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Not that it stops me.

Vix doesn’t stir with my entrance. She lies just as soundly as when I arrived.

Perhaps it’s the way she shivers when the fan blows over her, or the soft little sounds she makes when she adjusts beneath the sheet, but there’s an odd sense of comfort that comes with seeing her this way. She’s so very vulnerable, which is a dangerous place to be considering how very much I want to taste her tears.

Her breathing is shallow and even, her hair is a mess, and she has one foot sticking out from under the blanket.

A true vision.

I run my fingers over her forearm, imagining the feel of the blood rushing through her veins, how pretty it would soak her silky skin.

If only I didn’t hold such hatred for the little beast, maybe then I could admire her.

Stepping through the house, I scan over the changes she’s made since living here. It’s subtle. The dishes are all a porcelain blue, stacked neatly in the cupboards. A matte gray painting hangs in place above the bookshelf. Streaks of darker and lighter colorless tones slide down the picture like messy raindrops. It’s a theme I feel encompasses us perfectly. Overcast and imperfect. It’s the way I imagine she feels a lot of the time. Or at least, something I can relate to in myself when I look at it.

Apart from these few things, very little gives away there’s a new person taking residence here. She has done nothing to make it her own. Partly because this isn’t her home, I’m sure. I get the impression this is just who she is though. Sumner doesn’t plant roots. She collects nothing, living a minimalistic life and keeping the things around her bare. Maybe that comes from moving around so much when she was younger. It’s easier to let go when you have no attachments.

I thumb lazily through one of the old books on the shelf, seeing the pages worn and wrinkled at the corners. That, plus the lack of dust, tells me she’s probably read through it at least a few times. I couldn’t tell you the last time any of these were touched. My dad’s the only one who ever cared for books. There’s something I find almost intimate in that, her having read the things he did. Whatever adventures lie in this story is something they share. It was his, and now it’s hers.

There’s a light coo from the other side of the guest house, the sound of muffled cries and a thrashing of sheets. I set down the book, finding my way back inside the bedroom. Without pause or even thought, I climb in beside her, placing an arm around her small body to hold her against me. Before long, the tears coating her cheeks dry and the whimpers die down. Whatever remnants of the nightmare which clings to her every night fades away and she’s breathing evenly again. That’s all it takes.

Every time.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

SUMNER

Liya and I slide the glass door open, tiptoeing into the kitchen. The room is dark, quiet. I half expect an alarm to go off, or for the front door to swing open. I’ve snuck into plenty of places in my life. This one seems more daring. It was definitely more dangerous, depending on what kind of mood the grouchy vampire was in if he were to catch us rummaging through his cabinets while he wasn’t home.

There’s a creak and we both pause, holding our breath as we listen to the silence. I glance back at Liya, sharing a stifled laugh. This is way more fun than it should be, and we don’t even have what we came for yet.

“Got it,” I whisper, pulling the thin bottle from the back of the cabinet.

Liya makes her way beside me, lifting herself to sit on the counter’s edge. “Have you ever had faerie wine?” she asks, to which I shake my head. “You’re going to love it. Just be careful, it’s way stronger than most liquors.”

I uncork the top, breathing in the sweet aroma of berries and soft spice. It smells cozy, like reading a book by the fire while it’s raining. She hands us each a glass, watching as I pour the wine. It’s like reddened crystals, glimmering even in the dark.

Cool liquid rushes over my tongue, sparking every taste bud with a jolt of flavor I’d never quite tasted. I close my eyes, letting the fizzy liquid dance around in my mouth before swallowing to take another gulp. The sweetness stays on my tongue, mixed with a subtle bitterness.

My belly feels warm. There’s even a flush peppering my cheeks. Liya wasn’t kidding when she said this stuff was strong. I haven’t even finished my glass, but my head is light.

“Why does it glitter like that?” I ask, swirling the bottle from side to side.

“It’s made with pixie dust. That’s also what gives it that lasting taste. So good,” she coos into her glass, sipping the last of it down.

“So good,” I agree, tilting my cup back. The effects of the wine have kicked in a little quicker than I expected, and I tilt the glass too far. A shock of coolness spills down my top, ruby standing out against my white tee.

“Sumner! That stuff is expensive, and now you’re wearing it.” She giggles, causing me to laugh too.

“Help me rinse it off.” I turn on the sink.

“No, girl. That shirt is done for life. Faerie wine doesn’t wash out. Looks like you got it on your pants too.”

I scan down the front of myself, a little embarrassed with how clearly underprepared I was for that yummy drink.

“You’d better get those clothes off. It’ll stain your skin.”

I do as she says, pulling off my top only to see the red seeping into my bra as well. I’ve wasted not only good wine, but good clothes. My house isn’t far. I can run there and change. I’m just tipsy enough to have another idea though.