“Who she betrayed!”
“But that does not mean her husband would not come to her aid if she were imperiled. Her honor reflects on him. He might arrange an accident, were he ever to gain control of her again, but to allow another to—”
“You mean you won’t pursue it?” Claire’s eyes flashed. “That she can just do whatever she wants?”
“I didn’t say that.” Caedmon’s expression remained mild, but his voice was a little sharper than before. “I understand that you want to protect Aiden. So do I. But these things have to be handled carefully or a war—”
“We’re already at war! Or haven’t you noticed?”
“I have not.” It was curt. “Neither have you. Believe me, if it comes to that, you will see the difference.”
Claire just stood there for a moment, vibrating. And there were no remnants of the Vogue cover girl now. I could see it, clearer than I ever had: the wild fey princess, all fiery hair and electric green eyes and pale, unearthly beauty, a legend straight out of an old Irish song suddenly come to life. And furious.
“Then tell her this, next time you meet,” Claire spat. “If she comes for my child, she won’t be dealing with a fey army, or a vampire court, or your political games. She’ll be dealing with me. And I will kill her.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Claire banged out of the screen door, leaving the three of us. Or the four, if you counted Stinky, and I didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t, since he was kicking up the biggest fuss. Which was a problem, because I was going to have a tough time of it if I had to get between the two men again. But Caedmon surprised me.
“I need to talk to Claire,” he told me quickly. “In the meantime, think on this. You’ve been an outsider all your life, part of two worlds, but accepted by neither—”
“She’s accepted,” Louis-Cesare snapped. “She’s on the Senate!”
Caedmon shot him a look. “And we both know how long that will last once things calm down, don’t we?”
“Her family is here!”
“And may be there as well.” Emerald eyes found mine. “I could help you look for them.”
“Caedmon—”
“Think on it,” he told me, kissed my hand, and left. Leaving me with a hissing, furious baby and Louis-Cesare, who didn’t look any happier.
I felt the same, although for different reasons.
Just do it, I told myself. Right now, before you chicken out. You have the perfect excuse. Caedmon just handed it to you. . . .
But, instead, I stood there, feeling miserable and not saying anything.
Neither did Louis-Cesare, for a long moment.
I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I was trying to come up with another solution. Something, anything, that would let me hold on to him, because he was wrong. I didn’t care about being on the Senate, a community that had shunned me for years. That was Mircea’s idea. I’d gone along with it to help him out, not because I wanted prestige I wasn’t going to get anyway.
I only wanted one thing.
But, as always, it was something I couldn’t have.
And the longer I put this off, the more I tried to find a solution that didn’t exist, the more I put him in danger. Dorina was a knife in the dark, a gun in the hand, a brilliant, multifaceted weapon of destruction. I’d lived with her for centuries; I knew what she was. I knew what she could do. Even worse, I knew him.
What happened if she decided to banish me? What happened when he realized that I wasn’t coming back? That my consciousness had been scattered, and all that was left was a shell—one still walking around, because someone else was in there?
Dorina wouldn’t have to provoke an attack. He would do that for her. And then he would die.
It wasn’t even a question. When Louis-Cesare felt something, it was all over his face. When he did something, it was wholehearted, full speed ahead, no stopping to think about his own safety, because why would he?
He thought himself invincible.
It was why he was pulling me against him now, letting me close, not caring that I had a struggling baby fey in my arms who was considerably less than tame. It was why he was letting me there, right there, at his neck, one of a vampire’s most vulnerable spots. Just as he had in the shower, taking no precautions despite knowing what I was, what I could do.
What she could do.
And what she would do, sooner or later, if I didn’t woman the hell up.
“I think we need a break,” I said hoarsely, and immediately knew he didn’t get it. The body didn’t tense, the hand on my back continued stroking, the lips kissed my hair.
“It’s been quite a week,” he agreed—to a point I hadn’t been making. “The Senate has called another meeting for tomorrow, which is unavoidable. But after that, we should be able to get away for a few—”
“No.” I pulled back, but forced myself to look at him, because I owed him that much. “No, I mean we need a break. You and me.”
“What?” For some reason, he still looked confused.
Damn it! Why couldn’t he understand and let this be over? I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off, not stretch it into agony.
“My life’s a mess right now,” I said flatly. “I need some time to figure things out. Some time to myself,” I added, because he still didn’t get it.
And then, suddenly, he did.
“What?” He said it again, although I knew he understood. His eyes—God. Just make it stop!
“You heard me. I need some space.”
“Some space. What does that mean?”
“You know what it means!”
“Non.” It was rough. “I do not. If you wish to be with this fey, then say so—”
“This isn’t about him!”
“Then what is it about? Just a few days ago, you almost—” He broke off for a moment, and his jaw clenched. But then he came out with it, because Louis-Cesare isn’t like Mircea or any other vamp I’ve ever known. He just lays it all out there. “You almost marked me. And now you do not wish to see me anymore, comme ?a? What am I supposed to think?”
“I didn’t mark you. I wasn’t—I just got carried away—”
I stopped, because that was a lie, and not even a very good one. But he’d flustered me. This whole thing was throwing me in ways I hadn’t expected. I didn’t know how to break up with someone; I’d never had to before. The few long-term lovers I’d had in the past—if you could call a few weeks long-term—had hightailed it for the horizon as soon as Dorina reared her head the first time. They’d left me, not vice versa, and I’d always assumed I got the short end of the stick.
I’d been wrong.
Leaving was much harder.
Especially with someone who mirrored every emotion, every thought, on his face. Like now, when he’d just paled, enough that it was visible even in the darkness of the hall. And his eyes . . .
I didn’t want to look at them anymore. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want any of this, but a small hurt now was better than what lay ahead.
But, God, I wanted to tell him the truth! That was the worst part of it. He’d never know how much I did want him, how much I’d always—Fuck, what was the point? Just finish this!
But he beat me to it.
“Ah. Of course. I should have realized.”
“Realized . . . ?”
But I didn’t get an answer. To anything. His throat was working, but he didn’t say anything else.