Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

“We don’t know what he’ll be like once I agree to go with him,” she said. “What if he takes me with him and leaves you here? He told Jack that he would take all of us with him, but really nothing would force him to keep his word. What if he does take us with him and then makes you into servants or drops you off at some orphanage?”

Or kills them and leaves their bodies on the side of the road. His promise not to harm expired once he won the challenges. Surely, he wouldn’t. Not Declan. But again, she had no guarantees.

“Besides, if I go with Declan, I’ll have to be his wife. And Declan doesn’t love me.”

“Why not?” George asked.

“Because I’m not a lady. I don’t have good manners, I’m not educated, and I’m not demure and sweet. I say what I mean, and I’m not always nice. He probably thinks he can force me to be pleasant, but no matter what clothes I wear and how you mess with my hair, I’ll still be me.” Crude, vulgar, and disagreeable.

Rose sighed. “See, Declan is used to people obeying his orders. Back in the Weird, when he orders something, people fall over themselves to make it happen. I’m not like that. That’s why we argue so much. We would drive each other insane, and if we fought, Declan would win. My magic is like a lightning strike. It’s precise and contained, because I have good control. Declan’s magic is like a hurricane. Terribly, terribly powerful. He blew the roof off Amy’s house.”

“Really?”

“Yes. His flash just exploded and killed a whole bunch of those hound beasts. Tore the roof right off.”

She stopped herself. Last thing she needed was a new way to feed Georgie’s hero worship. “Bottom line: we can’t trust Declan. He’s very strong, and we don’t want to be at his mercy.”

If she were born into a good Weird family, it might have been different, Rose thought, guiding the truck up to Grandma’s house. She might have had tutors and clothes. Of natural colors. She would have been witty and carefree, and then Declan might have thought she was the coolest thing since sliced bread. He might have tried to win her. Now that would be an interesting exercise: the arrogant, icy, monstrously powerful Declan bowing and asking her to dance or making polite small talk with Grandma in French before asking for permission to take Rose for a stroll in the park. Oh, that would be hilarious.

She killed the smile that stretched her lips and let the fantasy die. Living in a dream never did her any good. She would never be a lady. She was born an Edger mongrel. Good for—how had he put it?—a carte blanche, but little else.

Yesterday when he stepped close to her and she looked into his eyes, she realized he wanted her. Not just her, the white-flashing-freak, but her as a woman. It wasn’t a calculated move like that stare he had given her before. It was a completely spontaneous and honest declaration of attraction, and it was completely devastating. She had thought about it all evening, and then half of the night, and now again, she was thinking about it and couldn’t let it go. The idea of being in Declan’s bed filled her with a kind of happy terror. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling, and she was furious with herself for it.

He was so out of place in her house that Rose never expected him, and when she ran into him while straightening up or cooking, her heart did a little skip. That skip was dangerous. Watching him, talking to him, was dangerous. She had been fooled before, and she couldn’t afford to be fooled again. She needed to get her head on straight.

When she allowed herself to dream, being the object of a blueblood’s lust didn’t enter her fantasies. No, she dreamt of a regular guy, a nice guy with a steady job, someone who’d love her as much as she loved him and take care of her just like she would take care of him. Someone like William. Except her heart didn’t make those little jumps when she saw William.

She pictured herself living in the Broken, with a regular guy, just like a regular family, going to a regular job . . . Dear God. She would slit her own throat out of boredom.

“I don’t know what I want,” she mumbled.

Five minutes later, she drove up to Grandma’s, parked, and eyed the house. Grandma had to be dying to give her a piece of her mind regarding Declan. This morning Rose got away without a conversation by making excuses about Georgie needing to eat. Maybe if she got lucky, she could get away with her hide intact again.

“Come on, Georgie.” He climbed out of the truck, and together they made their way up the steps and into the kitchen, which smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.

“Smells like cookies,” Georgie said.

Grandma Éléonore smiled and handed him a plate of cookies. “There you go. Why don’t you go to the porch, Georgie, and let me and Rose talk a bit.”

Rose bit her lip. She knew what was coming and tried to beat a hasty retreat, just like this morning. “I brought back your four dollars,” she announced, putting the money on the table. “I really can’t stay. I have groceries in the truck and they might spoil . . .”

“Sit!” Grandma pointed to a chair.

Rose sat.

“Where is Jack?”

“With Declan.”

“And you trust Declan enough to leave a child with him?”

Rose grimaced. “They snuck out this morning. By the time I woke up, they had gone beyond the scrying spell. Jack worships the ground Declan walks on, and he probably wanted to show off in the Wood. I’m not happy about it, and I’ll chew him out when they get home, but I don’t think Declan would hurt him or let him be harmed. He saved Jack once, and I don’t believe he has it in him to injure a child.”

“And what makes you think so?”

Rose shrugged. “It’s a feeling I get from him.”

“A feeling?” Grandma fixed her with an intense blue gaze. “I’ll hear about the blueblood. All of it.”

All of it took almost a half hour. The more Rose talked, the more the corners of Grandma’s mouth sagged.

“Do you like him?” she asked when Rose fell silent.

“Why would you even ask me that? I—”

“Rose! Do you like him?”

“A little,” Rose said. “Just a little.”

Grandma sighed.

“Most of the time, I want to strangle him,” Rose added to ease her fears.

For some odd reason, her attempt to reassure Grandma actually made things worse. Éléonore’s face paled. “Que Dieu nous aide.”

God help us . . . “What did I say? I don’t like him enough to go away with him. He’s arrogant and overbearing and—”

Grandma raised her hand, and Rose fell silent. Éléonore opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head. “Anything I say will only make things worse,” she murmured.

“What do you mean?”

Grandma sighed. “You have a flaw, Rose. You’re daring. Just like my Cletus, just like your father. It’s a Drayton trait, and it has brought us nothing but misery. You see a challenge, and you must go after it.”

Rose blinked. She didn’t chase challenges, at least not intentionally. At least she never thought she did.

“And this Declan, he’s a terrible challenge,” Grandma Éléonore continued. “Proud and powerful. And he looks . . . You know yourself how he looks. I know you’ll turn yourself inside out, trying to win. Declan is the same way: he saw you out the window on the phone and went out the back door like he was about to storm a castle. He has decided you’re his.”

“I’ll undecide it for him.” Rose snorted. “He thinks he’s already won. Well, I have a surprise or two coming.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Grandma murmured. “You must understand, he’s a dangerous man. Very dangerous. I cursed him.”

“You what?”