“Oh, you know,”—I leaned forward slightly—“when I was touring Castle Redrock.”
“And was anyone else sightseeing with you?”
“Maybe.” I watched her. “Why the fuck do you have a cat caged? Is that one of your…pets?”
Her blood-red lips twisted into a thin smile. “Not my favorite. That would be you.”
“Honored,” I growled, and the smile deepened. “The cat didn’t look like he was doing too well.”
“The cat is fine.”
The edges of my fingers brushed the bone. “But it must be old. If it’s the same one Poppy spoke of—the one she saw as a child.”
Isbeth went completely still.
“She once told me she saw it under Wayfair Castle.”
“Penellaphe was a curious child.”
“You still have it?”
Her stare fixed on me. “He’s right where he was when Penellaphe saw him all those years ago,” she said, and it took everything in me not to smile at the savage rush of satisfaction I felt. “But he may be hungry. Perhaps I will feed him the next finger I take.”
“Why don’t you come take it now? Not your golden boy.”
Callum frowned. “I am not a boy.”
“Or one of your Handmaidens,” I continued, holding her stare. “Or are you too afraid? Too weak?”
Isbeth tipped her head back, laughing. “Afraid? Of you? The only thing about you that frightens me is your stench.”
“So you say,” I murmured. “But I know the truth. Everyone here does. Your courage comes from keeping those stronger than you in chains.”
Her laughter ceased. “You think you’re stronger than me?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I smiled then, closing my hand around the bone. “I am, after all, my mother’s son.”
Isbeth stared down at me and then shot forward, just like I knew she would because some things never changed. Her fragile ego was one of them.
I wrenched the bone out from behind my back, thrusting it up as her hand closed around my throat, just above the shadowstone band.
Isbeth’s eyes went wide as her entire body jerked.
“That’s for Poppy’s brother,” I bit out.
Slowly, Isbeth lowered her chin and looked down to where the bone protruded from the center of her chest. Missed her godsdamn heart by an inch, if that.
Her gaze lifted to mine, the glow in her dark eyes bright. “Ouch,” she hissed, shoving me back. Hard.
My head cracked off the wall, the pain exploding behind my eyes in a hundred starbursts. Sliding sideways, I caught myself before I toppled over.
“That was really unnecessary.” Isbeth’s chest rose as she reached down, gripping the bone. The Handmaidens had moved in, but she stopped them. Only Callum remained where he knelt, his eyes fixed with captive interest. “All it served to do is anger me.”
“And ruin your gown,” I added. The pain in my head intensified the hunger—the need to feed and heal whatever recent damage had been inflicted.
Her lips pulled back, revealing blood-coated teeth. “That, too.” She pulled the bone free, tossing it aside. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t want to kill you, even though it would make me feel very, very happy to do so at the moment. I need you alive.”
She continued speaking, but I only caught parts of it. Her heartbeat had sped up. The scent of her blood was strong. I even heard the golden Rev’s heart. I felt the steady thump of the Handmaidens’， who stood quietly behind her.
“He needs blood,” Callum stated.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“He needs an attitude adjustment,” she retorted.
Thump. Whoosh. Thump. Whoosh.
“Can’t argue with that. But look at his eyes. They’re nearly black.” Callum started to rise. “If he doesn’t get some blood in him soon, he will—”
“Rip your fucking throat out?” I finished for him. “And shove your entrails down the gaping hole?”
Callum’s lips pursed as he eyed me. “That painted a lovely picture. Thank you.”
“Fuck you,” I growled.
“Well, we know what your favorite word is today.” Isbeth sighed, wiping at the blood that ran down the center of her stomach. “I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. I’ve given you food, clean water, a”—she glanced at where a downed Craven lay—“somewhat safe shelter. All I’ve taken from you is a finger. And yet, you stab me.”