Page 46 of Blood as Sweet as Roses
“I can stay with you, if you…”
“Go.”
She doesn’t speak loudly, but her tone is clear. Even though I hate leaving her, somehow I find my feet and I walk back to the mansion.
CHAPTER 16: UNDONE
Crimson
The water in the sink turns maroon as I wash the dirt and blood from my hands. There’s a crisp knock on my office door.
“Enter!” I shout.
I hear the sound of Sabina’s sharp, clicking heels on the hardwood floor.
“What is it?” she asks. “I was fang-deep in awonderfullytasty bear shifter, so you’d better have a good reason to have asked for me…”
“Waylan is gone,” I tell her, rubbing a splinter out of my palm.
She’s silent, for a change.
Sabina was the only one who knew Waylan as long as I did. The only one old enough to have been around when he was created. I still remember that day. But it’s dangerous to think about it, to dwell on those memories, no matter how rare.
I turn off the faucet and dry my hands on a rose-embroidered, black hand towel, then I can’t put it off any longer. I turn to face her.
There’s the smallest line between her eyebrows, a tiny crease at the side of her mouth. “You did it?”
“I did,” I reply, crossing my arms over my bloodstained chest. “He attacked one of my breathers. Was going to drain her. I’d warned him, and it was the final straw.”
I don’t know if the words are for her benefit, or for mine.
“You buried the body?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She swallows. For a moment, she looks as exhausted as I feel. But she quickly composes herself. “That’s that, then. Is there anything else you need me for?”
“Yes,” I answer, gritting my teeth for what I need to do next.
Sabina’s face hardens, her lips pressing together tightly. But she waits for me to speak first.
“I will ask you this question once, Sabina,” I tell her, my voice as stony as the angel statues in the courtyard. “Are you absolutely loyal to me, and to me alone?”
I don’t need to flash the red in my eyes, or drop my fangs. If she didn’t know it before, then she knows now what I’ll do to cement my power. She can fall in line, or face the same fate as Waylan.
Her eyes fall to the ground. “Yes,” she says, a whispered hush.
“Try again,” I hiss.
“Yes, my king,” she answers.
“Good,” I reply, with bitter satisfaction. “You may go.”
She nods, and crosses to the door. But then she hesitates, and turns back toward me.
I open my mouth to bark an order at her. But then I catch the expression on her face, the rim of red at the crease of her eyes, the slight quiver of her lips. I’ve never seen her like that.
When she speaks, her voice is hollow and pained. “Roslyn, I…”
