Divine Descendant by Jenna Black

Author:Jenna Black
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2016-05-16T04:00:00+00:00

I wasn’t exactly eager to talk to Blake, for more reasons than one, but putting off the conversation wouldn’t make it any easier, so as soon as I got back to the mansion, I marched myself to Blake’s suite. I didn’t give myself time to think about it, just knocked on his door and held my breath. I’m ashamed to say part of me was hoping he wouldn’t be there. Just because my rational mind knew delaying the conversation wouldn’t help anything didn’t make me eager to get on with it.

He answered the door within seconds.

Usually, Blake is what I’d describe as a pretty boy, well dressed and impeccably groomed, with his hair messy in that special, product-laden way that said the look was intentional.

Today, he hadn’t bothered to wash and primp. He wore a simple T-shirt with wash-faded sweats, his cheeks were pebbled with stubble, and his hair was sticking up in ways that had nothing to do with style. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, and he smelled of stale booze instead of expensive aftershave.

In other words, he looked terrible. As much as I hated him for breaking Steph’s heart, it was clear to see he had broken his own right along with it, and I surprised myself by feeling sorry for him.

“If you’ve come to give me hell about Steph, please skip it,” he said. “I feel shitty enough already.” His words weren’t slurred, but the scent of alcohol on his breath told me he was still in the process of drowning his sorrows. I wished I could just leave him to it.

“That’s not why I’m here,” I answered.

Blake pushed away from the door, leaving it open in a silent invitation. He didn’t stagger as he made his way to his sitting room sofa, so I presumed that though he wasn’t technically sober, he wasn’t out-of-his-mind drunk, either. That was good, because I’d hate to have this difficult conversation with him only to have to repeat it later because he couldn’t remember.

There was a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting on his coffee table, and I glimpsed an empty one stuffed into a trash can discreetly hidden beneath an end table. Other than that, his sitting room was neat and tidy.

I was about to take a seat when a flash of red caught my eye and I came to a sudden halt. On the opposite side of the sofa from the trash can was a lined wicker basket, and in that was a ball of red yarn with a pair of knitting needles stuck into it. My heart gave an unpleasant squeeze when I saw the lacy red scarf that lay beside the yarn.

I knew that he’d been knitting that scarf for Steph, meaning to give it to her on Valentine’s Day. He’d told me once that he’d taken up the hobby as a rebellion against his father, who had told him that boys don’t knit.

The scarf was obviously finished, and it was beautiful. I didn’t want to know

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