I reach past her, pick up the vampire queen—even though she’s pretty much the last thing I ever want to touch—and hold her up for Foster’s niece, for Grace to see. “She’s really not very nice.”
She stares at me blankly. “She’s a chess piece.”
Her confusion amuses me—as does her determination to pretend that she’s not afraid of me. She’s got enough bravado that it might work on another human, but not with me. Not when I can smell her fear…and something else that makes me stand up and take notice. “Your point?” I ask, because poking the human is way too much fun.
“My point is, she’s a chess piece,” she answers, and for the first time, she’s brave enough to look me in the eye. Which I like, way more than I should. “She’s made of marble,” she continues after a moment. “She can’t bite anyone.”
I incline my head in a you never know gesture. “‘There are more things in heaven and hell, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’” Considering the clusterfuck we are currently in the middle of, a little Hamlet seems more than appropriate.
“Earth,” she responds.
Which has me raising a brow at her. Not only does she know the quote, but she’s not afraid to call me on my “mistake.”
“The quote is, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.’”
“Is it, now? I think I like my version better.”
“Even though it’s wrong?”
“Especially because it’s wrong.” She sounds incredulous and looks it, too. Which amuses me even as it concerns me. Because it means my first impression was right—she really is unobservant. Not to mention totally and completely clueless. All of which means she’s going to get slaughtered up here—or she’s going to cause a war. Or both.
I can’t afford to let that happen…for everyone’s sake. Not when I’ve worked so hard—and given up everything—to keep that from happening.
“I need to go.” Her eyes are wide, the words high-pitched and a little squeaky.
It’s the last straw, because if she can’t handle a basic conversation with me on my best behavior, how the hell is she going to make it so much as a day here?
“Yeah, you do.” I take a small step back, nod toward the common room—and the school entrance. “The door’s that way.”
Shock flits across her face as she demands, “So what, I shouldn’t let it hit me on the way out?”
I shrug just before giving her an answer guaranteed to send her running for the hills. The fact that it also makes me sound like a total douche is for me to regret and for her to never know why. “As long as you leave this school, it doesn’t matter to me if it hits you or not. I warned your uncle you wouldn’t be safe here, but he obviously doesn’t like you much.”
Anger flashes across her face, replacing the uncertainty. “Who exactly are you supposed to be, anyway? Katmere’s very own unwelcome wagon?”
“Unwelcome wagon?” I repeat. “Believe me, this is the nicest greeting you’re going to get here.”
“This is it, huh?” She raises her brows, spreads her arms out wide. “The big welcome to Alaska?”
The snark surprises me as much as it intrigues me—which is not acceptable…on any level. The knowledge has me snarling, “More like, welcome to hell. Now get the fuck out,” as much as a warning to myself as an attempt to scare her senseless.
Too bad it doesn’t work—on either front. Because she doesn’t shut down at my warning, and she sure as hell doesn’t run away. Instead, she just looks down her very cute nose at me and demands, “Is it that stick up your ass that makes you such a jerk? Or is this just your regular, charming personality?”
Shock washes over me—no one talks to me like that. Ever. Let alone some human girl I could kill with little more than a thought. With it comes a quick lick of frustration. Because I’m trying to save her life here, and she’s too unaware to even notice.
I need to change that—and fast. Narrowing my eyes at her, I snap, “I’ve got to say, if that’s the best you’ve got, I give you about an hour.”
It’s her turn for her brows to go up. “Before what?”
“Before something eats you.” Obviously.
“Seriously? That’s what you decided to go with?” She rolls her eyes. “Bite me, dude.”
If she only knew how much I want to do just that… The angrier she gets, the better she smells. Not to mention how good she looks with flushed cheeks and the pulse point at the hollow of her throat beating double-time.