Page 120 of Bride

She bites the inside of her cheek. “I really would love to get out of here. Spend more time with Sylvester.”

“Sylvester?”

“My cat.”

“Ah.” I glance away guiltily. “About that.”

“I swear to God, if you tell me that you let my cat starve or choke to death on my yarn or get eaten by a raccoon—”

“I did not, even though he’d deserve it. However, his name is now Sparkles. And he’s grown very attached to Liliana Moreland, or vice versa.” I ignore her withering look. “There’s nothing but cats in the world, and Sparkles is mediocre among them, so I’ll get you another one if we ever—”

A knock at the door, and we both startle.

“Yeah?” Serena calls. She pushes me out of sight, even when the door and the food slot stay closed.

“I have a... bag of blood. For the Vampyre.”

“Who’s that?” I whisper.

“Bob.”

I tilt my head. “Who the hell is Bob?”

“It’s a name I made up for the guards. They’re all Bob.” And then, louder. “Misery’s not feeling well,” she yells. Which is true—I feel like total shit. “I think the drugs might be about to kill her or something!”

What the hell?I mouth. I cannot deal with a Serena plan right now.

“Well, that’s above my pay grade. I can’t do anything for a leech, anyway—”

“She is Vampyreroyalty. Whoever your boss is, do you think they’ll be pleased with you if she dies under your watch?”

There are a couple of muttered curses I can barely make out. Then the slot opens. “What’s going on?”

I look at Serena, stumped. All she does is gesture vaguely at me, probably trying to telepathically transmit her plan. I scrunch myface into a raisin, hoping to cringe myself out of this world. When that doesn’t work, I reluctantly make my way to the door.

The opening is at head height, but because of the way the attic is built, Bob’s view of the inside is limited. “There is something wrong. With my... eye,” I tell him once we’re face-to-face. He’s a Were, and looks younger than I expected. Too young to be doing this shit, just like Max.

Fuck you, Emery, and fuck you, Mick.

He mutters something about leeches whining and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“This.” I sniffle and make an assortment of dramatic noises. On my right, hidden from Bob’s eyes, Serena gives me the thumbs-up. The most useless enabler in the world. “You see?”

“I can’t see anything.” He leans forward a little, but he’s smart enough not to tilt his head into the door. Pity, as I’d have loved to punch him. Then again, that would leave me satisfied, but still locked in here. “It’s just a regular purple eye. What am I supposed to notice?”

“It must be a reaction to the drugs. You have to tell a physician,” I say. Maybe too flatly, because Serena is miming something that can only meanUp the histrionics. “I coulddie.”

“Die of what?”

“Ofthis, you see?” I point under my right eye, and he focuses on it, trying to find some abomination within. When my intraocular muscles start twitching to initiate the thrall, I put everything I can into the movement, hoping to get a quick hook.

For a moment, it does work. I anchor myself just below the surface, Bob’s confusion obvious in his slack mouth and empty eyes.I have him, I think.I have him, I have him, I have him.

Then he frowns and pulls back, and I realize that I failed.

Abysmally.

“Did you...” He blinks at me, twice, and the realization dawns on him. “Did you just try to thrall me? You fuckingleech!”

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