Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(42)

So he didn’t say what he had because he needed or wanted the blood offering. He said it out of concern for her well-being.

Oh hell, he was going to make her give up the whole concept of “monster” entirely, wasn’t he?

“I understand,” she said softly. “And I’m on my journey toward making that choice. But for now, do you know what I did this morning?”

He studied her. “Raoul told me what happened in the gym. You surprised him.”

“Yes.” She pointed to her own chest. “I did that. Nobody enhanced me, or gave me special powers. I thought the plan up, and I executed it. And because I’ve worked my ass off these last six weeks, I was fast enough to pull it off. Barely, but I did, and that feels nice. I know I’m not where I need to be yet, but for now I feel pretty good about where I’m at.”

His lean jaw angled out slightly, but he refrained from saying anything further. Instead, he stood back. “Fair enough. Now, please go down the hall and come back in. Show me that you know how to walk, not bolt like a runaway horse.”

She sighed but complied. As she walked into the room again, she found that he had moved some distance away. When she paused, he walked toward her, moving with his characteristic seamless, balletic grace. She watched warily as he gave her a slight bow, inclined his head and offered his arm.

“Good evening. May I escort you into dinner?”

She squinted one eye at him. “I’m supposed to be your attendant, not a guest. Attendants are supposed to be invisible and anticipate your every need, not be escorted in to dinner.”

He sighed. “Well, I do not see any evidence of you anticipating my every need at the moment.”

“Didn’t you ask me to walk out and come back in?” she said. “And didn’t I do it?”

He looked at her in exasperation. “For the love of God, querida, do not argue over every little thing. Just go along with this.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, stung. Gingerly she put her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the bulk of hard muscle move underneath the cloth of his jacket like a panther’s muscles shifting underneath its fur.

He led her around the table, smoothly matching his longer stride to hers. “If you were attending me at a function, what would you do?”

“How many attendants do you have with you?”

They reached where one of two formal dinner settings had been laid, and she waited while he pulled out the chair for her, then sat.

He said, “For this hypothetical scenario, I have just you in attendance.”

“Then I would keep pace a few steps behind you until we reached the room.” She watched him walk to the place setting on the opposite side of the table and sit. “After you sat down, I would take the position just behind your chair, so I could serve you wine or whatever else you might need. If this was a function without a banquet table, where people stood to mingle, I would find a place against a wall to stand and watch until I’m needed.”

“Very good.” With a flick of his long fingers, he indicated the place setting in front of her. “Now, can you explain this to me?”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes, because she knew he would not appreciate it. Reaching for patience, she told him, “Of course I can. This is what Raoul has been teaching me for the last month and a half.”

“Then you should have no trouble demonstrating that knowledge to me, should you?” He sounded as if he might be reaching for patience too, although for the life of her she couldn’t understand why.

A sigh escaped her before she could stop it. “Raoul and I have gone through table manners, a history of Vampyre customs, and what an attendant should and should not do for a wide variety of events. I just don’t understand why you want to focus on this now, when I know all of it already.”

“Do you, indeed?” he said. His diction seemed to become even more perfect. She wondered if that might be some kind of warning sign, as he cocked his head, his mouth held at a slant. “Then perhaps you can kindly explain how this place setting would differ should an Elf be present.”

Her gaze fell to the place setting. The outside spoon was very slightly out of alignment, and she took her time adjusting it. Finally she had to make the grudging admission. “We haven’t talked about Elven dining yet.”

“I see.” His gray-green gaze glittered as he looked at her. “What about Dark Fae formal dining customs?”

She rubbed her chin, her lips pursed. Then she shook her head.

“The Light Fae?”

“No,” she muttered.

“What about the Demonkind? I do not refer to the Djinn, who naturally do not need to eat and will adapt to the predominant social custom of the occasion, but to the other Demonkind who may be at table.”

Oh, for crying out loud. This was like some kind of modern version of My Fair Lady.

Only with Vampyres.

She made herself breathe evenly for a few moments. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I? How fortuitous.” As he lounged back in his chair, all the subtle signs of aggravation disappeared. “Then perhaps we should get back to the task at hand, so that I can determine what you have learned before going on to teach you what you haven’t.”

Okay, that went too far. One small part of her mind—the wary part, the sensible part—started to whisper, Don’t say it, don’t say it. . . .