Crowe leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he studied my pet. “Really now? I thought I heard you called Sebastian.” His dark eyes narrowed as he studied my pet. “If you’re worried about providing your true name, you must realize we can find that quite easily.” Names held power, and with Sebastian indicating his mother had been a witch, he would realize that.
Sebastian wasn’t cowed by the other man, merely arching a golden brow. “He asked what he should call me, not what my full name is. If he had requested my birth name, I would have been foolish not to provide it as my mistress uses it.”
“And if you prefer Ash, then why do you have your mistress address you as Sebastian?” Draven challenged, balancing the dagger on the tip of his finger. Could that man ever stop playing with the damn thing? All it did was remind me how much I wanted to stab him. Blood tasted different if I licked it off the edge of a knife, but sometimes I preferred not making such a mess of my face, especially if I was playing with my food or if I didn’t care for the flavor of their blood, which in a witch’s case was likely. Besides, using a knife on my prey let me look into their eyes while I bled them out. It was far more fitting for my enemies than biting them, at least in my mind. I wanted to see what broke them—they didn’t get the same courtesies that someone who was simply a meal would receive.
“My interactions with my mistress, including what she calls me, are of no concern to you,” Sebastian replied before I decided if I was going to rip the foolish witch’s throat out.
“I’m always interested in things that are different.” Draven flipped the blade in a flare of silver, rubbing his thumb lightly over the edge. It wasn’t enough to slice the skin, but the motion drew his blood to the very edge, scoring light pink lines in its wake. “For example, I’m well aware she fed from you and in a way that brought you pleasure, yet the linens on the bed don’t bear more than the tiniest hint of your scent and aren’t rumpled.” Sebastian’s eyes shot to my bed before his brows drew down in a frown. Ah, even my observant little pet had been too distracted by his first feeding to notice I’d made my own bed. I’d have to let him know it was not in deference to the servants, rather that I preferred to limit the number of people who touched my things and that I hated working in a messy environment. It only took a minute to do when I got up, and unless the bedding needed to be changed, I would continue to perform the duty myself rather than wait to begin my research or take time from his own work to force him to perform the menial chore. If he proved as useful as it seemed he would, if the notes that were piled in front of him were any indication, then I might have to insist another servant see to the basic chores here.
“How would you know if my scent is on them?” Sebastian retorted, his eyes darting back to Draven. He steepled his fingers, pressing them against his chin as he studied the witch. Crowe set his book aside with a frown, rubbing at his brow. If I had to guess, I’d say the headache he was currently sporting had more to do with his brother’s mouth than with the hours of reading he had just done.
Draven’s lips quirked. “Witch perk.”
“Bullshit,” Sebastian snapped, making me bubble out a laugh. Three sets of eyes whipped around to look at me. I smiled prettily, raking my gaze over my pet.
“Go on then, pet,” I encouraged, tapping my finger against my lips, drawing their eyes to my fangs. “Tell us why it’s bullshit.” I was loving this side of Sebastian. He seemed to find the witches as obnoxious as I did, and they quickly drew that fire out of him, letting me soak in his fury. What else lay inside of him? Was that darkness only a flickering shadow or was there a deeper, more violent secret locked inside my pet? It was the first step in getting him to unleash everything to me, for me, and I clenched my thighs together at the promise of that. I had been honest last night when I’d told him I hadn’t planned on taking him into my bed, but seeing him come apart underneath my fangs earlier, feeling his hard body next to mine, it had me rethinking my stance. I wouldn’t force him, but with how passionate the man was underneath that perfect servant’s shell, I had no doubt he would be explosive once it was removed.
“Witches don’t have enhanced senses,” Sebastian explained to me, a scowl on his face as he turned back to the twins.
“Most witches don’t have enhanced senses, it’s true. I am not, however, most witches.” Draven’s smile was taunting as he drew another line with his blade.
“Nor am I most vampires,” I interjected, leaning forward. “My relations with my pet are not your concern.”
“Dray.” Crowe’s tone was sharp as he reached out to touch his twin’s shoulder. Draven ignored his brother, the irises in his eyes burning red as he studied me, slowly dragging the knife across his skin in a blatant provocation.
“Witch, if you’re interested in finding out how my fangs feel in your throat, I wouldn’t be opposed to showing you.” The words came out as a purr, though the snarling curve of my lips indicated the clear threat.
He shrugged idly. “Maybe I am interested.” Well then. I didn’t allow my surprise to show, merely arching a brow. “Maybe I’m interested in seeing if those fangs feel as silky against my skin as this knife does. Maybe I want to see if the strength of your bite is enough to tempt me into that bed. Maybe I want to know if what they say about vampire lovers is true.” If he thought he’d embarrass me by poking at me about the sexual nature of feedings, he wasn’t going to have any luck. I wasn’t ashamed of my body or of enjoying sex. It was as natural for me as feeding, and it felt damn good for both myself and my partner. His lips twitched in a wicked grin. “Maybe I simply want an excuse to see if your cream tastes as good as it smells, and I’d take the opportunity you feeding from me would present.” I fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together to contain the heat he riled inside of me.
“And maybe I’m as human as Sebastian is,” I retorted. “Maybe holds no consent.”
Draven snorted, slashing deeper, causing his blood to well against his skin, although it didn’t drip down to the floor. Crowe swore, his shoulders tightening as he glared at his brother. Interesting—apparently the twins weren’t united in whatever Draven was playing with here. “And what does a vampire care about consent?” His eyes flared with fury and disgust, but for the briefest of moments I could have sworn I saw sorrow hidden in their depths. Clearly this witch had serious issues with vampires, which begged the question of why they had even come to the citadel. Many covens existed, even thrived, outside of these walls. I would be a fool if I pretended I couldn’t sense the power rolling off of these two. It wasn’t a match for me, I was sure, but it would give me a solid challenge. With that level of strength—a trait as important to witches as it was to vampires—they would be in charge of their own coven soon enough. Their own comforts might never reach the level of the castle, but they would be far from suffering in the world outside of these fortifications.
I shrugged, refusing to watch his blood track down his arm as he angled it slightly, letting the crimson drop slide down his skin, marring its perfection as it snaked toward his wrist. “What answer would you like, Draven?” The witch flinched, making that bead of blood tremble, and I realized it was the first time I had used his name. I cocked my head to the side, letting my curls fall forward as I spun the pencil in my fingers in an imitation of the patterns he had twirled his knife in, and then I traced it down the vee of my neckline and across the swell of my breasts, the men's eyes tracking the motion.