Night's Honor (A Novel of the Elder Races Book 7)

At the end of the meal, she glanced sidelong at Angelica and said quietly, “I haven’t really taken the opportunity to get to know you, and I’m sorry for that.”

 

 

Angelica turned to her with a look of surprise that melted into a warm, crooked smile that deepened all the lines in her face and made her beautiful. “You’re a good kid,” the older woman said. “And you’ve been busy. We’ve got time.”

 

She nodded without replying, because, of course, they had no time, and she would be gone before breakfast. After she helped clean up, she went upstairs to her room to make sure she hadn’t dropped any food on her shirt. Tidying her hair by putting it into a short braid, she brushed her teeth and headed for the main house.

 

This time when she reached the dining room, it was empty. A small pile of old books had been stacked by one of the place settings, and a note rested on top of them. She picked it up.

 

Written in a strong, slanting hand, the note said, Please begin reading these. I will join you in the ballroom at sundown.—X.

 

Of course, he must be a very busy man, doing whatever he did for the Nightkind demesne. Setting the note aside, she examined the books. Most were written in English and dealt with the different etiquettes for several Elder Races, but a few were in French. He had remembered that she could read French.

 

One book was much more modern than the others, a heavy trade paperback on biofeedback techniques.

 

Choosing that book, she settled into a chair and began reading. Most biofeedback therapies were done in a clinical setting, with electronic and thermal sensors, but one section concentrated on exercises one could do outside of a clinical environment to change one’s thoughts, emotions or behavior.

 

Funny, how it all came back to the same thing that Raoul had said to her—she had to change the conversations in her head. Deep, steady breathing could slow the heart rate. Focusing on things other than what produced a strong fear response could calm panic attacks. So could positive imagery.

 

She poked her tongue into one cheek. Was it positive imagery to think of all the ways you could kill a Vampyre when you met one, or all the ways in which they were vulnerable?

 

Well, she wouldn’t learn biofeedback with electrodes plastered to her head, so she ought to be able to think of whatever image worked for her too.

 

Not that she would be around to practice, anyway.

 

She read until the light faded outside and dusk darkened the page. Setting aside the book, she rose to her feet and went to the empty ballroom to look out at the ocean. On warm evenings, the tall, Palladian-style windows could be opened all around the room to allow for fresh air to blow in.

 

She had to agree with Raoul. This room was the jewel of the house.

 

Something ached. Was she actually sad at the thought of leaving?

 

Frowning, she turned from the window just as Xavier strode into the room. Tonight, he wore all black, simple slacks and a thin sweater that looked as if it might be silk. The clothes molded to his lean, strong form and emphasized his natural elegance more than ever.

 

Her pulse quickened, but it wasn’t from fear. While she certainly respected how dangerous he was, she no longer believed he would hurt her. So why did her blasted heart rate pick up again?

 

She had no time to puzzle over it. As soon as he saw her, he gave her a small smile and a slight, archaic bow in greeting that seemed as natural to him as breathing. “Ah, good, you are here. Follow me, please.”

 

He turned to walk out again. Caught off balance, she hurried to catch up with him. “Where are we going?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

He led her up the stairs, bounding lightly up them two at a time and down the hall opposite the master’s suite to the first bedroom where a light was shining. Once there, he stepped back from the open doorway and gestured for her to go in.

 

Puzzled, she complied. “What are we doing?”

 

“You are changing outfits,” he told her.

 

A large garment bag from Nordstrom lay across the queen-sized bed. A smaller Nordstrom bag rested beside it. In the smaller bag, she could just see the tip of a shoe box, and she turned to stare at Xavier. “You bought me a dress? And shoes?”

 

Completely unmoved by her incredulity, he shrugged. “As I said to Raoul, people do not waltz in exercise pants. You need to wear the right outfit to learn how to dance properly, otherwise you will not know how to contend with the skirt or the shoes, and your poor partner’s feet will never recover.”

 

“But—but—”

 

“No buts.” He looked both cheerful and adamant. “Change. I will see you down in the ballroom.”

 

But you shouldn’t have spent the money. I’m not staying.

 

The words tangled up in her head. She hadn’t planned on telling him she was leaving until after the dance lesson, and before she could decide how she wanted to respond, he closed the door and left her alone.

 

She needed to go after him and tell him, if only she could find the right words to say.

 

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