by M. J. Scott
No matter what I called myself, there was someone deep inside who tossed her head and insisted she didn’t care. That what she wanted was sitting before her on that barstool, grinning at her. I still hadn’t decided whether I felt sick or happy by the time I reached Fen and hoisted myself onto the stool next to his.
“You came,” he said.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Saskia, there’s not a oddsman in the City that would’ve accepted a bet that you would show.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. What was he doing here if he was so sure that I wouldn’t come? Trolling for a replacement?
I squelched the thought. It was unworthy. “I’ll have a brandy,” I said to the barman. Fen cocked his head at me but didn’t comment. Good. Maybe he was learning.
But still the considering gleam in those green, green eyes made my nerves flare higher.
“How are you feeling?” The question came more out of automatic politeness and my need for something to say than anything else. I dropped my eyes to his wrist, but he wore a long-sleeved white shirt whose cuffs hid his chain from view.
He shook his head. “Nothing to concern yourself about.”
That could mean anything from “better” to “hurting like hell.” How long did a person have to know this man before he relaxed enough to actually let her in? A long time, it seemed.
More time than I had in hand and perhaps more time than I wanted to give. The doubts were starting to win. I twisted on the stool. Fen’s hand shot out, circled my wrist. “Don’t go.”
“This was a bad idea.”
“I know.”
“Then why am I here? I don’t understand this, Fen. Why ask me here? You made your feelings perfectly clear earlier.”
His head tilted again. “I’m not all that sure myself.”
My heart sank again and I looked away. “Then I should go. And you can bother somebody else. I’m sure you don’t lack for choice.”
“No, I don’t.”
This time I did slide off the stool. “In that case, I think it’s better that I go now, before we both make any more mistakes.”
Fen moved to block me, coming to his feet and stepping around me in that fluid movement that reminded me of his very mixed heritage. Grace and speed and strength. Power. From the Fae and the Beasts. He radiated heat as well as charm, hard not to step closer, to bask in him.
“Don’t go,” he repeated.
To my horror, tears rose in my eyes. “Why not?”
“Well,” he said, “for one thing, there’s this.” Then he laid his hands either side of my face and bent down to kiss me.
It was just as good as I remembered. And this time it wasn’t backed by anger. No, this time there was a dangerous sweetness to his touch, a warmth that stole through me and melted the walls I’d constructed to defend myself.
I had a horrible feeling that the taste of it could be addictive, potent as any pleasure the Night World, or anywhere else, could offer. And I had even less chance of fighting it than a Nightseeker snared in the grasp of a Blood lord.
Still, I had to try. I broke away from him. “You said this isn’t a good idea.”
“I also said I’m an idiot,” Fen said. He stepped forward.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Yes.”
“Try again.”
His expression turned serious. “I’m sorry.”
“An explanation would also be helpful.”
“I’m not sure I can explain.” He leaned in again.
I stepped back. “Not here.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Are you inviting yourself upstairs?”
“It was a kiss, Fen. Don’t get cocky.”
“It was a bloody good kiss.”
“As I said, don’t get cocky.” But I had to look away when I said it so I wouldn’t move nearer.
He pressed his lips together, lifted his hands, shifted on the barstool slightly as though he were uncomfortable. “All right. I bow to your decision.”
“Don’t sulk,” I said.
“I don’t sulk,” he shot back. “I’m being gentlemanly.”
He said the last with a wicked look, letting me know that he might be behaving himself but what he was thinking was not the sort of thing a gentleman would contemplate. Which didn’t help me. I was thinking exactly that sort of thing myself. It was all I could do not to step toward him and ask for another taste.
Which only proved my theory about my level of idiocy. He had tossed me out of his bed this morning, told me there was nothing between us. Yet here he was calling me back. Kissing me.
I wasn’t going to be at his beck and call.
“We have things to discuss,” I said, settling back on my own stool. I smoothed my hair, then my skirts, then clasped my hands together to stop myself fidgeting like a nervous schoolgirl.
“Discussions aren’t much fun,” he said.
“This is not the time for fun.”
“No?” His tone was lazy. “I think it’s the perfect time. Make merry while we still can.”
I didn’t think I liked the sound of that. It hardly sounded like a man who thought he was about to take part in the treaty negotiations.
“I, for one, would rather make a little less merry now, and make sure there’s still time for it later.”
“That’s because you’re a DuCaine,” he said.
I found myself suddenly wondering if he’d been drinking. He hadn’t tasted of alcohol, but maybe . . . “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Very serious, you DuCaines.”
“Because we care about things other than ourselves?”
“Maybe. Maybe you’ve just forgotten how to have fun.”
I felt my eyes narrow at him. “If you’re trying to bait me, don’t bother. You’re the one who asked me here, or have you forgotten?”
“No. I’m hardly likely to forget that.”
“Then shall we stop beating around the bush?”
Fen straightened slightly, then looked around the bar. “Not here.”
“I think we’ve already established that I’m not coming up to your room.”
“There’s a room in the back. It’s more . . . private.”
Warded, I assumed that meant. Sensible. In his position I might not want the news that I was joining the human’s delegation broadcast any sooner than it had to be. My mood lifted slightly. Surely this meant he was going to help us. After all, if he was going to say no, why did he need privacy to say it?
Chapter Thirteen
FEN
I led the way to the back room, hearing Saskia’s heels tapping out a staccato rhythm that spoke of irritation—if not outright anger—on the floorboards as she followed me. No doubt she was wondering what the hell I was up to after my less than reasonable behavior this morning.
Which made two of us.
Only I wasn’t so much wondering why I had tried to cut her off this morning as why I’d found myself writing a note to ask her to come back so I could apologize.
It had all seemed so clear this morning. Clear that tangling any further with Saskia DuCaine could only bring ruin upon both of us. I couldn’t afford to care about someone else. Not when my heart was already torn by the memory of Reggie lying so still and pale down in the bowels of St. Giles.
Surrounded by others suffering her fate. The ones that not even the combined powers of a vampire, Simon DuCaine and Bryony sa’Eleniel had managed to heal.
Sweet Reggie, who had never hurt anyone if she could help it, now perhaps fated to live out her years in a sleep that was only half a step above death.
My little sister, for all intents and purposes. Lost.
Lost to me, as so many others had been lost.
I didn’t want to care again. Caring only hurt.
But still, as soon as Saskia had closed the door of my room behind her, I had wanted to go after her.
I had argued with myself all morning. I still wasn’t entirely su
re if I’d changed my mind because I couldn’t afford to fall out with the DuCaines right now—though I wanted to believe I wasn’t quite that much of a bastard—or because I wanted the relief Saskia’s touch could bring me—again, bastardry—or whether, when it came right down to it, I just wanted her.
The memory of her standing before me, letting the dark gray dress she wore fall to the floor, was seared in my memory. But stronger still was the feeling of her curled against me, skin to skin, her warmth and the sound of her sleeping breath chasing my demons away as easily as her touch held the visions at bay.
For a time I’d been able to forget. To relax.
To be me.
Pity that her brothers would likely make mincemeat of me when they found out I was sleeping with their little sister. Saskia wasn’t for the likes of me—even Holly had told me that much.
I knew they were all right.
But I also knew that I couldn’t let her go. Not just yet.
Of course, I had to convince her of that. Right now it wasn’t the DuCaine males I had to worry about.
No, as I watched Saskia take a seat at the table, tidying her skirts primly around her before she settled to stillness—except for the hand that toyed with the prentice chain around her neck—I was well aware that I was dealing with an angry DuCaine female.
One who could set things on fire with her will. One who didn’t need her brothers’ help at all to express her displeasure, should she so choose.
I truly had an excellent skill for landing myself in trouble far, far over my head.
I took a seat opposite her. Perhaps I should have brought the brandy with me. A few more shots might have calmed her temper.
Though the stormy shades of gray and green riding her eyes suggested that the Figgs didn’t stock enough brandy to achieve such an outcome.
“Well?” Saskia said after she had studied me for an uncomfortable length of time.
“You said we had things to discuss,” I said politely.
Her eyes narrowed. “You wrote a note asking me to come here. You first.”
“I apologized already,” I said. “I’ll do it again”—I added hastily—“but that was why I wanted to see you to apologize.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you apologizing? What exactly are you sorry for, Fen? Taking me to bed, or throwing me out of it this morning? Or maybe the way you stormed off last night?”
“Definitely not the first one.” I wasn’t that stupid. “Unless you want me to be sorry about that . . .”
Her mouth twitched slightly, but her severe expression didn’t alter. “No. Not about that.”
“I’m definitely sorry about this morning. I don’t know exactly what happened.”
“That’s hardly an explanation.”
“Bryony’s potion made me temporarily insane?” I offered with a half smile, seeing if I could coax one out of her as well.
“Given the time frame, wouldn’t that mean that you took me to bed under the influence of the potion and thought better of it in the clear light of day? I’m not sure that’s—”
“That’s not what I meant. Definitely not. How about we chalk it up to general male idiocy?”
“I’ll take it under consideration,” Saskia said with another twitch. “Very well, so you don’t regret sleeping with me and you do regret the way we parted this morning. That just leaves the rest of last night. Care to enlighten me as to your thoughts on that?” Her tone had grown very careful with that last sentence. As though she was worried about toppling something fragile over with the wrong choice of words.
“I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like that your brother didn’t tell me what he was doing sooner.”
She nodded. “I can understand that. I’m not overly happy with him myself right now, but I can also understand why he is keeping secrets. Can you?”
“Yes. But they’re asking me to take a big risk and they don’t trust me.”
“They don’t know you that well—”
I made a noise of protest and Saskia held up a hand to stop me.
“It’s true. They know that Holly trusts you, and that helps a lot, but they don’t know you, Fen. And you insist on telling everybody that you’re not one of the good guys.” She tilted her head, something odd riding her expression for the briefest of flashes. “You can’t be hurt when some people believe it. But they will trust you if you prove yourself.”
“Is that what you’re trying to do? Prove yourself?”
“I’m just trying to help. I want the City safe.”
“Is that all?”
“I have other goals in life.” She reached up, stroked her prentice chain briefly. “But those are not important for the next few weeks.”
A few weeks. Not much time. There were a few more days of preparation left to us and then the negotiations would commence. Two weeks to secure the future of the City for another five years.
It seemed ridiculous.
I knew that the treaty was a good thing, that peace—or what passed for peace—amongst the races saved lives and allowed the City to function and prosper, but sometimes it also seemed to cause more problems than it fixed. Perhaps it would be better to let it go, let us all battle it out, let the victor take the spoils and the losers slink off elsewhere.
But that didn’t seem very likely, plus it would be a violent and bloody mess of a struggle. One the humans would likely lose.
A few months ago that thought wouldn’t have concerned me overly much. But now one of my best friends was in love with a human and the other was lying in a hospital bed with little hope of salvation other than at the hands of another human.
And then there was the very human girl sitting across from me.
Did I want to let her world be swept away?
No.
Which meant that, reluctant as I might be, I was going to take part in these negotiations. Which also meant playing nice and biting my tongue about what I thought of Simon’s search for a cure for blood-locking. It also, I imagined, meant Saskia and I were going to have to be circumspect about the fact that we were anything more than friends.
* * *
Turned out I didn’t need to be concerned. I didn’t get a chance to be alone with Saskia over the next two days. No, we were too busy being drilled on delegation protocol and the seemingly endless rules of the negotiations. Who could sit where, who could talk to who, what could or could not be brought into the Treaty Hall.
The lists went on and on and on.
Because we were late to join the delegation, we were sequestered separately with our assigned tutors and had the details drummed into us for hours on end.
I was glad for the excuse to be away from other people, but midway through the second day I would have sold my soul to whoever asked for it in exchange for brandy and the chance to get away from Brother Anthony, the very serious Templar who’d been assigned to instruct me. Saskia’s tutor was another Templar, a younger man with dark hair and skin, eyes greener than mine, and a left arm that ended at the elbow. Brother Liam, he’d been introduced as when we’d met.
Saskia had smiled at Liam in welcome, making me think that she knew him already before they had gone off together to wherever their lessons were being held. Brother Anthony had told me to sit, then proceeded to open an ominously large brown leather book at page one and started drilling me as though I was one of his novices, and a particularly recalcitrant one at that.
I’d always been a relatively quick study—it helps in my business to have a good memory for faces, places, and facts—but at times I felt as though my brain would likely burst if I had to parse one more of Anthony’s horribly complicated protocol scenarios.
When a knock at the door was revealed to be one of the novices sent to call us to lunch on the second day, I almost ran from the room.
I made my way toward the dining hall without thinking. I knew the way well by now. Over the last few days the only places I’d been within the Brot
her House were the dining hall, the small chamber where Anthony and I were studying, and the even smaller cell where I was sleeping. Saskia, as far as I could tell, was sleeping somewhere in St. Giles. Guy and Simon had decided it was safer for both of us to stay within the walls that surrounded both St. Giles and the Brother House, where Haven laws were enforced. My cynical side thought the fact that I’d been found a room in the Brother House and Saskia had accommodations in St. Giles was somewhat deliberate on the part of her brothers.
Still, I did see her a few times a day, when we gathered for delegation discussions or when Lily came to take me to the hidden ward to visit Reggie. Saskia was diligent in making sure she got to touch me to relieve my visions, but the small amount of contact was hardly enough to satisfy my need to do more than just hold her hand.
I wondered what Brother Anthony would do if he knew exactly what I was thinking about some of the times I lost my place in our endless lessons.
But there was no time to try and steal away. Between the endless study and the strategizing and spending time with Reggie, I barely had time to eat and snatch a few hours’ sleep each night. The few times I’d thought I might have a spare hour to myself, Guy had appeared and dragged me down to the Templar weapons hall, putting me through my paces with sword and pistol until he was satisfied that I knew what I was doing with a weapon. I liked to think he’d even been a little impressed with a few of the sneaky moves I knew.
I wasn’t a trained warrior like his brother knights, but I knew how to keep myself alive. Still, I was sporting a number of bruises from our sessions that didn’t make sitting down and studying for long stretches any more comfortable.
But even the exertion of sparring with a Templar hadn’t really done much to ease my need for Saskia.
I planned to snatch some time to see Reggie after I’d eaten. I wouldn’t be able to stay for long. There was meant to be another meeting tonight of the Templar delegates and I was expected to attend. Though attendance consisted largely of listening to the discussions and making notes and trying to ignore the images conjured by my powers. Images of bloodshed and death that followed some of the Templars around like ghastly smoke.