Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(36)

Then she looked up and leaned forward, her angular expression firming into determination. “Yes, I want to.”

“Very good,” he said. He smiled, and even though she was still uneasy in his presence, she returned it. Then he turned brisk. “Starting tomorrow evening, we will add two more things to your training schedule.”

“You want me to do more?”

Her dismay had returned, but he ignored it. “You will begin daily meditations and focus on a series of biofeedback exercises. There are techniques you can learn that will help you to control your body’s reaction to stress, especially your heart rate. That should help to dampen the fear pheromones.”

Her gaze sparked with interest. “I would love to learn that. What’s the other thing?”

He adjusted one shirtsleeve. “I will take over your etiquette lessons. Prolonged exposure should help you master your aversion to Vampyres, at least enough so that you can mask your true feelings.”

He did not have to look at her to gauge her reaction. He heard it in the loud thump of her heart. Still, she replied without a second’s hesitation, “That makes sense. Thank you for taking the time to work with me.”

Buried underneath all her tension and nerves was the heart of a lion. He smiled and heard himself asking, “Do you dance?”

“Probably not in the way that you mean,” she replied in a dry voice. “I’ve never taken formal dance lessons. The only kind of dancing I’ve ever done is in a nightclub.”

Bah. She meant modern dancing, which was little more than hopping around and waving one’s arms to disco music. Watching a crowd of people on a nightclub dance floor was like watching a school of fish smacking their fins in shallow water. It was all flapping and splashing, and entirely devoid of dignity.

He glanced at her, amused. “You are correct. That is not what I meant. I will teach you to waltz. Perhaps also a minuet. Those should cover the times when you might attend a function and be asked to partner someone.”

“How often would something like that happen?”

He shrugged. “Not often, but it is a situation that has arisen before. Someone might be alone and require a dancing partner.”

The spark in her eyes faded, to be replaced with a clear look of dread. “I suppose I should be prepared.”

“Tess, you are good for my soul,” he said. He gave her a completely serious look. “If I ever feel that I am suffering from an overabundance of pride, I shall look for you immediately so you can trample all over it.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, dismayed. Then she quickly tried to change course. “Or maybe I mean, you’re welcome?”

He almost burst out laughing, and considering that he had come to mirth when he had started out in anger, this conversation had ended up having a great deal of merit after all. “On that note, I believe we’re done for tonight. Please see Raoul on your way out, so that he can draw blood.”

She rose to her feet, but didn’t leave immediately. When he glanced up, she looked at him steadily. “Thank you again, for taking a chance on me,” she said. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”

Oh querida, he thought. I already regret it.

But he would not say so and crush such sincerity, so instead he smiled and nodded. He watched as she left, easing the door closed behind her.

Alone at last, he poured another glass of bloodwine, but the drink had lost its savor, so he set it aside and lost himself in the soothing contemplation of the fire, and tried to let the silence wash away the strain of the last six weeks.

It wouldn’t leave so quickly or easily. Scraps of memory from the last several weeks kept playing through his mind. The pressure on Julian right now was extreme, and therefore so, too, was the pressure on him.

There was nothing else he could do but hold steady in the storm. He sent out his people to gather as much information as he could, while his gut told him that they stood on the brink of some event.

The tension within the demesne was too high. Something must occur to release it, some event that destroyed the peace. Someone’s temper would flare. Loyalties that were already tenuous would snap.

The two likeliest candidates for trouble were Justine and Darius. If they weren’t the actual instigators, still, either one would be quick to try to seize power at the slightest provocation.

Both were very old Vampyres, much older than he. While Justine had come from Britannia, Darius had been turned only a few hundred years after Julian, during the decline of the Roman Empire.

Like all Vampyres, they retained the core identities they’d had while they were human. Darius had always been overly fond of the gladiator arena, and Justine’s beautiful face hid a vicious wolverine.

Neither of them had ever truly embraced the idea of the Nightkind demesne. They had no interest in protecting or preserving areas for other creatures of the night, or banding together to create a cohesive political unit. They certainly had no interest in any idea or cause that was greater than themselves.

They were wholly self-involved, quick to violence and eager for self-gain. He would have long since killed them both, if he could have gotten away with it.

He tapped his fingers on the leather-covered arm of his chair. Perhaps the opportunity to do so would still come. He could hope.

A quiet tap at the door interrupted his increasingly dark thoughts. He said, “Come in, Raoul.”