Page 67 of Crave Me
“To save someone?”
He’d shaken his head. “No, to kill them.”
“Definitely not a hero, then.”
“Not to humans,” he’d agreed. “My devotion is to my House. I’d do anything for them.”
Including not mating me if I can’t conform to this world,I’d thought, the same words repeating in my mind now.
It was a pragmatic stance, one that explained his reluctance to do more than kiss me at night. He was maintaining control.
As much as I wanted to push the boundaries and experience more of what he had to offer, I wouldn’t. Because I respected his choice.
Just as he respected mine—which had included me continuing my hunt for my magic.
I could sense it lingering nearby, remaining just out of reach.
It was the first time in months that I’d been able to truly sense the familiar energy, with the first burst of it having been in Dublin.
Now it was hiding around me, confirming that it had wanted me in Iceland all along.
I just didn’t fully comprehend why.
To mate Vesperus?
To make this place my home?
To complete some other task before allowing me to leave this realm?
What…?
What do you want from me, medallion?
All questions I would ask the sentient strand when it returned.
Alas, it continued to remain elusive, simply pulsing somewhere close to me without revealing itself.
I’ll find you,I promised it as I rolled out of the bed.But I’m going to indulge Vesperus in breakfast first.
Because he’dspikedmy juice. And I knew he wasn’t talking about alcohol.
I showered and dressed in my new wardrobe—another black gown, but this one had slits up the sides and a modest neckline. No back, though. So I used my stardust to add a gold chain down my spine that met the dress just above my rump. Then I put on my crescent necklace again, the gold still stained with my blood.
And now Vesperus’s, I thought, eyeing the charm in the mirror. He’d added a drop of his own essence the other night, deciding it would help mark me ashis, and not just a temporary member of Gold and Garnet.
No one had given me any issues since the storekeeper incident, but the people here hadn’t been all that willing to talk with me either.
Maybe I’d ask Cara if we could try visiting a pub today for a drink. Perhaps that sort of activity would be seen as normal enough to make me approachable.
Decided, I laced up my sandals—which Cara gawked at every time she saw me, saying something about it being beach appropriate, not Iceland appropriate—and shadowed into the kitchens.
“Oh!” Chef Betty exclaimed, dropping a pan and making me wince. “Nyx!”
I winced again. “Sorry.”
“You have got to stop doing that,” she scolded me, the witch one of the few who didn’t seem to fear me. Probably because this was her space as head of the kitchen.
“To be fair, it was only the second time,” I told her. Because I’d skipped breakfast every other day this week.
