A Warm Heart in Winter(88)

“May I help you?”

The voice was quiet and a little hoarse. The accent was French. And the scent was decidedly human.

“Hi.” Blay smiled warmly, but kept his lips together so his fangs didn’t show. “Are you Anna Sophia Laval?”

“I am.”

At that moment, she glanced to her right. And saw Qhuinn.

Her eyes popped wide, and she put her hand to her mouth. Just as Blay began to worry they were going to have to go into her mind and calm her, she spoke.

“You’re Luke’s brother. Aren’t you.”



As soon as that door opened, Qhuinn took in every detail of the woman and the apartment behind her. And then she said words he couldn’t immediately translate into meaning.

When they clicked, he was overcome with emotion.

“Yes,” he replied roughly. “I am his brother.”

She stepped back and indicated the way inside with a hand that trembled. “Please.”

Qhuinn let Blay go first, and then he hesitated on the threshold. Before he followed his mate, he ducked a hand into his jacket and made sure he had the letters and the Scotch tape ball.

“Won’t you sit down,” she said formally as the door clapped shut behind them all.

The sofa was the only place to park it, so he and Blay went over even though the last thing Qhuinn wanted was to get physically trapped. He felt a buzzy need to run—although not to get away. He had nervous energy that was hard to contain.

“May I offer you something to drink?”

Qhuinn narrowed his eyes. There was a regal posture to her in spite of her casual clothes and modest surroundings, and he could see Luchas approving of that. But she was a human; she was very definitely of the other species.

“No, we’re good,” he said. “Thank you.”

She went across to a shallow kitchen area and brought over one of the three chairs that were around a little table.

Sitting down, she put her hands in her lap. “You’ve come to tell me he’s dead, haven’t you.”

Qhuinn leaned forward on the couch and plugged his elbows into his knees. Wiping his face with his palm, he nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

As she closed her eyes and sagged, Qhuinn felt a communion with her, a deep, abiding connection in which he found a curious relief.

He had to clear his throat. “Listen, it feels inappropriate to have to ask this, but how did you know him? Is it okay for me to ask that?”

She took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen him for over three years. Is that when he died?”

Qhuinn’s mind chewed over responses. And in the end, he went with: “Yes.”

Because his brother had been killed in the raids. That was not a lie. And was he really prepared to tell her the whole true story?

“What happened to him?” she asked. “How did he pass?”

“It was natural causes.” Or a snow murder, depending on who you asked.

“You look like him.” She smiled wanly and then swept him from head to toe with her eyes. “Well, you’re different, too.”

“I am. But I loved him and he loved me.”

Anna Sophia cleared her own throat. “He was easy to love. He was such a good man. I am . . .”

“Here,” Blay said, leaning forward with his handkerchief.

The woman took what was offered and patted at her face. Then she was quiet for a long while. Just as Qhuinn was about to jump out of his skin, she spoke again.

“We met when I was taking a night class in English literature here at the college.” She unfolded and refolded the kerchief. “He was in the same class. It ran from six to nine in the evening for twelve weeks.”

That sounded like Luchas, Qhuinn thought.

“Luke sat in the back. So did I. I didn’t think I belonged, and oddly, neither did he. Which never made any sense to me. He was so brilliant. He was just . . . special.” She stared off into the distance. “It started with a hello. And then a smile. He was . . .”

When she didn’t go on, Qhuinn prompted, “He was a wonderful male.”

“I need to be honest with you.” Her eyes flashed across the space. “I was married at the time.”

There was a moment of silence, as if she were waiting to be judged. When Qhuinn just nodded, she sighed and traced Blay’s monogram with her fingertip.

“I was not looking for anyone.” She shook her head. “My husband and I married young. I was very career focused back then, keeping my own name, determined to go far in the law. Basile was very handsome and looking for a wife. As they say, the days were long, the years short, with two kids, two careers. Eventually, I knew he was having affairs, and I found out about his then current one because one night, I followed him to a ‘work event.’” She did the air quotes around the words. “I can remember sitting in my car and watching him escort this woman into the restaurant. Oddly, I knew the marriage was over because I didn’t feel anything. There was nothing. Here.” She paused as she rubbed over her heart. “We have two beautiful children. Elle and Terrie are the best thing to come out of those nineteen years together. But I knew Basile didn’t love me anymore, if he ever had. I knew I didn’t love him anymore, if I ever had. And truly, he’s not a bad man. He’s just . . . who he is—and I know this all sounds detached, but I spent too many years angry. I’m not doing it anymore.”