“It doesn’t matter to me. You were only four.”
Imagining herself ordering around servants, even as a little girl, made her cringe. “Maybe it’s a good thing my parents had me sent out of Maremount so I didn’t turn into a full-blown asshole.” She finished her breakfast in silence, and glanced down at her crumb-littered plate. “I’ll clean up.”
“No need,” he said. He whispered a spell, and crumbs disappeared off the dishes.
Thunder cracked outside, and a hard rain battered the house’s old wooden exterior.
Rosalind rose, stretching her arms over her head. “Where should I sleep?”
He beckoned her to a stairwell. “My room is upstairs. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you take my bed.” As they climbed the stairs, he shot her a sly look. “Don’t worry. I’ll sleep in the study.”
It was such a big house, she was surprised there was only one bedroom. “Are you sure?”
“You need proper rest if you’re going to learn magic.”
Right. It was all part of meeting their objectives.
At the top of the stairs, he led her into a hallway. Dark wood arched above, and sharply peaked windows overlooked sailboats bobbing in the stormy harbor. Lightning speared the water, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The sky was black as smoke.
She shivered. “There’s only one bed in the house?”
“No one else has ever been here. There was never a need for more than one bed. I do all my entertaining in my other apartments.”
“I guess with all those vampire women trying to kill you, you’d need a secret hideout.” She almost felt a pang of jealousy, but that was stupid. He was an incubus, and there was nothing real between them—not even friendship.
“Precisely.”
She followed him past several closed doors to the end of the hall. “What about human lovers? Isn’t that where you draw your energy from?”
“They want to kill me too. Only, human women aren’t much of a threat.” He stopped to open a large oak door, glancing back at her. “Though you did put up a good effort with the hawthorn stake. I’ve never had a woman come that close before.”
He held open the door, and she stepped into a tidy room. A four-poster mahogany bed took up most of the hardwood floor. The soft gray blankets and pillows looked inviting, and she wanted to sink into them. Black curtains framed tall windows. Rain hammered the glass panes.
Lanterns hung from the ceiling, carved with stars and moons. Bookshelves covered one wall, crammed with faded tomes. A painting of an imposing stone castle hung on the other.
Rosalind pointed to the picture. “That doesn’t look like the castle in Lilinor. What is it?” She was stalling. For some strange reason, she didn’t want him to leave. In fact, she really wanted to slide her arms around his neck again and find out exactly what he did to drive all those women so crazy.
“You don’t recognize it? It’s the Throcknell Fortress in Maremount. It dominates the city.”
“Have you ever been inside?”
He stared at the painting. “No.”
So much for that conversation. It obviously had some meaning to him, but—of course—he wasn’t up for sharing.
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”
He walked over to a small table by the window, set with a pewter cup and pitcher. “Another thing you don’t remember from Maremount.” He poured a pale green liquid into the cup, handing it to her. “Charmed sage water. All you need to do is drink it.”
She took a sip, rolling the clean taste around on her tongue. He pulled the cup from her, sipping from it before setting it down. “Don’t worry about our attack on the Brotherhood. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“What if you can’t control it?”
“Don’t say that. It’s not a good idea to dwell on your worst fears right before you sleep.”
“That’s not my worst fear. I don’t want to to die, but my worst fear—”
He stepped closer, touching a finger to her lips. “Not before you sleep. You’ll have bad dreams. I’m a priest of the night god. I know these things.” He lowered his hand, studying her. “And anyway—if you solidify your worst fears in your mind, they can be used against you. Some demons are just as awful as the Brotherhood have said.”
She took in his smooth skin, and the lean, muscular physique molded by years of leading Ambrose’s army. It was no wonder women lost their minds over him. Part of her wanted the release he could give her—the quieting of her raging thoughts, a short respite from her most disturbing memories. She wanted to feel his calming aura flood her body, and more than that, she wanted to feel his perfect mouth on her skin.