Page 112 of House of Crimson Hearts
I can’t think about that. I need to wean myself off, not worry about where the next drop is coming from. Especially after I had so much of Octavia’s blood. But even as I think it, the first hint of withdrawal shivers course through my body.
She slips us inside. The club is in full swing, and as we race through the corridors and past the main club room, I notice dozens of people fucking in varying states of naked and the distinct scent of iron in the air.
She races me around the dance floor and up the stairs to a mezzanine floor and in through a door that was blended with the wall.
She slams the door behind us and barks an order at a boy sat in a chair to the right of a desk.
He scrambles up, “Yes, I’ll get that immediately.”
I notice how he flinches when he passes Octavia, how he never brings his eyes up to hers. I knew Octavia was treated differently, but I don’t think I really saw it until now. How easily my privilege kept me blind to her experience.
He disappears and I take a seat. Octavia pulls out the parchment she wrote on and uses a knife from her desk to cut it into pieces. She gestures for me to come to her desk. I join her, staring at her swirling script and the scraps of paper.
She moves a couple, switching the order. The young man returns carrying a tray. He deposits a goblet, a wine glass, a bottle of wine and a warmed bag of blood on the table and then darts to the furthest point of the room.
“You’re dismissed,” she says, and he doesn’t need telling twice. He scarpers but Octavia stands bolt upright. “Wait,” she says, and he halts.
Her shoulders sag a little and she turns to face him.
“Yes, Lady Beaumont?” the boy says.
“Frank, is it?” He nods, edging back.
“Thank you, Frank, I appreciate your service.”
His face crumples, washing through about four different emotions in the space of three seconds and then slowly, a smile spreads over his lips. He chances a quick glance up at her and bows deeply. “My pleasure.”
Then he hotfoots it out of her office.
A smug smile curls in the corner of my mouth, but I say nothing, and by the look Octavia is giving me, that’s a wise move.
“Anyway,” Octavia says and leans back over the scraps of paper to examine them. She reads the strips of riddle out loud as I pour myself a wine.
“In twilight’s shroud, where shadows dance, Beneath the gaze of stone’s grim trance. Seek the spire, where secrets seep, Where echoes whisper, and secrets keep.
Amidst the ancient city’s hush, Where winged sentinels guard the rush. Stony guardian, with eyes of night, He guards the passage, veiled from sight.
At the crossroads of the spectral hour, Where silence reigns and veils devour. Speak the cipher of the midnight air, To the stony keeper standing there.
When darkness weaves its cloak profound, And moonlight’s tendrils touch the ground. Utter the language of the night, Unlock the path veiled from the light.
Where serenity and mystery entwine, A clandestine union in the shadow’s sign. Pursue the whispers through the night, To secrets veiled in silent light.”
I listen as she speaks, turning the words over. “Hmm,” I say.
She nods, “Hmm indeed, I’ve no idea what this means.”
“Me neither.”
Octavia’s eyes fall to my wine. Reluctantly, I slice the bag of blood and pour it into the goblet for her.
There’s that burning scratch in my chest again. It’s not like it bothers me that she’s drinking someone else’s blood. She’s already told me the consequences. It’s just that it feels uncomfortable to watch it. Obviously, that’s my hunter tendencies. The fact it’s so unnatural. The fact that until a couple of days ago, I’d have staked her if I could, and now I’m partnered with her, and it’s messing with my head. And that’s without my own hypocrisy of drinking her blood.
She takes the goblet, our fingers brushing.
“You don’t need to look at me like that. Would you rather I drained one of the club-goers?” she says, her voice a little huffy.
“I’m not looking at you like anything. It’s fine. I know you have to eat. Shall we focus on the challenge?”
