19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I let out a yawn as I find myself at the kitchen entrance. I glance around for onlookers before pulling two pins from my garter to pick the lock.

The kitchen is dark and it's strangely quiet in here. I pull two staff aprons from the cupboard and throw them over my shoulder just as my stomach lets out a long, low growl. I find my vegetable peeling station and I slice into a juicy tomato. A rapping on the window startles me, and I nearly drop the knife. The silhouette of a large raven rustles in the window before flying away.

"What do we have here?" a gruff voice calls behind me. Two guards enter the kitchen from the courtyard. One of them jiggles the door handle. "Looks like we have a little lock-picking thief on our hands."

"I was just hungry," I say. "I work here." I slowly raise my hands, realizing I'm still gripping a kitchen knife. Before I can throw it, I'm struck in the wrist by one of their blades.

Shit, he's fast. I drop the knife, and bright red blood runs down my forearm, dripping from my elbow in a steady tick, tick, tick on the stone floor. I rack my brain as the two guards approach me. The only thing I can do besides heal is maybe invade one of their thoughts.

I concentrate on the blond guard as I push images and feelings to his mind. I think about the guard next to him and how it might feel if their mustaches tickled as they kissed. "She's trying to glamour me!" The blond guard yells, and the second guard pulls his sword.

Just then, the two guards stiffen, looking over my shoulder. "That was me," August says. "She's with me. I asked her to come down and make me a. . ." He looks at the sliced fruit by me, "tomato sandwich." The side eye he gives me is dripping with judgment. "I apologize for the glamour: old habits." He flashes them a smile, exposing his fangs. One of them knocks over a metal flour canister with a loud clang as they run from the room.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" he asks and grabs my wrist. He's warm, which surprises me.

Blood slides over his thumb and two fingers. "This is going to make peeling potatoes a little difficult tomorrow, don't you think?" His temper is clearly rising. Why is he mad about potatoes? I shouldn't have drank so much. I'm missing something.

"I'll heal as soon as you pull the blade." Good thing there was plenty of energy in the air tonight. I've more than filled my well, even stretching it a little.

I grit my teeth and try to pull my wrist from him, but his grip is too tight. He furrows his brows and yanks the blade. Blood wells up quickly, and within a few seconds, my tendon, muscles, and skin have knitted back together.

"One of your gifts?" he asks.

"I don't think so. Don't all fae have healing abilities?"

"Yes, but not that fast. I would say this is one of your higher magical skills." He glances at my arm, still tinged with blood. His eyes close, and his nostrils flare as he inhales deeply.

"I like the dress I bought you, by the way." His voice is low and gravely as his gaze slides lazily down my body. "It looks really nice gathered up around your hips."

I yank my wrist from his hand.

"You!" I step backward, bumping into the island.

He steps forward, smiling wickedly before slowly licking my blood from his thumb and sucking it off of his two fingers. He hums low in satisfaction, the sound sending terror and revulsion through my veins.

"You're our benefactor," I whisper in horror. We've been working for a monster all along. Eoin was right—I'm sure that was a threat to Tomas.

My chest constricts. I can't breathe.

My knees buckle, and I slide down the side of the island to the floor. I try grounding myself, finding three objects, and taking slow breaths, but it's not working. The steady drip of the faucet intensifies to the decibel of a large drum, and I cover my ears.

August kneels beside me with lines between his brows. I smell my blood on his breath and the rotting potato on the other side of the room. I gag.

August reaches a hand out toward me, and I flinch. "Don't touch me!" A pitiful sound escapes me as I squint my eyes. "It's so loud. I can't see."

"Fiery deity, you're so gods damned young. Why did she pick you?" He sits beside me, careful not to touch me. "Your magic is still developing, isn't it?" He speaks low and soft. "When your fae senses are coming in, it can be overwhelming. It comes in waves at first. It's awful, but it will pass."

He runs his finger back and forth over the stone floor between us. "It helps if you concentrate on one of your senses, for instance, the sound of my finger on the stone."

The rough, gritty sound of his skin sliding against cool, dry rock remains steady as the other sounds around us settle into a more tolerable sensory level.

I uncover my ears and wipe the tear streaks from my cheeks. August stands and offers me his hand. I hesitate for only a moment but let him pull me to my feet.

"Thanks." I dust off the back of my skirts and pick up the two aprons I'll need for tomorrow.

"Wait," he says. "What was the glamour you were trying to pull on the guard? I'm just curious what they think I was doing."

"Um, well I don't know if it is a glamour, but I can sort of bring images to mind and feelings, I think. The only times I've ever done it was of an. . .intimate nature." My cheeks heat, and I look away.

"It might not be glamour magic. It sounds like it could also be compulsion or projecting. They can be hard to differentiate while your magic is still developing." He lets out a low whistle. "Healing and compulsion. What a combination that would be. Add that to the skills your kind is already known to have, and you'd have some pretty powerful enemies." He slides beside me, handing me a glass of water, and begins slicing the rest of the tomato.

"So, what was it?" he asks.

"What was what? And what do you mean, my kind?"

He grabs a small loaf of rosemary bread and slices it. His arm brushes mine ever so slightly.

"A siren." He places a wide slice of tomato between two slices of bread, and my hand twitches. "What was the glamour or compulsion you were trying to pull?" He hands me half of the tomato sandwich before taking a bite of his own.

He doesn't seem overly alarmed by what I am. "Well, I guess I was trying to get the blond one to kiss the other one," I say, and he chokes.

"What? Why would you do that?" He coughs again and takes a drink of my water.

"You said it yourself. I'm a siren. It's what I can do."

He pinches the bridge between his nose and mutters, "Flaming deity, help me." He looks me square in the eyes. "You realize they think I was trying to make them kiss?"

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter, but it builds and escapes. He rubs his temples and looks slightly less like a merciless vampire lord.

"You're going to ruin my reputation, girl," he says, pointing at me. "Eat this. You need to sober up." He shakes his head to himself while I take a bite of the sandwich.

"You don't have to use your magic in a sexual way," he says without a hint of judgment. "It makes sense that those are the first ways those gifts would manifest for a siren, given your nature. You could have just as easily projected feelings of fear or trust; scared them off, or made them trust you."

"Why did you trust that I would be a good partner tonight at cards?" I finish the last of my water, and my teeth start to chatter.

He slides his jacket off. "I didn't. I trusted Raynor would be a bad one for Luc." He winks, and a few sadistic butterflies swarm in my stomach. "Turn around," he says, and I obey.

He slides his jacket over my shoulders and smells my hair. "It was your eyes," he says. "I saw your eyes and knew what you were." He leans in, warm breath on my ear. "Now, go to bed."