He laughed, and the old stories are true—it really was like the sound of bells. “Why waste the night sleeping when there are far more pleasant things?” He traced a pattern in the air and a stray moonbeam bent itself into the shape of a flower. It floated slowly down to rest against my hand, and I swear, for a moment it felt as if it had actual weight, before dissipating like smoke.
Stinky didn’t seem impressed. He gave a tremendous heave, pushing long, twiglike toes into my abdomen, and launched himself at the Fey. A second later, he was tied securely in the blanket and tossed back in the bathroom.
I hadn’t even seen Caedmon move, but there he was, casually leaning against the bathroom door. That robe was thin enough to be declared illegal in most states, I decided, slightly dazed. Then something hit the door behind him with a thud, and he sighed. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like me to dispose of that creature for you?”
“I’d think two members of the Fey would get on better than you.”
Caedmon tilted his head slightly, regarding me somberly. “I will ignore that,” he finally said. “But I would strongly suggest that you never again compare a member of the high court with a dirty half-breed. It is rather like comparing a human to a particularly mangy cur. The nobles who know less about your world would almost certainly… take offense.”
I sat up. “I’ve been called a dirty half-breed myself on more than one occasion.”
Caedmon didn’t reply. In fact, I doubt he even heard me. I looked down and realized that the sheet that had been covering me had slipped when I moved, and that I was currently providing him with a free show. I snatched up the coverlet and his expression tilted perilously close to a grin. I suppose gold velvet wasn’t particularly off-putting.
“I appreciate the thought, but adornment is not needed. Bare skin will do admirably.” He carelessly let his robe drop and turned in a full circle, hands outspread. He not only hadn’t overdressed; he hadn’t dressed at all. “Many strange things are said about us,” he continued, “but most are quite exaggerated. For instance, the Norse believe all Fey to have a flaw somewhere on their person, a mar to their beauty. Fey women are even said to be hollow, with a beautiful frontal appearance but no backs!”
In the dim light, he burned like a pale flame, his hair a flowing nimbus around his head. And if his body had a flaw, I didn’t see it. “Nici un lucru s? nu crezi, cu ochii pan? nu vezi.” The liquid syllables fell with ease from his lips.
My mind was busy with other things, so it took me a moment to realize what I’d heard. Seeing certainly was believing in his case, but that wasn’t the point. “I thought you didn’t understand Romanian.”
Caedmon sat on the side of the bed, naked and gloriously aroused. “In a life as long as mine, one picks up a great deal of esoteric knowledge.”
“You read the note.”
He looked slightly surprised. “Of course. Wouldn’t you? But obviously I could say nothing around the vampire.”
“Louis-Cesare? He’s all right,” I said absently. Caedmon had started stroking my leg through the coverlet, and it was distracting.
“Then you have told him of the ultimatum?” He saw my expression. “No, I did not think so. I do not trust him, either.”
“Why not? You just met him.”
“He’s a vampire, and others of his kind have been causing considerable trouble at home of late. It is possible that they are behind the current unrest, encouraging those who should know better to try for honors above their station.”
This suddenly didn’t sound like a seduction attempt anymore, despite the hand on my thigh. “Why are you really here, Caedmon?”
He tried to lift the coverlet, and I slapped a hand down on it. He grinned, unrepentant. “I told you. I have never before had a dhampir—I quite look forward to it. And afterward we can discuss our mutual problem.”
“Let’s discuss it now.”
He laughed. I seemed to be providing him with a lot of entertainment. I hoped he enjoyed it, because it was all he was going to get. After my emotional roller coaster of a day, I was in no mood for games. Especially not with a strange Fey.
“But I think much better after—”
“Caedmon!”
He sighed and lay back, spilling a waterfall of pale hair over the bed and providing the moonlight with a very attractive playground. I could swear the beams seemed to bend a little around him, as if trying to touch as much of that opalescent skin as possible. “We have common cause: we both want the girl,” he informed me. “You to save her from this rogue vampire, and I to discover whether or not she carries the heir.”
“And if she does?”
“I will see to her safety. You have my word.” That should have been laughable—for all I knew, Caedmon was here to kill Claire, not to save her. Not to mention that I never take anyone at his word, much less a very strange stranger. But when Caedmon said it, the hoary old line took on dignity and weight. I found myself oddly reassured, and it pissed me off.