Page 69 of Gilded Wicked Mirrors
“Understood,” Kordelia said with a coquettish grin. “Since you want me to tell you when there are suspicious activities at the Viridian, I think we need to talk about Seren.”
Constance’s brows crinkled. “What about her?”
“I thought I saw her the other night,” Kordelia said.
“That’s highly unlikely.” Constance smoothed out a rogue feather on her costume. “She left twenty years ago, and if she were back, I’d feel it.”
“You’re probably right. I worry about you.” Kordelia reached out and played with one of Constance’s bouncy raven curls. The touch was so close, so intimate. Then she cupped Constance’s face and kissed her. It was passionate but short-lived as Constance pulled away.
“Don’t,” she breathed, a struggle lighting up her posture. Her limbs were rigid, yet her body tilted toward the blonde. As if two sides of her warred.
“I’m sorry.” Kordelia’s voice cracked. “I am sorry for everything.”
With her thumb, Constance caressed Kordelia’s chin. “I wish . . .” Constance's thumb traveled south—a lover’s caress. “I can’t. I can’t be with you,” she said, letting her hand drop.
Kordelia reached for another raven curl, but Constance stepped away. A mask of indifference flooded across her face as she tried to keep her emotions in check.
“Because you don’t trust me,” Kordelia finished the thought.
“I trust you in every way but this.” Constance rocked between her feet, not wanting to meet the blonde’s eyes.
“I know,” Kordelia whispered. “I wish that I had never ruined things between us.”
“Me too.”
“Just know, Constance DeWinter, I love you. I have always loved you, no matter what I’ve done.” The words were so devoted and private that shivers ran down Quinn’s arms.
Now, Quinn truly crossed the line. Despite her anger at her friend, this was not a conversation she should’ve overheard. It was an intimate fight between two lovers or ex-lovers or whatever they were, and it was not appropriate to listen in on.
As Quinn backed away and forced her feet to make no sounds, she heard Constance say, “I know.”
Making her way down the hall undiscovered, Quinn felt terrible. Shame crawled down her spine and settled in her stomach. Eavesdropping on something like that was so wrong and felt like being covered in tar without a way to get it off—
A sonorous, velvety voice sounded from behind her ear. Quinn jolted out of her skin as panic writhed up her bones. “Hello, Little Ballerina.”
Twenty-Five
The beast in her heart raged against its cage as she felt his hot breath on her neck. Emrys was immortal and powerful and most likely a vampire. Her whole body tensed, waiting for him to speak, to strike, to do something. But he only hovered behind her with preternatural stillness.
He was a vampire. She knew it in her bones. But would he hurt her? What did monsters do with maidens in all the fairytales?
“You are trespassing in a vampire’s lair.” His lips caressed her earlobe.
It was a confession.
“I believe I was invited,” she breathed, her body trembling because he was the villain that plagued her nightmares.
His fingers hovered over her shoulder. “Hmmm, were you?”
Now, he was toying with her, but that’s what monsters did. They toyed with their prey. Their food.
“Are you here to kill me?” Her voice was a shiver.
“No.” She felt him bristle behind her.
This fear was unfounded. There was no reality to it. He’d never hurt her, and he couldn’t kill her. She knew that, but it didn’t keep her heart from pounding or her body from trembling.
She angled her head slightly to look back, and her red hair felldown her shoulders and mingled with the layers of her dress. Her breaths were stilted and filled with dread. She couldn’t trust Emrys. He was a devil and a murderer. Maybe not Jane’s, but he was still far too dangerous, and Quinn was in way over her head. She was just a ballerina. A silly little girl who dreamed of dancing and fame.
