Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(91)

On them.

He put his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “You aren’t by any chance trying to run away in your head again, are you? Because if you are, you know what will happen.”

“You’ll come after me,” she whispered back.

“I will always come after you.” His arms tightened. “We have barely begun, and there are too many good things ahead of us.”

“I’m a little intimidated by everything,” she told him. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

She heard the smile in his voice. “Because you never run when you’re scared.”

“Damn straight.” But despite her strong words, her shoulders tensed. Thinking of Malphas, she amended, “Unless that’s the smartest thing to do.”

“Ssh, querida.” He rubbed her back. “Listen.”

At first she thought he meant to say something else, and she waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

Gradually, she grew aware of sounds coming from another part of the house. Voices, talking together, and a burst of laughter. She caught a glimpse of others outside, carrying luggage to the attendants’ house, and she realized the strength of the community that surrounded them.

“Do you hear it?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I have faith that everything will be all right,” he told her. “I might have been broken before, but I never lost my faith.”

She lifted her head and looked into his shadowed gaze. “I believe you.”

He cocked his head and gave her a teasing smile. “Before we head upstairs, shall we try to waltz for ninety seconds?”

Something light and buoyant bubbled up inside. She said, “Oh, why the hell not?”

Looking very tired now, but immensely pleased with himself, he clasped her in the correct position, at the precise distance, and she took his hand and placed her fingertips on his shoulder.

He said under his breath, “One-two-three, one-two-three. . . .”

When he nodded to her, she stepped backward.

EPILOGUE

In southern California, the sun was just setting over the ocean, throwing ribbons of spectacular light and color across the sky, as Melisande reached her Malibu residence. She climbed stiffly out of the black Lincoln town car while the driver opened the trunk and pulled out her luggage.

Melly was in a foul mood, and her leg and hip ached abominably. While her skiing trip had been fun, she knew she shouldn’t have taken that last slope, but the snow had been so damn perfect—what they called champagne powder—so even though she had been tiring, she had thought, what the hell. One last downhill trip for the road.

Famous last words.

She’d gone downhill, all right. She’d hit a submerged rock and tumbled down the slope on her ass, on her stomach, sprawled every which way but upright.

While she was lucky she hadn’t broken any bones, now everything hurt. Worst of all, her head ached like a son of a bitch. She was supposed to be on the set for her new movie in the morning, and she had lines to memorize.

Unlocking her front door, she told the driver, “Just set everything in here in the hall, thanks.”

“No problem.” The driver set her Louis Vuitton cases just inside the door and gave her a bright smile, eyes shining. “Ms. Aindris, I’m such a big fan of yours. Would you mind—could I have your autograph?”

Setting aside her own issues, she gave the nervous man a smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

Signing her name on the back of his business card, she tipped him generously and breathed a sigh of relief when he left and she could close the door on the rest of the world. As the last of the daylight faded, she limped through the downstairs and flipped on lights.

While she had a cell phone, she kept a landline too, and as she passed the answering machine, she punched the PLAY button.

Julian’s rough, deep voice filled the room. “Melly, pick up. I know you’re avoiding me . . . this is important, damn it.”

Her stomach lurched, and she almost picked up the phone before she remembered she wasn’t speaking to him, and besides, the message was an old one, about the stupid trade agreements, and Xavier had already handled it.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

She played the message again, just to hear the sound of his voice, that rough, low voice of his that would brush over her skin like crushed velvet. . . .

How many years had it been since they’d tangled together, wrapped in nothing but a sheet and their own passion?

How pathetic was she?

It was a good thing she couldn’t stand him anymore.

She jabbed the DELETE button and stopped the message replay, in case one of the other messages was him again.

Then she limped toward the liquor cabinet.

Vodka. Vodka vodka vodka.

Her doorbell rang. She almost ignored it, except she lived in a gated community, and there were only so many people who had access to her front doorstep.

With a sigh, she changed course and went to open the front door.

Justine stood outside, her beautiful face wreathed in a warm smile. “Hi, Melly. I hope you don’t mind me stopping by unannounced.”

“Justine, what on earth are you doing in Malibu?”

“I came down to LA to meet with your mother, and I just had to take a detour to say hi.” Justine opened her arms.