nuisance.”
Laughing, she rose and stepped up to the desk. “Done.” Then she pressed her hands on the blackwood and leaned toward him, that fierce and feral something back in her eyes.
“One question. Does Lucivar have to worry about Falonar coming up behind him in any way?”
Ice ran in his blood, and he knew his gold eyes had turned glazed and sleepy. No one else had dared ask that question. Not even Lucivar. A few weeks ago, before she spent time with the Dea al Mon, Surreal wouldn’t have dared ask that question either.
He smiled at her—a cold, brutally gentle smile—and the Sadist said too softly, “No one has to worry about Falonar anymore.”
CHAPTER 8
TERREILLE
G ray watched Cassie from the corner of his eye and tried not to hover and fuss. Uncle Saetan had sent a note by special messenger warning him that hovering and fussing too much could turn even the most mild-tempered woman into a snarling bitch. Not that Uncle Saetan had put it in those terms, but that was the message.
It was hard not to hover when he was sitting with Cassie, Ranon, and Shira in one of the four-seat squares in the Coach. Powell had claimed one of the seats around the table so he could catch up on paperwork, the other men were split into small groups to talk or not, and Vae was sprawled on the floor where she’d be in the way of the most people, snoring lightly. Talon was in the small bedroom at the back of the Coach. Cassie had insisted he take it so he could stay inside until sunset and not be disturbed by the rest of them when they returned to Grayhaven.
It was hard not to hover when they were sitting side by side. Even harder not to fuss, but she hadn’t snarled at him yet, so he figured he was keeping that tendency fairly well leashed.
Until she marked her spot, vanished the book she was reading, and closed her eyes.
“Tired?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice casual while everything in him went on alert.
“Just feeling lazy,” she replied.
He glanced at Ranon, whose attention had also sharpened.
Then Shira said, “Thank the Darkness. I wasn’t sure you even knew the word.”
Cassie smiled—and Gray relaxed. He slipped his arm around her and shifted them both so her head rested on his shoulder. He brushed his lips against her hair. “There’s nothing to do for the next little while, so rest, Cassie. Rest.”
“Ranon, why don’t you play for us?” Shira said.
Ranon glared at his lover. Before he could make some excuse or just refuse, Cassie said, “That would be nice.”
Trap set and sprung, Gray thought, fighting to keep a straight face while looking at his friend’s sour expression. Then Ranon called in the Shalador flute and began to play.
The notes meandered like a stream winding its way through a summer meadow. Soft. Easy. Gray wasn’t sure if it was a song or just one note following another. Either way it was peaceful. Within minutes, both women were asleep.
The rustle of paper and the murmur of male voices twined with the flute, and Gray sensed the men relaxing. Their Queen was safe and she was content, so they could afford to let down their guard and rest.
*They’re proud of her,* Ranon said on a psychic spear thread. *She scared the shit out of all of us when she drained herself like that, but there’s a feeling of pride now. Even more than when she defended that landen family.*
*Why wouldn’t they be proud to serve Cassie?* Gray asked.
Ranon didn’t answer for a minute, but the music became bittersweet. *We’ve all seen too much, Gray.
We’ve all done too much in defense of our people to trust without reservation. When she stood in front of us that first day, we knew we belonged to her, and that scared every one of us. We didn’t know what kind of woman claimed our loyalty and honor. Now we’ve got a better measure of what kind of Queen we serve, and we’re proud to be in her First Circle, almost to the last man.*
Almost.
Theran sat across from Powell, his face turned
Laughing, she rose and stepped up to the desk. “Done.” Then she pressed her hands on the blackwood and leaned toward him, that fierce and feral something back in her eyes.
“One question. Does Lucivar have to worry about Falonar coming up behind him in any way?”
Ice ran in his blood, and he knew his gold eyes had turned glazed and sleepy. No one else had dared ask that question. Not even Lucivar. A few weeks ago, before she spent time with the Dea al Mon, Surreal wouldn’t have dared ask that question either.
He smiled at her—a cold, brutally gentle smile—and the Sadist said too softly, “No one has to worry about Falonar anymore.”
CHAPTER 8
TERREILLE
G ray watched Cassie from the corner of his eye and tried not to hover and fuss. Uncle Saetan had sent a note by special messenger warning him that hovering and fussing too much could turn even the most mild-tempered woman into a snarling bitch. Not that Uncle Saetan had put it in those terms, but that was the message.
It was hard not to hover when he was sitting with Cassie, Ranon, and Shira in one of the four-seat squares in the Coach. Powell had claimed one of the seats around the table so he could catch up on paperwork, the other men were split into small groups to talk or not, and Vae was sprawled on the floor where she’d be in the way of the most people, snoring lightly. Talon was in the small bedroom at the back of the Coach. Cassie had insisted he take it so he could stay inside until sunset and not be disturbed by the rest of them when they returned to Grayhaven.
It was hard not to hover when they were sitting side by side. Even harder not to fuss, but she hadn’t snarled at him yet, so he figured he was keeping that tendency fairly well leashed.
Until she marked her spot, vanished the book she was reading, and closed her eyes.
“Tired?” Gray asked, trying to keep his voice casual while everything in him went on alert.
“Just feeling lazy,” she replied.
He glanced at Ranon, whose attention had also sharpened.
Then Shira said, “Thank the Darkness. I wasn’t sure you even knew the word.”
Cassie smiled—and Gray relaxed. He slipped his arm around her and shifted them both so her head rested on his shoulder. He brushed his lips against her hair. “There’s nothing to do for the next little while, so rest, Cassie. Rest.”
“Ranon, why don’t you play for us?” Shira said.
Ranon glared at his lover. Before he could make some excuse or just refuse, Cassie said, “That would be nice.”
Trap set and sprung, Gray thought, fighting to keep a straight face while looking at his friend’s sour expression. Then Ranon called in the Shalador flute and began to play.
The notes meandered like a stream winding its way through a summer meadow. Soft. Easy. Gray wasn’t sure if it was a song or just one note following another. Either way it was peaceful. Within minutes, both women were asleep.
The rustle of paper and the murmur of male voices twined with the flute, and Gray sensed the men relaxing. Their Queen was safe and she was content, so they could afford to let down their guard and rest.
*They’re proud of her,* Ranon said on a psychic spear thread. *She scared the shit out of all of us when she drained herself like that, but there’s a feeling of pride now. Even more than when she defended that landen family.*
*Why wouldn’t they be proud to serve Cassie?* Gray asked.
Ranon didn’t answer for a minute, but the music became bittersweet. *We’ve all seen too much, Gray.
We’ve all done too much in defense of our people to trust without reservation. When she stood in front of us that first day, we knew we belonged to her, and that scared every one of us. We didn’t know what kind of woman claimed our loyalty and honor. Now we’ve got a better measure of what kind of Queen we serve, and we’re proud to be in her First Circle, almost to the last man.*
Almost.
Theran sat across from Powell, his face turned
Similar Books
