His dark brows drew together. “You really don’t have any cravings for blood, even after drinking so much of it?”
“No, and I’ve tasted more than I care to. It doesn’t heal me, it doesn’t excite me, and it sure as hell doesn’t taste like a margarita.”
“Does it taste like a Bloody Mary?”
I brushed a strand of hair away from my face, stealing a glimpse of his bottomless eyes. They reminded me of a line in a poem that went: And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.
I shivered and looked away. “Blood does nothing for me.”
“It’s a shame you can’t enjoy the full-bodied taste, but I can’t complain, because your lack of taste will come in handy. Blood is what makes even the best Vampires weak with want, so at least you have that going for you. Can you glean information from it?”
I turned away, showing him my back. “You’re nosy.”
The bed didn’t move, but somehow Christian had eased up behind me, his words nothing but dark whispers in my ear. “Know thyself. You’ll never learn who you are by watching others or reading about it in a textbook. You’ll never know what you’re capable of by avoiding what you fear. Who are you, Raven Black?”
When I rolled over, Christian was gone.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I slipped out of Christian’s bedroom and took a quick shower before collecting my things. I had a feeling this might be my last day, so I wanted to leave on my terms. The halls with windows were humid and smelled of rain, so I put on my lace-up boots, which were good for treading water.
Keystone had become a temporary reprieve, and I was going to miss its winding halls, grand staircases, majestic rooms, and sumptuous views. It had offered me protection, where I didn’t have to sleep with one eye closed, and the quiet rooms allowed me space to gather my thoughts.
When I reached the lower level, energetic conversation filled the dining room down the hall, but I continued moving toward the front door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wyatt yanked the green duffel bag out of my hands from behind.
I whirled around. “Wyatt, give me the bag.”
He held it high in a game of keep-away, so I snatched the grey beanie off his head.
“That’s all right, buttercup. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. It’s time for breakfast, so follow me.” Wyatt turned on his heel and headed toward the dining room.
“Give me the bag!” With a flying leap, I hooked my arm around his neck in a death grip.
He choked, running down the hall with me draped over his back. “C-c-c-an’t bree-breathe,” he stammered, gasping for air.
“Drop the bag and I’ll give you oxygen.”
We flew into the dining room, making a dramatic entrance. The chatter ceased as everyone at the table stared at us like frozen statues.
Wyatt heaved the bag across the room and shook me off his back. He gasped, coughing several times before regaining his composure. A lick of embarrassment rattled me when he gave me a cold stare.
He snagged his hat out of my hands and gave it a light shake before sliding it back onto his head, covering most—but not all—of his light-brown hair. “A gentleman can’t even carry a lady’s bag.”
When I moved to retrieve it, he got ahead of me and kicked it next to Viktor’s chair, right before taking his seat with an impish grin on his face.
It felt like the walk of shame, and it infuriated me to think they had the audacity to sit there smiling in a show of mockery. Then again, I wasn’t sure why I expected compassion from a group of bandits. Sneaking out had nothing to do with saving face—I was hoping to avoid getting my memory scrubbed.
Claude rose to his feet, his nose twitching. “What’s wrong, female?”
“I just want my bag.”
Gem stood up as if trying to get a better look. “Where are you going?”
Claude wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me to the table. “To her chair, that’s where she’s going.”
As we neared the vacant chair, I dug my heels in. “Hold on, wait. Just stop.”
Viktor laced his fingers together in a prayerlike gesture, watching us in rapt silence.
Gem plopped back in her seat and scooped out a spoonful of jelly from a jar, carefully spreading it on a strip of bacon.
The chair to Viktor’s left was vacant.
“Where’s Christian? You didn’t fire him, did you? If so, you made a mistake. He didn’t have anything to do with what happened last night.”
Viktor flipped a linen napkin across his lap, his voice edged with disappointment. “I like to see that kind of camaraderie. It gives me hope.”