Night's Honor
Page 49
He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, still stroking her hair. How many times had he thought such similar thoughts? If only he had left the priesthood to take up his family title when his brother had died. If only he hadn’t confessed everything to his bishop, perhaps Aeliana and her husband would still be alive.
“Believe me,” he said into her hair, “I understand.”
“This is why I need to leave.” Her voice was muffled in his jacket. “If Malphas could do something like that out of spite, then God only knows what he might do when he finds me. Because you know he will, sooner or later. I’ve been careful, but he’s a Djinn, for God’s sake.”
“Okay,” he said, as he calmed slightly. “Okay.”
Even in the midst of all her distress, part of him was wholly consumed by the fact that he held her in his arms, and she let him.
What was she doing to him?
He shouldn’t have noticed her at the Vampyre’s Ball, but he had.
He shouldn’t like her so much, but he did.
He shouldn’t have gone into her bedroom when he’d found her window open. Everything he had said to her that night, he could have said elsewhere, later, but he had wanted to go into her room.
Right now, he shouldn’t push any kind of advantage with her.
But he would.
He eased her back so he could look into her face. “You will stay here and give me twenty-four hours.”
She wiped her face. “And do what? What can be accomplished in a day?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” he said. “I’m going to do what I meant to do all along and talk to Malphas.”
“What?” She grabbed his lapel. “You can’t! God knows what he might do once you come to his attention.”
He looked down at her hands fisted in the material of his jacket and suppressed a smile. It was the second time she had grabbed hold of him that evening. He told her, “You owe me twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” she snapped.
“I gave you the chance to become one of my attendants,” he pointed out.
She let go of him with a furious push. “I gave you six weeks of hard work and physical pain. We’re even.”
“Tess,” he said.
The sharp command in his voice drew her up. Scowling at him, she fell silent.
He took one of her hands and bowed over it to press his lips against the knuckles of her slim fingers. She twisted her hand around to grip his. When he straightened, he said quietly, “You gave me blood. I’m supposed to protect you.”
Her face started to crumple, but then her jaw clenched and she hardened her expression. “Not any longer. We have no liaison, remember? I ended it.”
He told her, “In twenty-four hours, we will have this conversation again. Then we’ll see what we have.”
As he turned to leave, she said sharply, “Wait.”
Angling his head, he came to a halt and pivoted back to her. I choose to do this, the slowness of his movements said. You do not order me.
She did not appear to notice or care what his movements said. Her hands balled into fists as she searched his face. She said between her teeth, “I can’t stop you, can I?”
He shook his head without speaking.
Breathing heavily, she just looked at him. Then she said, “If you insist on doing this, I’m doing it with you.”
His reaction was immediate and forceful. “No. Absolutely not.”
“This is my problem and my life,” she said. Her expression settled into bleak determination. “You can’t take that away from me. If you try, I’ll contact Malphas and confront him without you. I’m tired of hiding. It’s time to be done with this.”
Furious denial burst through him like a fireball. If she confronted Malphas without having witnesses present or any leverage to hold against him, it would mean her death.
Conflicting impulses warred inside. He could stop her. He could mesmerize her into compliance. He could . . .
No, he couldn’t. He had sworn he would not compel her, or force her to do anything against her will. That still applied, even if she was determined on a pigheaded act of self-destruction.
He wanted to shake her. No, he didn’t, he wanted to clench her tight again.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glared at her. She lifted her chin, and even in the midst of his anger, he was caught by the gesture.
Even though she was clearly afraid again, she would do it. She would confront Malphas on her own. He had no doubt. She had such defiance, such courage. Such sweet, beautiful fire.
His anger died. It was impossible to fault her now when she showed the very characteristics that drew him to her to begin with.
“If I agree, you will follow my lead and do as I say,” he said. “I mean it, Tess. This is not the time for you to be creative or ignore orders. As you so rightly point out, this is your life we’re talking about.”
Her lips folded tight.
He watched her struggle with conflicting impulses until he couldn’t stand it any longer. In a low voice, he urged, “Trust me. I’ve earned it.”
She blinked several times, her face taut.
Come on, Tess. He didn’t say it.
“Okay.” Her voice shook. She asked, “What are we going to do?”
Another new, unknown feeling roared through him, fierce and wild.
He considered her without really looking at her, as his mind raced through possibilities and discarded them. “Give me a few minutes,” he told her. “Go change out of your outfit, and put on street clothes. Pack an overnight bag, just in case. By then I’ll have a better feeling for what we should do.”
She nodded and started to walk away, but then she stopped and turned back to him. Her gaze was full.
He waited, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave him a smile that was so lovely, so filled with emotional complexity, he had to stare.
Then she left, and he was surrounded by the echoes of the stories they had told each other. Those stories were shaping their lives in ways he couldn’t predict.
As silence settled into the ballroom, he pulled out his phone and ran a Google search on Eathan Jackson. After scrolling over several articles on the younger Jackson’s death, he found the article on the Boston Herald website and clicked on it. When he had read through it, he went to find Raoul.
“Believe me,” he said into her hair, “I understand.”
“This is why I need to leave.” Her voice was muffled in his jacket. “If Malphas could do something like that out of spite, then God only knows what he might do when he finds me. Because you know he will, sooner or later. I’ve been careful, but he’s a Djinn, for God’s sake.”
“Okay,” he said, as he calmed slightly. “Okay.”
Even in the midst of all her distress, part of him was wholly consumed by the fact that he held her in his arms, and she let him.
What was she doing to him?
He shouldn’t have noticed her at the Vampyre’s Ball, but he had.
He shouldn’t like her so much, but he did.
He shouldn’t have gone into her bedroom when he’d found her window open. Everything he had said to her that night, he could have said elsewhere, later, but he had wanted to go into her room.
Right now, he shouldn’t push any kind of advantage with her.
But he would.
He eased her back so he could look into her face. “You will stay here and give me twenty-four hours.”
She wiped her face. “And do what? What can be accomplished in a day?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” he said. “I’m going to do what I meant to do all along and talk to Malphas.”
“What?” She grabbed his lapel. “You can’t! God knows what he might do once you come to his attention.”
He looked down at her hands fisted in the material of his jacket and suppressed a smile. It was the second time she had grabbed hold of him that evening. He told her, “You owe me twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” she snapped.
“I gave you the chance to become one of my attendants,” he pointed out.
She let go of him with a furious push. “I gave you six weeks of hard work and physical pain. We’re even.”
“Tess,” he said.
The sharp command in his voice drew her up. Scowling at him, she fell silent.
He took one of her hands and bowed over it to press his lips against the knuckles of her slim fingers. She twisted her hand around to grip his. When he straightened, he said quietly, “You gave me blood. I’m supposed to protect you.”
Her face started to crumple, but then her jaw clenched and she hardened her expression. “Not any longer. We have no liaison, remember? I ended it.”
He told her, “In twenty-four hours, we will have this conversation again. Then we’ll see what we have.”
As he turned to leave, she said sharply, “Wait.”
Angling his head, he came to a halt and pivoted back to her. I choose to do this, the slowness of his movements said. You do not order me.
She did not appear to notice or care what his movements said. Her hands balled into fists as she searched his face. She said between her teeth, “I can’t stop you, can I?”
He shook his head without speaking.
Breathing heavily, she just looked at him. Then she said, “If you insist on doing this, I’m doing it with you.”
His reaction was immediate and forceful. “No. Absolutely not.”
“This is my problem and my life,” she said. Her expression settled into bleak determination. “You can’t take that away from me. If you try, I’ll contact Malphas and confront him without you. I’m tired of hiding. It’s time to be done with this.”
Furious denial burst through him like a fireball. If she confronted Malphas without having witnesses present or any leverage to hold against him, it would mean her death.
Conflicting impulses warred inside. He could stop her. He could mesmerize her into compliance. He could . . .
No, he couldn’t. He had sworn he would not compel her, or force her to do anything against her will. That still applied, even if she was determined on a pigheaded act of self-destruction.
He wanted to shake her. No, he didn’t, he wanted to clench her tight again.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glared at her. She lifted her chin, and even in the midst of his anger, he was caught by the gesture.
Even though she was clearly afraid again, she would do it. She would confront Malphas on her own. He had no doubt. She had such defiance, such courage. Such sweet, beautiful fire.
His anger died. It was impossible to fault her now when she showed the very characteristics that drew him to her to begin with.
“If I agree, you will follow my lead and do as I say,” he said. “I mean it, Tess. This is not the time for you to be creative or ignore orders. As you so rightly point out, this is your life we’re talking about.”
Her lips folded tight.
He watched her struggle with conflicting impulses until he couldn’t stand it any longer. In a low voice, he urged, “Trust me. I’ve earned it.”
She blinked several times, her face taut.
Come on, Tess. He didn’t say it.
“Okay.” Her voice shook. She asked, “What are we going to do?”
Another new, unknown feeling roared through him, fierce and wild.
He considered her without really looking at her, as his mind raced through possibilities and discarded them. “Give me a few minutes,” he told her. “Go change out of your outfit, and put on street clothes. Pack an overnight bag, just in case. By then I’ll have a better feeling for what we should do.”
She nodded and started to walk away, but then she stopped and turned back to him. Her gaze was full.
He waited, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave him a smile that was so lovely, so filled with emotional complexity, he had to stare.
Then she left, and he was surrounded by the echoes of the stories they had told each other. Those stories were shaping their lives in ways he couldn’t predict.
As silence settled into the ballroom, he pulled out his phone and ran a Google search on Eathan Jackson. After scrolling over several articles on the younger Jackson’s death, he found the article on the Boston Herald website and clicked on it. When he had read through it, he went to find Raoul.
