43. Eris
Eris
Vaguely, I'm aware that the prince is laughing on the other side before he leaves.
But I'm distracted by his reminder of what Verena really needs.
Blood.
My blood, perhaps.
She's grumbling under her breath about persistent princes and something about a shoe fetish as she wanders to the guest wardrobe to pull out a nightgown. I'm not sure why she's bothering when I'll take it off her again soon.
Once she's slipped into it, I approach from behind, wrapping my arms around her. After being starved of touch so long, I can't stand being parted from her warmth longer than necessary.
"Will you feed on me?" I murmur, kissing her neck.
Verena's breath catches. "What? No. Eris, you're only out for one night. I'm not going to spend it gnawing all over you. That's wrong."
"Why? I'd enjoy it."
"But that's—"
"I'm not pledged like Wulf, so you can't pretend your pesky morals are in the way when it comes to me," I cut in. "Don't you want to know what my blood tastes like? Tonight might be our only chance to find out if it tempts you as much as the huntsman's and the prince's."
I expected this to be a much longer argument, but Verena is quiet for a long moment.
So long that I realize she's morbidly curious.
Does this mean she's finally adapting to the darker nature of the queen? Thank Crones. At least it's progress over her typical horror toward blood.
"Maybe just one bite. For science." She turns in my arms to face me, her brow furrowed adorably. "Oh, god. I should be saying no. Why am I not saying no? What if I'm slowly turning evil—fuck, what if I become Rhinestone?"
I kiss her forehead, taking her hips and walking backward until we reach the table and chairs I snuck in here from a nearby tea parlor room earlier.
Sitting, I pull Verena onto my lap so she's straddling me, facing me.
"You're nothing like Reinhilde," I assure her, brushing dark red hair from her face.
Sometimes when I look at Verena, I completely forget she and the evil queen share this face.
There's such a stark difference in their souls that there is no overlap between them in my mind.
"You're just upholding your promise. I did make you promise to drink enough human blood every day, remember? "
Her attention slides to the side of my neck. "Are you human?"
"Maybe not. Does it matter? Bite me, Fairest," I urge, kissing her one more time before offering my neck.
Anticipation is coiled within me, my heart pounding. I've longed for her to feed on me for weeks.
Perhaps if I can help soothe her thirst while I'm out of the mirror, I'll feel as if I exist more than ever.
For a moment, Verena's lips are gentle, kissing my skin.
And then fangs slide into my neck.
I jolt, gasping—
But the unspeakable pleasure lasts less than a moment. It's much like my inability to relieve myself in the mirror realm, fading abruptly and leaving me in discomfort.
The sting from her bite still remains even though Verena pulls back at once, eyes wide.
"Um, Eris? I hate to tell you this, but..."
"I don't have blood," I realize aloud.
She shakes her head, regretful as she studies me. "Sorry I bit you for nothing."
I look away, rubbing my neck. There are small puncture marks, but nothing drips from them. No blood to tempt Verena or prove that the heart I feel pounding in my chest is real.
At this nasty little reminder that I barely exist, something inside me splinters a bit.
"I don't get it," she admits. "If you don't have blood, how did you have a rock-hard boner?"
"I don't know."
"But you feel warm. You wouldn't feel warm if you didn't have blood, right?"
My gaze shifts to the enchanted wine behind her. I suppose she'll be drinking both bottles, after all.
"I don't know," I repeat.
Crones, this hurts.
I want so desperately to be more to this beautiful creature than just a passing reflection. I long to be someone she can rely on if she ever faints with fever in the hot spring again. More than a pal or a friend, more than just a confidante or a Favored.
I want to be…hers.
I want her to stay here—but how can I ask that of her when I'm not truly here, either?
Verena's hand settles on my bare chest. I adore the feel of her touching me, but somehow it's another reminder of what I can't be to her. Not really.
"You even have a heartbeat," she murmurs. She takes my chin in one hand, guiding me to meet her determined violet-blue gaze. "You're real, Eris. We just need to find your body."
I study her. "You mean Wulf needs to find it. You still plan on leaving, even if you won't share your latest plot with me."
She looks torn.
That's answer enough for me. I stand, maneuvering so I can set Verena in the chair.
Then I turn to pour her a goblet of the enchanted wine, hoping this will at least take the edge off the torment she hides so well, since I was of little help.
"Let the wine breathe for a moment," I mutter.
My bare back is turned toward her. I stop filling the goblet when her fingers brush over the raised scars. I know they span most of my back and shoulders, with a few on the backs of my legs.
Her voice is mournful. "What happened?"
"Reinhilde didn't like that I left the mirror on a full moon," I say simply.
When I move to sit in the chair across from her, I find Verena's expression surprisingly murderous for one who hates violence so much.
"She seriously had you whipped just for leaving the mirror one night out of the month?
That motherfucking bitch. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I wish I helped the Three Stooges murder her.
" Then her expression softens, and she picks up the goblet in front of her.
"It must have hurt like hell, healing all alone in the mirror realm.
You didn't have anyone to help you, so they might've gotten infected. I think that's why the scars are so—"
"Unsightly?" I guess.
Just like the rest of me, I've never seen them, but I'm sure they didn't heal pretty.
"I was going to say raised. The doctors told me scars tend to look thicker and more discolored if they got infected along the way." She rubs one of her wrists idly before peering at me. "If it makes you feel better, I have scars, too. On my real body."
That piques my attention. "You do?"
She nods. "Mostly on my wrists and one thigh, but some on my arms, too. That's why I got those tattoos I told you about, to hide them and…some other ink I didn't pick."
I frown. "How did you get them? Was it from…"
Whatever it is you don't talk about anymore?
I try to find better words. Some way to ask what lurks in her past that makes her wake in a panic nearly every night.
What makes her check the lock three times before she goes to sleep? Is it some horrid, otherworldly monster that doesn't exist in Eidengrau?
Before I can find the right way to finally seek answers from her, Verena surprises me by simply answering.
"I got them from the man who kidnapped me."
For a moment, I pray my ears simply stopped working.
"Kidnapped?"
Verena is focusing too hard on the goblet in her hand now, tipping it to admire the wine. The way she recounts everything is rehearsed, but uncomfortable. As if she's had to tell this story so many times, she's found the most efficient way to convey it—but she loathes recounting it at all.
"When I was twenty years old, I was abducted from my dorm room by a sexually motivated serial killer—or at least, that's the official classification law enforcement gave him.
News outlets loved that label for their sensationalized bullshit, once they got my personal hell to make headlines," she adds bitterly.
"But this guy…I knew him before he started raping and killing people.
He stalked me for a while, and labels don't do him justice. He was just—he was fucked up, in the head. Beyond help. He…”
She shudders, visibly ill just from talking about this man.
My voice is barely above a whisper, since I don't want to ask this, but I must.
"He forced himself on you?"
"He tried to. He, um…" She grimaces, setting down the goblet to rub her wrists again.
"He held me captive for three weeks, actually.
Chained up in a basement. Like I said, he was…
really sick, and he had lots of strange delusions about me.
A recurring one was that I betrayed him somehow by marrying his brother instead of him—even though I was never married. "
Her expression grows distant as she studies the goblet in front of her.
"Unlike his other victims, he wanted me to be willing. He wanted me to want him. It infuriated him that I only ever played along to survive, so he tried all kinds of…things to manipulate and scare me."
"Gory things," I guess quietly, realizing her fear of blood stems from a more disturbing place than I may have imagined.
"Sometimes. Anyway, all along, I knew it was just a matter of time before he snapped and tried to force himself on me. When he finally did, I…"
Verena meets my eye again, moisture in her tortured gaze as she whispers, "I killed him."
I barely restrain myself from saying good.
I do think it's good. Anyone who would take a woman for such sick purposes should rot, no matter whose hands their blood stains.
But talking about this is clearly difficult for Verena, whose heart is too kind for the horrors she's describing. So I resist.
Verena exhales shakily and looks away. "Anyway, that's the gist of my sob story. I'll leave out some of the grittier details."
"Don't," I murmur. "You can share everything with me."
Verena shakes her head, finally picking up the goblet again. She downs it all with impressive speed before immediately pouring more.
"I'm only mentioning any of this because I walked away with scars, too. And tattoos. He tattooed his name on me a lot. I got some of them removed—but again, I just covered most of them. I still feel pretty naked without the ink I picked out," she admits, absentmindedly rubbing her collarbone.
She continues to drink wine as I watch silently, anger building in my useless veins.