“He’s an asshole who accused Michaela of murder,” Baptiste said at the same time.
“Legitimate reasons.” Estelle turned to reply to one of Eric’s remarks and bestow a megawatt smile on Stephan. The deputy clenched his jaw and turned away.
“The problem is, there’s not much to tell. We trained together, as I said, but I was much younger than he was. It wasn’t until later that I found out the training was in part to weed out the weaker students and direct them into other important clan roles. If you failed a single test, you were automatically out of the running for seneschal.”
“Madden failed, obviously,” Cormac said.
“The very last test.” She looked pensive. “Quite sad, actually. I was sorry for him. He took it well. The trainers were impressed enough by his poise that they recommended him to Wavena. I don’t know what for.”
Baptiste poured out more water with a shaky hand. “What did he fail?”
She raised her eyebrows. “That, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
That was fair enough. Cormac sipped his tea as he looked around the table. “Can you tell us about your training?”
“Nope.” She said it cheerfully. “Treason.”
Michaela came into the dining room and was greeted with questions about Ivy. Cormac examined her. She looked tired, with huge dark circles around her eyes. Her long hair was in a loose braid down her back, as if she didn’t even have enough energy to tie it up. His sigil pulsed in sympathy with her exhaustion.
Stephan was about to blast her with more questions when Cormac stood up. “Michaela. I want you to rest. I’ll bring you food.”
Her back stiffened so quickly that he thought he heard it crack. “I’m fine.”
He was about to order her to bed when Baptiste and Caro shook their heads almost imperceptibly. He could almost hear their voices chant in unison in his ear. Don’t be a dick.
Instead, he softened his voice. “Please. Let one of us watch Ivy. Go rest and let me bring you something to eat.”
Baptiste put both hands on his stick to haul himself up. “I feel like taking a break and telling some stories. I will sit with her.”
“I’ve given you the room you like, the green one,” said Eric. He didn’t urge her to rest, though. In fact, he, like the others, seemed fascinated by the exchange between Michaela and Cormac.
Michaela hesitated and Cormac walked over to her. “Rest, Michaela. Let us help.”
Chapter 29
It was how he said her name that caused Michaela to give in. Well, simply melt, to be honest.
“I’m a bit tired.”
Cormac nudged her out of the dining room, and the moment the door closed behind them swept her up into his arms.
Michaela struggled until he bent and kissed her ear. “I’m carrying you to bed,” he said firmly. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
She couldn’t deny that it felt good. Unable to contain the heavy sigh that escaped her, she closed her eyes and let her face rest against his chest. His question seemed to come in from a long distance.
“How’s Ivy?”
She roused herself enough to answer, though she kept her eyes closed. “Dozing on and off, and the medic says that’s to be expected. All her vitals are strong. She doesn’t remember anything and believed the stress story.”
He kissed her ear again and Michaela smiled at how comforting it was. Even her sigil radiated a sense of cozy warmth, an encompassing feeling of comfort and safety.
Strange. She hadn’t experienced anything like this in a long time. Even with Yao, the pain of their everyday life have been enough to dim the edges of the pleasure she took in his company. Before that, well. As a child she’d been fearful of her father’s anger and mother’s temper. There had been very few moments of quiet contentment and most of those had been with objects, her books and pens and paper and art, instead of people.
Cormac kicked open the door for the green room and took her right to the bathroom. “Strip down,” he said as he turned on the shower and tested the heat. “I’m not even going to watch, as hard as that is. I want you refreshed and between those sheets. You need to rest.”
Michaela was about to protest that she was fine and would nap on top of the bed when the warm steam from the shower enveloped her. A shower would be lovely. Cormac left and she stripped down and stepped in. Water poured down on her and she simply stood, enjoying the hot needles on her skin.
“I lied.”
The shower door opened and Cormac came in, already naked. Michaela felt her eyes widen as she took him in. Cormac was gorgeous. The sigil on his chest, partially hidden by the pendant he never removed, was a bright green. She hardly spared it a glance. She was too busy admiring the rest of him.
“Turn around.” His voice was husky. She moved instantly and closed her eyes against the shower spray that beat against her chest. A sweet fragrance filled the shower as Cormac washed her hair.
Michaela sighed as his strong fingers rubbed against her head. Each stroke drew more of the tension and stress out of her. He pushed his thumbs into her shoulders and she bent forward to let him massage her painfully tight muscles. His hands glided across her wet, soapy skin as he worked his way down her arms, back up to her neck, and then over her back. By the time he was done, she was almost sagging.
The shower was filled with heavy steam. Cormac drew her hair over her shoulder, then slid a lathered cloth over her. Her skin tingled from his closeness and the intimacy of his washing. Slowly, he drew the cloth around to her chest. In a single motion, he pulled Michaela back against him as he stroked her breasts and stomach with the cloth. Her legs widened and he dipped the cloth between her thighs, making her jerk against him.
That was all it took. Cormac twisted her around and silently picked her up. With a single motion, he leaned her up against the cool wall of the shower and thrust into her. Michaela moaned into his shoulder.
“Let me do the work,” Cormac said into her ear before he bit her earlobe gently. “Let me take care of you.”
Even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t. Cormac’s arms were under her ass and then he hooked one arm under her thigh to open her wider. She buried her face into his chest to muffle her scream of pleasure at how deep he was. Cormac moved slowly, and in the hot swirls of steam, Michaela felt as though she was in a dream.
Michaela could feel her climax coming, slow waves of ecstasy that began to bring her to the edge.
Cormac drove into her again and again. He slammed into her one final time and she cried out loud with the overwhelming sensation. Green fire filled her vision as she shook in his arms. Cormac held her close, whispering something in her ear. He seemed as shaken as she and when he kissed her temple, Michaela could feel a faint flutter as her sigil responded to his.
Cormac released Michaela slowly but kept her tight, as though he was afraid of letting her go. It was a good thing he did, because her legs were like jelly. Silently, he rinsed her off and wrapped her in a luxuriously fluffy towel.
Then he swept her up and carried her to the bed.
Michaela had curled into his arms when the thought came to her that she might not mind being mated to Cormac as much as she thought she would.
* * * *
Cormac made sure Michaela was tucked under the covers and warm before getting up and ordering a tray from the kitchen. She’d be hungry when she woke. He pulled on a pair of jeans and sat on a chair to watch her sleep. He’d prefer to be beside her, pressed against her, but that would be distracting and he wanted to think about Hiro’s death.
Occam’s razor. The simplest explanation is the likeliest. Right now, the simplest explanation was that a killer went into Michaela’s office while Hiro was at her computer, assumed it was her, and struck with that lethal blade. When they’d realized their error, they erupted in that frenzy that had resulted in half of Hiro�
��s blood supply on the ceiling. The gashes on his forearms were to remove proof of Hiro’s connection to the Dawning’s masquerada.
His gut told him it was Madden. His brain told him there was no reason it should be Madden. He and Michaela might have issues but grisly death was not necessary to dissolve a mentoring relationship.
Shite. He leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He needed to find out what happened in that office.
He would need to ask the only witness.
The wood.
He’d avoided contact with the dolma since before the war. Kiana herself had sworn him to secrecy, telling him that to let other fey know his power would be a death sentence. “I’ve managed to cover us until now but Tismelda sees the caintir as a threat,” she’d said. “Forget you can do this. Forget your training. Live.”
When Kiana had revealed her power, her sister had reacted with predictable fear and rage. Kiana had been too moral to use the dolma to her advantage where it would risk harming innocents, and this had led to her capture and brutal death. Cormac had learned his lesson. To be a caintir was to live in danger. He had done as Kiana had ordered him for centuries. After a while, even the dull ache left him. A little longer, and he no longer remembered what it had been like to have such a deep connection with the world.
Kiana had told him not to do it.
He didn’t want to do it.
He had to, even though he knew that her prophecy was correct. The moment he opened himself fully to his caintir powers again, he would be a target for Tismelda. The fey queen was paranoid enough already and wouldn’t stop until she had him under control and probably dead. His dying forest would be at more risk. All fey feared the extreme power of the caintir, their ability to bend all of nature to their will, and Tismelda wouldn’t hesitate to play on that fear to justify any actions against him. At least Michaela would be safe—Tismelda would think seriously before going up against a woman under Eric Kelton’s protection.
“What are you doing over there?” Michaela’s drowsy voice interrupted his thoughts.
He walked over to her. “You only slept for an hour. Are you hungry?”
She yawned. “Yes. And curious about what you’re up to.”
“Food first.” Cormac went to the door and collected the tray that had been left outside. Propping it up on the bed beside her, he uncovered a gorgeous platter of fresh fruit, cheese, and bread.
“Oh, wow,” Michaela breathed. She sat up and Cormac’s gaze went immediately to her bare breasts. She was perfect. Also, she would be cold. He rose to fetch a robe, which he draped around her shoulders as she attacked a mound of strawberries. Then he stepped back, bemused. Caring for his mate had given him a satisfaction so deep that he would have felt it in his soul, had he possessed one.
“Here.” She passed him a berry. “They’re perfect. Try one.”
He did and realized that he was hungry as well. He joined her on the bed and took another. They ate in companionable silence for a minute, offering each other tidbits from the tray that were particularly delicious.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s bothering you?” Michaela asked as she passed him over an almost translucent lychee.
“I want you to hear me out.” Despite what had happened between Michaela and her old mentor, her logical, rational mind was underpinned by an extraordinary core of loyalty. Her instinct would be to question any accusations against Madden.
She put down the wedge of cheddar in her hand. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“I think we need to consider the idea that Madden killed Hiro.”
Her eyes narrowed and she pulled the robe tighter around her shoulders. “You’re kidding.”
“Estelle told me he failed the final test to become a seneschal. He’s powerful.”
“We knew that, and it has no bearing on why he would kill Hiro.”
“Not Hiro, remember. You. We know it was supposed to be you.”
“Give me a reason.”
“I just know.” He pursed his lips as he regarded the bright berry in his fingers like a jeweler assessing a diamond. “I feel it.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
He should have known that she would demand physical evidence. He had none.
He was going to have to find it.
* * * *
He knew? That was it?
There it was, that impulsive part of Cormac she had always shied away from.
“A gut feeling is not proof,” she said.
“He tried to get you off the idea you could be the target.”
“Yes, because I wasn’t the one who was dead.”
“He accused you of murder in front of the council.”
“I seem to recall you did the same thing, Watcher.” Michaela pushed the tray away and climbed off the bed, needing to move around.
Madden had acted like a total ass the last few days, but that was the pressure of what was happening. He’d been her mentor for decades, a steady rock she could turn to. A voice for other ways of thinking. She’d respected him.
Madden’s own voice appeared in her head, advice from a conversation they’d had years ago. You have a logical mind, he’d said. Except you think too much in terms of the rational. That others will do what is reasonable for success or even survival. All beings are inherently irrational, to some degree.
Fine, she argued with herself. Even if he was acting irrationally, what good would her death have?
Cormac stood as well. She glared at him and masqued into a version of herself that was a foot taller. The robe now came up to her thighs and Cormac’s gaze flickered down her legs before meeting her eyes.
“I wanted to stand up,” he said mildly.
“Right. You weren’t trying to intimidate me.”
He laughed. “To do what? Believe me? Only the facts and your heart will do that.” He looked her up and down. “In fact, I don’t mind this at all.”
As if to underscore his point, he crossed the room and sat in one of the low lounge chairs. Michaela clomped over to him. “Is that all you have? What’s his motive?”
“That’s been bothering me as well,” Cormac said slowly. “Have you considered that Madden might be aligned with Frieda Hanver?”
“You’re kidding.” She masqued back to her natural self and sat in the chair across from him to see his face. “Why on earth would you even think such a thing? Madden is the chair of the Pharos Council. He’s the one person we can absolutely depend on to uphold the Law.”
Cormac leaned forward and caught her hand in his. “You’re thinking too black and white,” he said softly. “Think of the other attempts on your life. Someone wants to kill you. I think it’s Madden and he’s working with your enemies.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Power is the best answer. He failed at becoming seneschal. Perhaps Madden is tired of being behind the curtain. He wants everyone to know who he is. Hiro’s messages spoke of an ally. Remember, Dev saw them together.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Don’t, or don’t want to?”
“I need to think about this,” she said. “Alone.”
He froze. She thought of tempering the rejection, but the words didn’t leave her mouth. The truth was, she’d seen what was behind his accusation.
This was more of Cormac’s idiotic jealousy. He hated all of her old friends. Stephan. Madden. Would Eric be next? Yao’s poor ghost, already forced to spend eternity away from his ancestral land? Part of being arcana meant that any individual came with an entire around-the-world set of relationship baggage including centuries of love lost, gained, and unrequited. No doubt Cormac had his own.
There was no point in even bringing it up because it would move this argument nowhere. He’d deny it, or admit it
and then what? The accusation had been made. He’d accomplished his goal of trying to drive a wedge between her and another man she admired and respected, despite their current rough patch.
“I’m going to get some sleep,” she said to his stiff back. “I’ll call you when I’m awake.” That would at least prevent him from disturbing her.
“You’re angry.” He touched his hand to his chest.
Thanks to that sigil, she couldn’t have any privacy. She didn’t even want to think about that. “I’m tired.”
Cormac paused at the door. “Rest well,” was all he said.
Michaela waited until his footsteps disappeared to jump out of bed and lock the door. Then she turned off the ringer on her phone. No. She contemplated it and turned the phone off completely. Eric could fetch her in person if Ivy woke.
This was a good reminder of why she swore off relationships. Men were too possessive. Look at how her family and then her husbands had tried to control her life. It wasn’t enough for Cormac that they were mated. He had to deliberately sow discord between her and the men she cared about.
She went back to bed and pulled the covers over her head. Accusing Madden of killing Hiro was so patently ridiculous that she didn’t even know what to say about it. He had no way of getting into her office without Hiro seeing him.
What if they went together? asked a little voice in her mind that sounded too much like Cormac for Michaela’s comfort. What if they were both working for Frieda and they had an argument in your office?
That was only slightly cheering, because although it still centered on Madden as a traitorous killer, at least he had gone after Hiro deliberately. She wasn’t his target.
Cold comfort.
It was stuffy under the thick down blanket and Michaela threw it back and sighed. She might as well admit that Cormac had destroyed any chance she had at getting back to sleep. She turned her phone on and pulled up the photos from the crime scene. It was as repugnant as the first time she’d seen it. This time, though, she used the small screen of the phone to her advantage, zooming into sections of her blood-sprayed office to isolate different areas.
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