The bedrooms were equally utilitarian, though thankfully the beds did actually have mattresses on them. The guest-room, which she would be sharing with Thorn, was home to a double bed and praise the Holy Mother of Fae, a sofa. An ugly, slate-grey sofa, but it was perfectly Lena-sized.
The door at the end of corridor led to an impressive communications' suite. Well, it would have been impressive if it was actually online. The servers were silent, the screens black. Some of the keyboards still had their protective plastic sheaths on them. Lena felt here brow knit; there went her plan to contact HQ.
Roarke saw her frown. “This suite is new. We haven’t had the time to test all the equipment yet. I’m afraid we’re still a little way off being operational.”
Lena nodded her reply.
Back out in the hallway, the monotonous grey compounded by bright, fluorescent, overhead lighting was beginning to grate. “You guys didn’t think it was worth decorating around here then?”
“Why would we? We hardly ever use it!” Roarke replied.
Of course they didn’t. Lena mentally smacked herself over the head. Yet again, she’d been so caught up in Thorn Blackwood’s magnificence that she’d failed to see what was staring her in the face.
“Why today then?” she asked as she leaned against the wall.
“Mother thought it best.”
“Why?”
“Your visit made her and Crane nervous. They didn’t say why.”
“And you didn’t think to ask?”
“Why would I? It’s not like they’d tell me anyway. I’m not privy to their secrets.”
“What kind of secrets?”
“I don’t know. Not really anyway.”
“Roarke?”
Roarke sighed. “It's only really what I’ve pieced together. Things were never really the same after my father died.”
“Understandably.”
Roarke shook his head. “What we told you was true. They went to the inn, that woman ran out and fled. My father did die at the hands of…”
“The Fallen.” Lena finished for him. They were protected by osmium and still Roarke couldn’t bring himself to say the word.
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But something else happened that night.”
“Like?”
“I can’t be sure. I do know it has something to do with that woman.”
Well, that was interesting. She needed to talk to Thorn and was just about to head back to have a quiet word in his shell-like when Larissa swept out into the corridor. Thorn and the rest of House Bowman were in tow.
“Ah! There you are. Dinner is served.” Larissa smiled, but again, it didn’t reach her eyes. And Lena caught the thinly veiled scowl Larissa shot at Roarke.
The staff had done what they could with the drab kitchen-come-diner. Someone had found some linen for the table and the silver cutlery shone under the harsh light. Lena took in the spread and thanked Faerie the food wasn’t grey as well. She expected something simple given the last minute decision to use the facility, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. The House Bowman table rivalled anything she had seen at the Order.
Steamed vegetables of every colour and variety imaginable were piled into shiny chafing dishes whilst spatchcocked chicken and roasted pork and beef tempted diners from their silver platters. Wine was served in beautiful silver and crystal decanters and Lena was pretty sure the gems on the wine glass stems weren't just for show.
Lena chose a chair near the end of the table, so she could see all the guests, but also keep an eye on the only exit. They might be guarded by an osmium door, but this wasn't home and she was taking no chances.
As she placed her hands on the back of the chair with the intention of pulling it out, she realised everyone else was still standing. Ah, that's right. They were in company now. Dropping her hands, she waited, not entirely sure what to do with herself.
Larissa consulted with one of the servants before the woman swept to the head of the table. Both her sons leapt to action, each vying for the honour of helping their mother into her seat. Lena tried really hard not to roll her eyes. Honestly, Larissa was a formidable woman. The idea that she might need help to pull out her own chair was frankly ridiculous.
Which was why Lena was dumbfounded when Thorn did the same for her. He pulled Lena's chair out with grace and ease as he motioned for her to sit. Determined not to impersonate a goldfish again, Lena did as instructed and watched mesmerised as Thorn made sure she was comfortable before taking his own seat beside her. Once the two ladies in the room and the King, of course, were seated, Roarke, Bay and Crane took their places.
"My Lord," Larissa shrieked, leaping to her feet. As she stood, so did all the men in the room. "Will you not do us the honour of taking the head of the table?"
Thorn bowed his head slightly. "Indeed it is an honour you should offer it to me, Maluth. However, I cannot accept."
"Oh but, you must!" Larissa replied.
"My Steward has already ascertained where I should sit when she chose her own seat; she always sits on my right. And I mean no offence when I suggest that she took that seat so that I would not have my back to an unguarded door."
Lena had no idea what this "she always sits on my right" stuff was all about, but Thorn was correct. There was no way she'd let him sit in such a vulnerable position. Lena watched Larissa carefully, waiting to see how she reacted to the implication that the King was not safe in her house.
To her credit, Larissa simply inclined her head as she replied, "As you wish, My Lord."
"There is of course another reason," Thorn said.
"My Lord?" Larissa replied.
"There is only one man who should sit in that seat, and I would never dream of taking his place."
Lena gulped as she watched the abject sorrow skirt across Larissa's face and both her sons looked at their feet. "You honour his memory well, My Lord," Larissa whispered as she sank to her seat.
Lena was fairly certain that safety was Thorn's primary reason for not taking the seat he was offered, but his second reason held merit and Lena felt ashamed that the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She risked a glance at Thorn as he retook his seat beside her. The solemnity in his eyes made her heart ache. Dammit. She felt like apologising, again.
"Lena?"
"Huh?"
Thorn was staring at her, eyebrow lifted as if waiting for an answer.
"Sorry, I wasn't listening. What did you say?"
"I asked you if you'd like some chicken."
"Oh. Right. Um. Yes please." She smiled weakly. Real smooth, Lena.
Thorn placed a small piece of chicken on her plate and she was grateful he hadn't loaded the thing up. Her no-stuffing-your-face-rule still held strong even when she wasn't with her brethren. Thorn offered her vegetables next, followed by roast potatoes. Again he went with small portions.
"Thank you, My Lord."
"You're more than welcome, Steward," Thorn replied.
Lena stared at her plate for a second, then remembering the chair incident, checked to see what everyone else was doing. Larissa also had a plate of food in front of her, though she hadn't picked up her knife or fork yet. Lena frowned, but decided to take the other woman's lead and waited. It was then she realised that Thorn hadn't even started charging his own plate, nor had any of the other men. Lena was beyond confused.
"Our women always have first choice," Thorn whispered, his mouth just millimetres from her ear.
Lena just nodded as her insides exploded. She struggled to contain the inferno, and Thorn inhaled deeply. Lena watched his golden eyes widen before he cleared his throat and looked away. What was all that about?
Thorn had to close his eyes to steady himself. He didn't know if Lena knew what she was doing to him, but that scent was there again. As he'd leant into her, the scent of exotic spiced filled his senses. The effect was immediate.
His sex swelled against his fly, and it took all his strength to will his
fangs to stay where they were. Heat rolled through him making him glad he was already sitting down. His heart pounded and his head swam as a single thought screamed at him: "Mine!"
Where in the name of Faerie had that come from?
As his brow knitted, he felt eyes on him and looked at the head of the table. Larissa was glancing between him and Lena, her eyes narrowed. The woman's eyes softened however as she met his gaze and a knowing smile lifted her whole face.
It was the first time since he'd met her that he'd seen her smile properly. This one went all the way to her sharp, grey eyes and she was all the prettier for it. She shook the expression away quickly as she took a delicate sip from her wine glass. What did she know that he didn't?
Thorn risked a look at Lena and found she wouldn't meet his eyes. She was pushing her chicken around her plate, her hands trembling ever-so-slightly. Well, that was definitely odd.
"My Lord, how is your investigation going?" Roarke asked from the seat to his mother's left. Larissa shot her son a look that showed quite clearly she was not happy with this conversation.
"It is going well, thank you, Roarke. We uncovered interesting new intelligence after we left you, actually."
"Oh! How exciting!" Roarke beamed like a school boy.
"Are you able to share this intelligence?" Larissa asked, with just a little too much enthusiasm.
Thorn watched her carefully. She was a very guarded woman, but there was a hint of guilt in the air and Thorn would love to know the cause.
"I'm afraid not, Larissa. We still have some unanswered questions. All, I'm sure, will become clear soon enough."
"You didn't say what the investigation concerned, My Lord." Larissa pressed again.
"No. I didn't."
Larissa pursed her lips in a tight smile before raising her glass. "A toast!" She continued in the old language, "May luck be your friend and may trouble be always a stranger to you." The rest of the party followed her example, saluting Thorn and Lena with their bejewelled glasses.
Thorn returned the gesture. "Your wishes are most gratefully received, Maluth."
The rest of the meal went by in relative silence. Roarke asked a few more questions about the Order, much to Larissa's annoyance. Lena didn't say a word and Thorn had no idea what to make of that. He risked a few glances her way throughout the meal, but she wouldn't meet his glance. Each time he looked, he got another hint of that exotic spice, as though she knew he was looking at her.
He adjusted himself to accommodate the aching bulge in his trousers, but he couldn't do it too often without arousing suspicion. As much as he wanted to, he didn't dare look at Lena again. He didn't think his body could take it.
Thorn sighed with relief when Larissa suggested they retire to the sitting room. Reminding himself that he was a full blooded male and not some sex-starved youngling, Thorn had just about got himself under control by the time he reached the other room.
All that self-control went straight out of the window when he saw Lena laughing at something Roarke had said.
What the hell was going on?
First Ryver, then Roarke? Neither man was a match for him in any department, yet the green-eyed monster he never knew he shared headspace with disagreed. That thought entered his head unbidden: "Mine."
Something weird was going on.
Lena was talking to Roarke and laughing at his inability to call her Lena instead of "My Lady," but she could feel Thorn's stare boring right through her. Her mind took her back to the den. When was that? Last night? The night before? She couldn't remember. She did remember the look on Thorn's face though. She would never forget that look.
She shot a sideways glance and her breath hitched. Good God! Thorn's stunning golden eyes were almost white-hot they were burning so brightly. His nostrils flared and his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. As he met her eyes, she was undone. The inferno she was barely containing, notched up a gear, and wetness welled between her legs. The feeling was so powerful, so unexpected, she nearly stumbled.
"Are you alright, Lena?" Roarke asked as he reached out a hand to steady her.
That simple touch on her arm made her feel ill and Roarke snatched his hand away. As Lena tried to wipe away the unpleasant feeling on her arm, Roarke tried again, "Lena, are you quite well?"
Before she could answer, she looked back at Thorn. The look on his face was full of possession and although she didn't understand it, something inside her loved the way he looked at her. Lena shook her head, brushing away the thought. Whatever Thorn was up to, that look had nothing to do with her. It couldn't be. It just wasn't possible.
She cleared her throat. "Yes. I'm fine."
"Is there anything you need?" Roarke asked.
Yes, I need to get out of here. "No. No, thank you."
Roarke didn't seem to have noticed Thorn's murderous look, but nevertheless, he distanced himself from Lena. Making an excuse about getting another drink, despite having a full glass in his hands, he left her on her own.
Lena was grateful of the reprieve. Her mind was scrambled and polite conversation was the last thing she needed. Which was why she felt sick to her stomach as she watched Larissa Bowman making her way over.
The other woman seemed to float towards her. The black gown Larissa wore moved in slow, liquid movements as it followed the wearer's gracious movements. Lena sighed inwardly. Even if she owned such a gown, she seriously doubted she'd be able to pull it off the way Larissa Bowman did.
She prayed the Maluth was just "taking a turn about the room," or whatever it was that genteel ladies were supposed to do. Lena disliked Larissa intensely and after the growling incident, she had no desire to talk to her.
No such luck.
"Lena. I hope the repast was to your liking?" Larissa asked.
Repast? Who says that? "Yes, thank you. It was lovely."
Larissa nodded and took a sip of her wine as she regarded the rest of the party. Lena followed her example and looked at the others. Roarke and Bay were deep in conversation over in the corner. Crane was sprawled out on one of the utilitarian sofas chatting with Thorn who had moved over to the boxy looking armchair.
Thorn's eyes had returned to their normal golden-hue, but despite their seemingly relaxed body language, Lena knew both men were anything but. The muscles in Thorn's shoulders were bunched and the arm that wasn't slung over the back of the chair rested not-so-casually across his waist meaning his gun hand was just millimetres from his weapon.
"Lena, I feel I owe you an apology," Larissa said quietly.
Lena snapped her head towards the other woman, searching her face. Larissa's shark-grey eyes had softened and the harsh lines around her mouth diminished. The woman was being totally sincere.
"An apology? What for?" Lena asked, astonished.
"I didn't realise, and my behaviour was completely unacceptable."
Lena thought all of Larissa's behaviour had been unacceptable, so the answer didn't help. "I don't understand," Lena replied.
"I'm embarrassed to say, Lena; my behaviour towards Thorn earlier today. Had I known, I would never have presumed to act so informally with him. No wonder you were so upset."
Lena had no words. Talking to Larissa was probably on her list of top-ten, worst nightmares. Talking to Larissa about Thorn was like a record breaking, never to be surpassed, number one. Yet, what had Larissa said? Had she known?
"I'm sorry, Larissa, you've lost me. Had you known what?"
Larissa looked at her feet, embarrassed. "I don't wish to overstep the mark again, Lena."
"Please, Larissa. Speak freely. I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about."
"I wasn't aware of your relationship with Thorn."
Jesus Christ, the woman had lost her mind. "My relationship with Thorn?" Lena stammered in as hushed a tone as she could manage.
"I should have seen it earlier, though I understand the need for discretion. It must be a difficult position to be in. To have the eye of the King, yet not the
station to see it through." Larissa didn't seem to realise the insult in her words. Her inflection was one of genuine kindness and understanding.
"I'm afraid you are very much mistaken, Larissa. My relationship with Thorn Blackwood is as his Steward of the Watch, nothing more," Lena replied sharply before making her way over to the servant stationed by the door.
"As you wish," Larissa called out across the room.
Lena needed to get out of here, like right-fucking-now. She seconded the servant to escorted her to the guest room and stole away down the corridor as quickly as she possibly could.
Crane was telling the truth. But people could be guilty of lying by omission and Thorn could tell the Vampire was hiding something. The guy was far too guarded, his answers far too careful.
"You have to tell me the whole story, Crane," Thorn said.
"Upon my honour, My Lord, what I have told you is the truth. I do not know how much more I can tell you."
"Have a care with your honour, Master Bowman."
Crane's eyes widened and Thorn smirked. Playing the honour card was probably a low blow, but he knew it would work. If Asher was right, and Crane had made an honour oath, Thorn was determined to relieve him of that burden. Now he just needed to talk to Crane alone.
Thorn got to his feet. "I think perhaps you should show me the rest of the facility, don't you?"
Crane struggled to his feet, though regained his composure as he flattened the front of his trousers and straightened the lapels of his frock coat. "Of course, My Lord. Please follow me."
Once out into the grey corridor, they turned left and Crane led Thorn past two more doors to a single entry way at the far end. As he looked back up the corridor, Thorn saw they were directly opposite the osmium door that had started this little adventure. Crane held open the door to what looked like a communications' suite and gestured for Thorn to step inside.
Crane closed the door and pulled up one of the leather chairs that sat in front on of a long bank of top-of-the-range work stations. All of the screens were blank and most of the keyboards were still in their just-out-of-the-box plastic sheaths and the power was not connected. Thorn felt his brow knit as he took the seat opposite Crane. And then realisation hit. "Why are you here?" he asked.
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