Chapter 24
Lirael
The bite mark on his arm was still bleeding, crimson running down to his wrist in thin rivulets, and I could taste him on my tongue—that strange mixture of bitter herbs and chemical sweetness that shouldn't exist in anyone's blood.
And then my head started spinning.
What the—
My vision blurred at the edges. My limbs felt heavy, disconnected. The taste in my mouth was wrong, all wrong, like licking a pharmacy floor.
His blood, I thought through the gathering fog. Something's in his blood. Something that's—
The room tilted. My knees went weak.
Fuck. I'm drugged. His blood is drugging me.
I could feel it spreading through my system, whatever cocktail of chemicals he'd been saturated with, making my thoughts slow and syrupy, making my body feel like it belonged to someone else.
Sebastian made another sound, something caught between a growl and a groan, and his grip on my hip tightened until I felt my bones creak. But there was something else happening too—I could feel it in the way his breathing was starting to even out, the way the tremors were lessening instead of intensifying. As if my bite, my saliva mixing with his blood, was somehow calming whatever storm I'd triggered.
His eyes were still that terrible gold-and-crimson, but the crimson was starting to recede. His pupils contracted slowly, returning to something approaching normal.
"You—" He stopped, struggling with words. His forehead dropped to rest against the wall beside my head, his breath hot against my neck. "That shouldn't—fuck. That shouldn't work."
What shouldn't work? I wanted to ask, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy in my mouth. What the hell is happening?
Sebastian pushed away from the wall abruptly, his hands leaving my body so fast I almost fell. He turned and strode toward the shower stall, his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
The frosted glass door slammed shut hard enough to make the whole greenhouse seem to shudder, and seconds later I heard water thundering against tile.
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the wet tile, my dress pooling around me, head spinning with whatever cocktail of chemicals I'd just ingested. Through the frosted glass I could see his silhouette, could see the way his shoulders were braced against the tile, head bowed under the punishing spray.
Move, I told myself. The earring. Deal with the fucking earring before he comes back.
My hands felt like they belonged to someone else as I reached up to my ear, fumbling with the small silver hoop. It took three tries to get it unhooked, my fingers clumsy and uncooperative. When it finally came free, I clutched it in my palm and looked around.
The drain. Right there.
I crawled toward the tub on hands and knees, my wet dress tangling around my legs. Reached the edge and dropped the earring into the drain, watching it tumble down into darkness, hearing the faint ping as it hit the pipe below.
Gone. No evidence.
I slumped against the side of the tub, breathing hard, trying to clear my head. But the dizziness wasn't fading—if anything, it was getting worse.
His blood is poison, I thought. Literal fucking poison. What kind of—
The water cut off abruptly.
The frosted glass door opened, and Sebastian stepped out. No steam rose from his skin—just cold water dripping from his hair, his shoulders, running in rivulets down his chest. He'd wrapped a black silk robe around himself, but I could see goosebumps on his arms, see the way his jaw was clenched tight, probably to keep his teeth from chattering.
He took a cold shower, I thought again, the significance of it trying to break through the drug haze. Not warm. Not hot. Freezing cold. Like he was trying to—
Cool down. Calm down. Get control of whatever I'd triggered in him.
He looked... different. Still dangerous, but there was something almost vulnerable in the way he moved, the way his wet hair was plastered to his forehead in dark streaks, the way his skin had that particular pallor that came from shocking your system with ice water.
His eyes found mine where I sat slumped against the tub, and I saw them widen fractionally.
He crossed the distance and crouched down, one hand gripping my chin, tilting my face toward the light. His fingers were cold against my skin—actually cold, not just cool, like he'd spent ten minutes under arctic spray. His thumb brushed my lower lip.
Sebastian's other hand found the small of my back, and before I could process it, he'd scooped me up against his chest. I wanted to protest, to push away, but my arms felt like lead.
He grabbed a towel and roughly scrubbed the water and blood from my face and mouth. His movements were brusque, almost angry, but there was something careful in the way he avoided pressing too hard.
"Don't run," he said, each word precisely enunciated. "Do you understand me? Don't. Run."
Couldn't run if I wanted to, asshole. Can barely feel my legs.
His jaw tightened. "I can't—" He stopped, started again. "I need to leave. Now. Before I—" Another stop. "Just don't run."
Then he was carrying me to the bed, depositing me on cool sheets. The towel was inadequate against the chill setting in.
Sebastian stood looking down at me for a long moment. Then he turned and strode toward the door.
Then he was gone.
I lay in the darkness, listening to his footsteps recede, and tried to organize my scattered thoughts.
Dangerous. He's even more dangerous than I thought. His very blood is a weapon.
But there was something else too. The way the crimson had receded from his eyes when my saliva mixed with his blood. The way his breathing had evened out. The way he'd fled to a cold shower like he was trying to shock himself back to sanity.
What are you? I wondered. What have they made you into?
Footsteps in the hallway. The door opened, and two women in gray uniforms entered.
"Miss," one of them said quietly. "We're here to help you bathe properly."
New staff. He replaced Isabella already.
They moved with careful efficiency. Helped me out of the wet dress, supported me as I walked back to the bathroom on unsteady legs, drew a fresh bath.
I didn't fight them this time. Didn't have the energy. The earring was gone. The evidence was destroyed. For now, I'd passed the test.
I sank into the hot water and let them work. The large tub had jets that pulsed against my back, and slowly, gradually, the effects of Sebastian's blood began to fade.
My mind cleared. My thoughts sharpened.
And as they did, one question rose above all the others:
Should I do something to make him throw me away?
If I could make myself repulsive enough, annoying enough, more trouble than I was worth—would he discard me?