A Hunger Like No Other (Immortals After Dark #2)(67)

“Oh, and the packages that arrived today for your queen have been unpacked.”

“Harmann, go,” he ordered. Harmann looked as if he was ready to pass out.

He cast Lachlain a grateful expression and strode out the door.

“Gifts will no’ sway her,” Cassandra pointed out in a churlish tone.

“I disagree,” Bowe answered, pulling a red apple from his jacket pocket and shining it on his shirt. “I’ve learned the queen does so like her gifts.”

When Lachlain raised his eyebrows, Bowe said, “Showed her the horse. Regret stealing your thunder.” He displayed no sign of regret.

Lachlain shrugged as if unconcerned, though he had wanted to see her reaction and capitalize on any gratitude she might have demonstrated.

“The good news is that she dinna like the idea of Cass up here talking to you. Distressed the wee creature.”

Could Emma have been jealous? Lachlain knew she could never feel the soul-deep possession he felt for her, but he’d take anything. He frowned. He didn’t want her distressed. “Cassandra, you will leave here. No’ to return until invited by Emmaline herself. I will no’ be moved from this.”

She gasped, truly shocked, but how could she be?

She shot to her feet, shaking, her voice sharp. “It may never be me, but when you are well, you’ll see it never could be that vampire either.” She flew to the door.

“I’ll make sure she leaves,” Bowe offered. “Just after a quick detour to the kitchen. They cooked for an army.” He hesitated, then said, “Good luck.”

Lachlain nodded, lost in thought, hearing cars departing down the long drive.

A king was in residence with his queen, a Lykae had his mate after a millennium, and the moon was waxing. Everyone here knew what that meant. Everyone except Emma.

He’d run out of time. He’d run out of options. His gaze fell to the sideboard, to the crystal glinting in the light.





24


W hen Emma woke, she was in Lachlain’s arms, with her face tucked against his chest and his fingers gently sifting through her hair. Just before she went irate at the thought of him moving her to the bed again, she realized he was in her blankets on the floor.

Then the dream came back to her in a rush.

She’d seen Lachlain in some kind of war long ago, passing the time between charges. Garreth and Heath—his brothers?—and some other Lykae males talked about finding their mates, musing on what they would look like. They spoke in Gaelic. She understood the words.

“I’m just saying it would be nice if she’s fair of form,” one called Uilleam said. He indicated what he meant by cupping his hands in front of his chest.

Another said, “Just give mine a sweet arse to hold on to in the night—”

They quieted when Lachlain walked by, not wanting to talk of such things in front of him.

Lachlain was the oldest, and had waited the longest. Nine hundred years he’d waited.

He continued to a stream by their camp, bounding easily over boulders even under the weight of chain mail. He knelt on the shore by a becalmed pool and leaned down to cup water to his face.

His reflection wavered for the briefest second. He hadn’t shaved for days and he had a long, winding cut down his face. His hair was long.

He was absolutely stunning to Emma, and she reacted viscerally to this remembered image from the dream.

When he’d sat back on his haunches and gazed up at the blue sky, Emma had felt the startling warmth of the sun as though she’d been there. Then a wave of emptiness had hit him. Why can I no’ find her…?

Emma blinked open her eyes. She was her. The one he’d longed for….

She’d seen him with rage in his eyes, with confusion, with hatred, but she’d never seen hopelessness as she had in his reflection.

“Sleep well?” he said, rumbling his words.

“Did you sleep with me? Here?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Because you prefer sleeping here. And I prefer sleeping with you.”

“And I have no say in the matter.”

Ignoring her comment, he said, “I want to give you something,” then reached behind him, drawing out…the gold necklace from her dream. Her eyes locked on it, mesmerized. It was more beautiful in reality.

“Do you like it? I never knew what you would prefer and guessed again and again.”

Her gaze followed it as it swung like a pendulum. This was proof that she was going loopy, and yet she still had an inward evil grin. “I’ll be sure to wear it in front of Cassandra,” she murmured absently.

He caught it in his palm, breaking her stare. “Why would you say that?”

As she often did when she wanted to lie and couldn’t, she asked a question. “Wouldn’t she be jealous to see you’d bought me jewelry?”

He was still frowning at her.

“It’s clear she wants you for herself.”

“Aye. That’s true,” he said, surprising her with his honesty. “But she’s gone. I’ve sent her away, no’ to return until it pleases you, or never. I will no’ have you uncomfortable in your own home.”

Through gritted teeth, she said, “It’s not my home.” She pushed away, but he held her by her shoulder.