hardly makes her unworthy.”

“That’s where you and I differ,” she said with a throaty purr as her handmaid began a scalp massage. “You know how I feel—she’s a liability to our nest.”

Alarm bells rioted in my head.

“What,” I began, my throat thick with dread. “Did you do?”

“Me?” Indira had the gall to appear offended—or what passed on her usual serene features as offended. “Why would you think I had anything to do with this?”

“Because you just called Belle a liability,” I reminded her. “And I know she’s booked an appointment to be voluntarily neutralized.”

Her shrug sent ripples of water to the floor. It was a miracle that the wood hadn’t rotted through over the years .

“You can’t be so…” I began, the words sticking in my throat.

“So what?”

Irritation gathered between my ribs.

“Nonchalant,” I spat.

“On the contrary, Jinn, I’m perfectly chalant . I adored the dear girl, but we have to face facts: she was never suited to be one of us.”

Anger roiled inside me as Indira’s palm rose from the heated, soapy water to pause above the lip of the copper tub. This was the second handmaid’s cue. She set her feather duster down and knelt to place her forearm in the cup of Indira’s waiting hand.

The girl was a seasoned giver. She didn’t flinch as the tip of Indira’s nail sliced into the flesh above the twitch of her pulse, calling forth a rapid trickling of blood.

Indira’s gaze met mine, holding my attention as she sipped, the blood making her cheeks flush a deep, youthful red.

This was a ritualistic reminder—a silent marking of territory.

Indira wanted me to know, she wanted me to remember where I’d come from, that this had once been my place.

All those years ago, she had fed from me because I’d wanted it, because it had felt like freedom and flying—a reprieve from the pain of my existence.

The noises she made were once familiar. I remembered the feel of her skin as she pressed close to me, the purr in her chest as she opened my vein and slurped at the flow of blood.

Like a phantom limb, I felt the pull of her lips, the slow, sucking motion of it as she dragged more out of my veins and onto her tongue.

The handmaid uttered a single sigh—the noise of surrender. Between her ribs, her heart thundered loudly, noisily, trying its damndest to distract me .

A scoff traveled up my chest.

I knew the euphoria the handmaid felt, the liberation from all things mortal. I didn’t have to cast my gaze in her direction to know that her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back. She was also trembling, waiting, anticipating the next bite…

There was something possessive about the way Indira fed, the way she held the handmaid’s arm between her thumb and forefinger while feasting on her blood.

Not a single drop was wasted. This was the way Indira had taught me to feed—lips flush against skin, pressed tight to the source so that not an ounce of blood slipped past the seam of our lips.

She had regarded others like us in disdain when they let the precious liquid slip down their mouth, their chin, or worse yet, stain their clothing.

Indira hated stained clothing.

She drank lazily, languidly, as though I had all the time in the world to stand in her doorway and watch her feed.

But I knew what she was doing. She wanted me to see, taste, react.

I pushed past her visceral bullying, thwarting the memories that rose to the surface.

When I spoke, my voice was firm: “If I find out that you’ve compelled her to do something she didn’t want to do…”

Indira lingered over one last pull.

“I’m not stupid, Jinn.” She licked the wound clean and sealed it with a touch of her saliva. “I know you’ll never forgive me for meddling when it comes to your… progeny.”

A small smile tugged at her lips—mocking, derisive, as she deliberately paused before describing Belle that way.

I knew what Indira thought of Annabel, and I resented her for every disdainful sneer. For the last forty years, Indira had done nothing but criticize my child, disparaging her choice of inelegant 80s clothing, her unruly hair, her timid nature…

But now, it seemed as though she was holding her tongue… She was too quiet.

And a quiet mother was one to fear.

“Tell me what you know.”

It was a demand—an outright order. Something inside me tugged painfully at my chest, insisting that I was using the wrong tone. It was blasphemy against my mother.

“It is not my secret to tell, Jinn.”

The handmaid rose with a small smile on her lips and returned to her dusting.

The other handmaid reached for a little pot that sat on the floor and covered every inch of Indira’s cheeks in a sloppy green mask. Smatterings of it dripped onto Indira’s clavicle where it was instantly mopped up

Fuck.

This was going nowhere.

“ Nathan—” I yelled, only to be cut off when he appeared at my side in a fraction of a second.

“I bought a ticket on your phone,” he said. “The train leaves in forty-five minutes and reaches Waverley station just before nine.”

Not totally useless after all.

“Jinn.” Indira’s voice made me turn back to face her. Her lashes were caked in green goo. “Don’t cause a fuss, darling. We are all in charge of our own fates.”

Her words made my teeth gnash painfully.

Even after a century and a half, a single conversation with Indira made me feel like a newly turned fledgling unable to survive in the world.

The way she spoke, with that slight intonation at the end, was how one would speak to a toddler in danger of soiling their nappy .

Refusing to rise to her bait, I turned away and smacked straight into Nat.

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping aside quickly.

The glare I shot him was probably angrier than it should have been.

“I could come with you—” he began, but I had already left without sparing him a backwards glance.