Page 29 of Blood of a Huntsman

A Residence

Cat didn't sleep. Nor did she deserve to. What the hell? She had no business kissing Sebastian in the woods, no matter how long it'd been since she'd last seen some action.

She'd never been fond of celibacy. In Rome, her family gave her Saturday nights off; she headed straight to hot tourist spots and played with the hottest guy she could find for half a night. Here, there was nothing for miles upon miles, and she'd been ordered not to leave Oldcrest without an escort.

When Levi had asked her to go to London last March, she'd had to call her aunt and request permission.

Yes, it was sad for a twenty-seven-year-old, grown-ass vampire. But that was what it meant to be a Stormhale. If Aunt Drusilla had heard that she'd gone out of the territory after being explicitly ordered not to, there would have been hell to pay. Punishment. Not physical, although Drusilla didn't squirm at slaps when she felt it was necessary. But Cat’s true punishments were worse. She'd wait for Catherine to truly fall in love with something, and then rip it away from her.

The first time, it had been her owl, which she'd found wounded outside of their land and nursed back to health. When Cat failed her magic tests, Drusilla crushed it in her grasp. Then, there’d been the piano. Cat loved playing, and at the time, she'd been good.

When she was nineteen, Drusilla told Cat to seduce a visitor. It wasn't the first time that she'd been given such a task, but Cat hadn't fancied the guy. He was a complete tool, and sexist to boot. So she said no, and Drusilla broke her fingers, twisting them one by one.

She remembered that day well.

"That man owns a bank I want to be in business with. And he's not easy to please. But for some reason, he fancies you, a stupid, spoiled brat. So, you will fuck Robert for your family, Catherine."

She'd already snapped the index fingers by then.

Catherine steeled her resolve, straightening her spine.

"I won't."

Drusilla moved on to her middle fingers. And then the rest. Catherine managed not to scream or cry, wincing through the ordeal.

She knew Drusilla could have forced her, regardless, but she didn't. And after that day, she never demanded that Cat whore herself again. She'd earned her aunt's reluctant respect.

But she'd lost her ability to play music.

That had happened years before Cat turned, and so the healing had taken some time. Though a competent doctor reset the fingers, she never played again, even after regaining the use of her hands.

The incident had taught her one lesson. She couldn't afford to show what she loved. What she hated. What she felt. Not in the pit of vipers where she'd been raised.

Cat refused to feel.

Hence why that kiss had made no sense whatsoever. She was on a dangerous slope. Because she'd definitely felt last night. Lust. Desire. Intrigue.

These were feelings for normal people who had their freedom, not Stormhale heirs.

She sighed, heading out of bed and down to the right wing’s common room.

It was empty, as usual. Few residents lived in this part of the house, and they didn't have the same sense of community as the rest of the Institute students. They were the predators. Cat got along with Chloe, but the others gave her a wide berth.

The ground floor was decorated in black and white, like a chessboard, with a checkered floor, black velvet sofas and armchairs, and white tables and sideboards.

Her eyes went to the first object she'd noticed after moving in, tucked in the corner of the room.

A piano.

Six years had passed since she'd played anything at all. No doubt she'd entirely lost the ability by now.

"Hey!"

Chloe surprised her, which meant that her mind really was a mess: vampire or not, the woman definitely wasn't stealthy.

"I didn't think you'd be up already. Didn't you have patrol a few hours ago?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You know, undead and all. We don't need that much sleep."

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