Now, the hardest part of their bargain for him would be saying goodbye to her in the morning, when dawn and duty called them back to their separate worlds.
As if to remind him of that eventuality, a quiet knock sounded from the door in the other room of his private chambers. Sorin eased out of bed and stepped into a pair of pants before padding out to consult with his Watchman who waited outside.
Milo’s grave expression brought Sorin immediately to attention. The captain held a secure phone in his hand. “Devlin Gravori is on the private House line for you. He says it’s urgent.”
Alarm spiked in Sorin’s blood. Although Ebarron had long been on friendly terms with Gravori House, if the other Master was calling in the middle of the night—especially when he had a pretty new mate in his bed back on his Mediterranean island citadel—the news could not be good.
Sorin put the phone to his ear. “Dev. Tell me what’s happened.”
The news was bad. About as bad as things could get for the Incubi realm, if the report Devlin Gravori had just received from another Master, Jian from the House of Xanthe, proved to be true.
“I understand,” Sorin said. “Yes. I’ll leave at once.”
~
Ashayla peeled one eye open on a sleepy groan, her face buried in a fluffy down pillow.
All around her was the spicy, erotic scent of sex and Sorin, the memory of their lovemaking clinging to her senses and to the tangled sheets on the bed. She was ready for him all over again, a pleasant, wet heat dulling the ache that still lingered from their vigorous night together.
Sighing with a mix of satisfaction and stirring desire, she reached out for him beside her.
Sorin wasn’t there.
Asha lifted her head, then sat bolt upright.
He was gone.
The bedroom was quiet. Empty.
“Sorin?” She scrambled out of his bed, wrapping the coverlet around her as she padded into the other room. “Sorin, where are—”
“Master Sorin wanted me to convey his apologies, Miss Palatine.” Milo rose from his seat in a chair near the door, politely averting his eyes from her disheveled state.
“Where is he?” Disappointment and confusion made her voice sound small, as raw as she was starting to feel. “Did he…leave?”
“Called away unexpectedly on urgent business.” Milo’s tone was not unkind, but she could see that he would tell her no more than necessary. No more than he’d been instructed by Sorin, of course. “He did not want you to worry about him. However, as he doesn’t know when he might be returning, Master Sorin asked me to see that you made it safely back to Chicago. Travel has been arranged, and we can leave as soon as you’re ready, miss.”
“Oh,” she murmured woodenly. “Of course…okay.”
Sorin didn’t want her to wait for him. The knowledge stung, but she’d known what morning was going to bring. She’d made a deal with the Master of Ebarron. A deal she’d lost when she gave in to the desire she felt for him.
Even worse, that desire had somehow blossomed into something more.
Something that carved a sharp ache in her breast at the realization that their time was over, and that he had thought it best to slip away in the middle of the night while she slept, sated and oblivious, in his bed.
Ashayla struggled to suppress the despairing moan that sat lodged in her throat.
She’d have to be a naive fool to expect they would wake up today and…what? Set up house together? Ignore the rest of the world so they could spend another night or twenty making love until neither of them could stand up or catch their breath?
Even if some idiotic part of her had hoped for something close to that, she wouldn’t have had the option anyway. Gran was waiting for her. Asha needed to be home, where she belonged. Even she had to return home without Gran’s prized heirloom.
In her miserable silence, the Watchman quietly cleared his throat. “Master Sorin asked me to give you this.”
He bent to retrieve a white vellum envelope from the cocktail table nearby. She could tell there was something heavy inside. More than one item, by the look of it.
Ashayla took the envelope and lifted the seal.
When she peered inside, her breath caught in her throat.
Gran’s pendant…and the vial of Nephilim magic she’d hidden under the mattress.
Oh, God.
Panic raced through her at the sight of the potion she had smuggled into Sorin’s home. He knew. Obviously, he knew what it was and what she’d intended to do with it.
And now he was gone.
Gone with instructions for his Watchman to send her home.
Gone without giving her a chance to explain herself.
“Is anything wrong, Miss Palatine?” Milo watched her, and she knew her face must have looked as stricken as she felt.
She gave a numb shake of her head. “I’ll just… Will you excuse me now, please? I’ll collect my things and get ready to leave.”
The Watchman nodded, and turned toward the door.
Ashayla sagged to her knees on a jagged sob the instant he left her in the room alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chicago
Three days later