Read Online Poison Princess by Kresley Cole - Free Book Online

Light flooded in from the hallway.
    â€œMom?” I said, trying to sound sleepy as I took a frantic mental inventory of my body. Were my feet bleeding, my legs? Was I covered in dirt? Had my fingernails returned to normal?
    But all I felt was numbness, as if my entire body were immersed in Novocain.
    â€œI thought I heard you cry out.” Her tone had that alarmed edge to it. Sherlock senses crazy. . . .
    â€œHuh? I must have been dreaming.”
    Still dressed for the day, she sat at the end of my bed, her diamond studs flashing. “Your face is so pale. Are you coming down with something?”
    â€œNope. Not me.” Oh, God, if there was blood on my legs, would it soak through my sheet? If my mom saw those parallel slices, she would probably think I was a closet cutter, like my former roommate at the center.
    â€œI’m worried about you,” she said. “We need to talk about how you’re doing now that you’re back at home.”
    â€œMom, I told you, everything’s fine.” My legs were bleeding.
    Another furtive adjustment of the sheet. Three stripes of crimson were soaking through. She’ll see, she’ll see. . . .
    Adjust the sheet, overlap it. There. Better.
    â€œYou’ve been back for nearly two weeks, but I haven’t heard you laugh a single time. You always used to joke around, just like your dad.” Her brows drew together. “Evie, what’s . . .” She laid the back of her hand against my damp forehead. “Are you trembling?” She wrapped her arms around me, rocking me. “Baby, I’m here. What’s wrong?”
    What’s right? I’d doubled up on my meds tonight—and I was now worse off. “I-I think I just had a bad dream.”
    She drew back. “A hallucination?”
    â€œNo! I was sound asleep.”
    â€œHoney, just tell me, and I will make this better.”
    You didn’t last time. The cure didn’t take! Yet I was so freaked out, I was tempted to reveal all once more.
    Instead, I dug deep, resolved to make a stand. I met her gaze, steadying my tone. “I will tell you when I need your help.”
    She was taken aback by my demeanor. “Oh.” Because, for a brief moment, I’d sounded just as steely as she usually did. “Um, okay.”
    â€œI’ve got a big day tomorrow. And I’ve really got to get some sleep.” I’m already going to be up for hours, convincing myself that I dreamed those claws.
    Mom rose, her gaze wary, almost startled. “Of course. Uh, sweet dreams, honey.”
    Once the door closed behind her, I yanked the sheet away, grimacing in advance at what I’d see.
    The skin on my thighs was crusting with blood, but my feet were clean and free from gashes.
    Maybe I’d just cut myself with my fingernails in sleep. I wanted to latch on to this reasoning, to ignore how realistic Death’s visit had been.
    When I recalled his armor, my fingers itched to render his likeness. I reached under my mattress, dragging out my drawing journal.
    Pencil flying over the paper, I whispered repeatedly, “Two years and out, two years and out.” A tear dropped onto the page, then another and another—three blurred spots over Death’s otherworldly image.
    By the time I’d finished the drawing, the storm pressure was ebbing. No rain for our crops tonight.
    And because I was insane, I ached with them.
    I gazed down at one of my legs, convinced that I’d merely cut myself during my nightmare. With a curse, I flicked the crusted blood away.
    The skin beneath it was . . . unmarked.

DAY 2 B.F.
    I spent my free period on Friday in Eden Courtyard, sitting at the tiled cement table, licking my wounds in private.
    On the verge of tears, I tried to ignore the fact that a bed of daisies had turned their faces toward me—instead of the direction of the sun.
    At least the roses and ivy were still.
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