“Remember what I said,” Xavier told him. “I don’t want you to say a word to anyone about how this happened.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fucking say a fucking word. No matter how many fucking email complaints I get. Jesus Christ, I just got ten more— Come on, people. All the email said was YOU SUCK. It didn’t contain a bomb threat.” Gavin sounded completely out of patience. “Look Xavier, I want to meet her when I’ve got time, but for now, just keep her away from my network, you hear?”
“Understood.” Disconnecting from the call, he powered down his computer, walked over to his leather armchair, sat and tried to haul his thoughts into some kind of order.
They refused to comply. Rubbing his face with one hand, he thought of the angry defiance in Tess’s eyes as her fingers had raced over the keyboard, and how, despite being so afraid of him, she had spat out curses as she worked, and he laughed all over again.
Underneath it all, a persistent, more insidious thread ran through his thoughts. The memory of the silken, warm skin at Tess’s wrist wouldn’t leave him. He closed his eyes, reliving the moment in the dark privacy of his mind, until a discreet tap came at the door.
“Come in, Raoul.”
Raoul opened the door and walked in, carrying a tray with a bottle of bloodwine, an empty glass and a second glass filled with a normal Merlot. He set the bloodwine on the table near Xavier’s hand. “Are you sure you don’t want anything fresh to drink?”
“Not tonight, thanks. I need to leave soon. Julian, all twelve Nightkind council members and Melisande await.” He paused. “So she is settled for the night.”
“Yes.” Raoul took the Merlot and sat in the chair opposite him with a small smile. “I would ask how she did with your little test, except I got the email.”
Xavier snorted without replying. It would be a long time before he heard the end of the evening’s adventure.
Raoul sipped his wine. He said, “Are you sure you don’t want me to run a background check on her? She has an edge that I dislike. It’s a little too desperate, for my taste.”
The last of his humor died as he rested his head against the back of his chair and considered the idea.
You’re supposed to protect me, she had said.
In that moment, she had been so upset he didn’t think she realized what she had given away. Her dark eyes had gone wide, and her soft, sensitive-looking mouth had trembled.
There was a certain kind of nobility in her narrow bone structure, and that wonderful, aquiline nose, as if she was descended from unknown kings. Watching her gave him a subversive pleasure, and he had catalogued her every emotion to date.
Thus far she had evidenced an overabundance of fear, along with a spitting kind of defiance, as well as a rather naive outrage at the Vampyre’s Ball, along with the wariness of a young, untamed animal.
Some of it had amused him, but that one moment of raw, uncensored distress of hers . . .
He didn’t like it. It called all kinds of inappropriate responses out of him. He wanted to find out what had caused her such distress and to protect her from it. And none of that had to do with the reason why he had invited her here. Protectiveness was the very last thing he should be feeling toward her.
He frowned.
Raoul was right. Tess was desperate about something. A shadow of violence seemed to hover behind her words. Perhaps she’d had an abusive boyfriend or husband, or she had gotten involved in something illegal. He tried to imagine her involved in the drug trade but couldn’t. That would harm innocents and go against her moral code.
One by one, he considered various possibilities and dismissed them. Whatever the reason behind her distress, the chances were very slim that a non-magical human would have been involved in something dangerous enough to concern him.
Which was, of course, why he was interested in her. Most creatures of the Elder Races would think the same thing. After one glance, they would dismiss her utterly. That dismissal could be very useful to him.
Unbidden, the memory returned of her trembling body as he took her wrist in his hand The blood offering could have been such a beautiful gesture, the trembling evocative, sensual and indicative of surrender, yet the taint of her fear had saturated the air.
His mouth tightened. There were some Vampyres who would have embraced all of it, the trembling and the fear, and would have taken everything from her in a predatory glut.
He had lived for a very long time, and he was under no illusions about himself. He was every bit as much of a predator as any other Vampyre, but he had his own moral code, and none of his predatory instincts were triggered by the kind of fear that came from an innocent woman under his power.