Page 45 of Monsters' Manor

Renwick nods, eyes scanning my face.

“Come with me?”

All around us, other monsters and witches wander away from the light of the fire as the night grows later and darker. In couples, trios, sometimes more, bodies press close and conversations drop to furtive whispers.

The flames have burned low, casting permissive shadows over it all, and the magick in the air seems to have shifted right with it. It whispers over my bare arms and down the back of my neck, an invitation and a warning all wrapped up in one.

“Alright, Rosie,” Renwick murmurs. “Let’s go get some air.”

It’s a paper-thin excuse, a knife’s edge we’re tiptoeing as we walk away from the light of the clearing and into the cover of the forest. The magick between us pulses and pulls, makes me want to huddle closer to his heat as the cool October air surrounds us.

“Fresh enough for you?” he asks a couple minutes later.

I stop in the middle of the path and glance around. We’re alone, no one else from the bonfire in sight, just the faintest hint of voices and music from the clearing.

Renwick stops, too, and looks me up and down. “I’m glad you came tonight, Rosie.”

“Are you?”

His gaze narrows a little as he answers. “Yes.”

“Why? I didn’t think you liked me all that much.”

All throughout our training sessions, we’ve constantly snarked and bitched at each other. It’s almost as much of a sport as the training itself, trying to one-up each other with each new bit of sass and sarcasm.

“Is that right?” he asks, leaning his enormous frame over me in a way I assume is supposed to be intimidating.

I take a few skipping steps away from him, further down the darkened path into the woods.

“You think I’m a brat,” I call over my shoulder.

When I catch his gaze, his eyes flare wide. He’s moving a moment later, following me into the darkness.

“Youarea brat, Rosie. A brat with a bad temper and a smart mouth.”

A pulse of excitement races through me. Dark, sharp, provoking, a demon’s challenge I can’t resist.

“And you’re an arrogant ass,” I tell him, fully employing that smart mouth he accuses me of having.

“Yes,” he says, completely unapologetic. “And I think you like that.”

I come to a hard stop, hands on my hips. “You wish.”

“Yes, I do.”

Silence, and the implications of those three little words crash over me. My eyes are wide as Renwick takes a step toward me, then another, until he’s close enough to touch.

“What are you doing, Rose?” he asks, and all the challenge is gone from his voice, replaced by a soft warning. “What is it you want?”

What a question.

My head swims with the nearness of him and the intoxicating magick of the evening, with a pulse of apprehension over how confused I am about it all. About him. About Silas. About my place and my future here.

Renwick studies me thoughtfully, like he can see all of those thoughts tumbling around in my head. “I don’t want to ask anything of you that you don’t want to give, Rosie. And I know I’m not the… only option for you here.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No,” Renwick says simply. “I already told you I don’t believe in jealousy. And I also don’t think you should deny yourself the pleasure you want if you’ve been given permission to take it.”

---