Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(28)

“No, they were someone else’s, and it happened over thirty years ago.” He studied her expression then said, “While it may surprise you to hear this, I’m not actually angry that you broke the rules.”

The world shifted under her feet again. “You’re not?”

“You thought things through, considered potential risks and took action that was independent of any orders that you’d been given. And while I understand that it was entirely accidental, you also acquired a great deal of information. Those traits are all very useful to me.” He paused. “In fact, I only have a few real problems with what you did.”

She regarded him with a great deal of wariness, because once again, this conversation had run away from her. “What are they?”

“You assumed you knew better than we did and were stupidly careless. And you got caught.”

Her mouth opened and closed. She had never experienced anything quite like this lecture before, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

He turned brisk. “Melisande, Justine and I will be leaving promptly tomorrow at sundown. As you undoubtedly already overheard, after the council meetings I’ll be traveling to New York, so I will see you in February. I’ll expect an excellent progress report, so try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.” He gave her a slow smile. “Or at least try not to get caught.”

She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out.

He slipped a couple of fingers under her chin and gently eased her mouth shut. “To avoid unnecessary conversation with any of the others, I’m going to leave the way I came in. You will lock the window when I’m gone.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, but she nodded anyway.

Even though he said he was leaving, he didn’t move, nor did he drop his hand from her chin. Forgetting to be afraid, she watched him curiously as his gaze roamed over her face. He touched her lips with his thumb, and a slight frown came between his eyebrows. Then his eyelids lowered, hiding the expression in his eyes.

She held her breath. The pressure against her lips from the ball of his thumb was so slight that if she wasn’t looking directly at him, she wasn’t sure she would have felt it.

It wasn’t quite a caress. She didn’t know what it was.

His hand dropped away, and he inclined his head to her. Then he walked to the window, folded his lean body to slip through the open space and dropped out of sight with a boneless, catlike grace.

The room echoed with emptiness. She went to the window and looked out. He stood underneath, hands on his hips. As he watched, she closed the window and latched it. He nodded to her and walked toward the main house, where the music still played.

She watched until he had left her angle of sight and pulled the curtain closed.

Only then did it occur to her that he might have been fighting his Vampyre instincts as he held her chin and touched her mouth. But that didn’t feel right to her. He hadn’t looked as if he had been engaged in an internal struggle, and she hadn’t felt any real threat from him.

Instead he had looked troubled, perhaps even sad.

Even as the thought occurred to her, she frowned. That couldn’t be right. Why would looking at her sadden him? It reminded her of earlier, when she had thought she’d caught a hint of something wistful about him.

She had to let it go. Xavier was much too complicated for her to figure out after only a few meetings. For now, she needed to crawl back in bed and be grateful for the fact that, despite everything, she hadn’t managed to get herself kicked off the estate.

SEVEN

Mid-February

Tess hit the training mat so hard it knocked the breath out of her. Wheezing, she rolled onto her stomach and struggled to suck some air into her cramped lungs.

Raoul stood over her, his arms crossed. “That’s a wrap for the day.”

She coughed. “Give me a few minutes. I can go again.”

He shook his head. “We’re done here. After you recover, please make up the time on the shooting range.”

Please do this. Please do that.

Raoul had turned out to be a sadist with the most impeccable, old-school manners.

Please schedule an hour before breakfast for your morning run.

Please remember we will be focusing on weapons training on Monday. Please join me on the shooting range at one o’clock, after lunch.

Please protect your left side while you block me. You’re very clearly right-handed, and your entire left side is much too weak.

It was like no other training she had ever heard of, and she was in a class of one. He threw her, beckoned her to attack him from a different angle then threw her again. He kicked her, pinned her to the mat, gripped her in headlocks, slapped her against the wall, and gave her knives in practice bouts only to take them away from her with a confidence-crushing ease, and he did all of it so politely.

“Shooting range,” she said. “You got it.”

Still prone, she watched his shoes turn as he walked away.

Diego’s head came into view, angled sideways. Squatting, he deposited a cold bottle of water on the mat beside her.

“You saw all that, did you?” It was still hard to talk, and her voice came out strained.

“Hard to miss it, chica. Watching you crash and burn has become a daily thing.”

When she felt ready, she pushed onto her knees. “I would almost say I can’t remember the last time I was pain-free, except I can—it was the night I arrived here.”