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

She squared her shoulders and looked at him with equal parts dread and sadness. “His father was Senator Ryan Jackson. Malphas really, really wanted to trap Eathan.”

 

 

He was on his feet, around the piano and by her side before he knew it. As she turned to face him, he gripped her by the shoulders again. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from touching her. “Senator Jackson sits on several key subcommittees in Washington. If Malphas had gotten control of Eathan, he could have used that as leverage to force Jackson into doing whatever he wanted.”

 

“I know.” She twisted her fingers together.

 

He scowled, his mind racing over everything she had told him. “I’m still not seeing something. All this happened weeks ago. Why did you decide today that you were going to leave?”

 

The corners of her mouth turned down, and her dark gaze took on a wet, overbright shine. “Because this morning I read in the Boston Herald that Eathan died in a boating accident while he was in Florida during Presidents’ Day weekend. None of his friends died, just him. The paper said it was a freak squall, but I know it wasn’t. It was Malphas, and he hasn’t forgiven or forgotten anything. If he was willing to do that to Eathan, he’ll be more than willing to do something similar to me, whether I’m one of your attendants or not.”

 

The pain in her eyes was too much to resist. He did what he’d been looking forward to doing all evening and pulled her into his arms, only this time he didn’t hold her at the proper prescribed distance for waltzing but clenched her tight. “I’m so sorry.”

 

She didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, her arms crept around his waist, and she leaned against him. “If I hadn’t done anything, if I’d just kept my mouth shut, Eathan would probably still be alive.”

 

He felt in her tense body how she struggled not to cry, and he stroked her hair. “You can’t think like that. If you hadn’t stopped Malphas from trapping the boy and controlling the father, who knows what kind of harm could have come from that. The fact that he chose to retaliate is not your fault.”

 

“It feels like it is,” she whispered. A sob broke out of her. “It feels like I killed him, and while I think I could kill somebody in self-defense or if I really had to, he didn’t deserve to die like that and I didn’t mean to do it.”

 

He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, still stroking her hair. How many times had he thought such similar thoughts? If only he had left the priesthood to take up his family title when his brother had died. If only he hadn’t confessed everything to his bishop, perhaps Aeliana and her husband would still be alive.

 

“Believe me,” he said into her hair, “I understand.”

 

“This is why I need to leave.” Her voice was muffled in his jacket. “If Malphas could do something like that out of spite, then God only knows what he might do when he finds me. Because you know he will, sooner or later. I’ve been careful, but he’s a Djinn, for God’s sake.”

 

“Okay,” he said, as he calmed slightly. “Okay.”

 

Even in the midst of all her distress, part of him was wholly consumed by the fact that he held her in his arms, and she let him.

 

What was she doing to him?

 

He shouldn’t have noticed her at the Vampyre’s Ball, but he had.

 

He shouldn’t like her so much, but he did.

 

He shouldn’t have gone into her bedroom when he’d found her window open. Everything he had said to her that night, he could have said elsewhere, later, but he had wanted to go into her room.

 

Right now, he shouldn’t push any kind of advantage with her.

 

But he would.

 

He eased her back so he could look into her face. “You will stay here and give me twenty-four hours.”

 

She wiped her face. “And do what? What can be accomplished in a day?”

 

“Quite a lot, actually,” he said. “I’m going to do what I meant to do all along and talk to Malphas.”

 

“What?” She grabbed his lapel. “You can’t! God knows what he might do once you come to his attention.”

 

He looked down at her hands fisted in the material of his jacket and suppressed a smile. It was the second time she had grabbed hold of him that evening. He told her, “You owe me twenty-four hours.”

 

“I don’t owe you anything,” she snapped.

 

“I gave you the chance to become one of my attendants,” he pointed out.

 

She let go of him with a furious push. “I gave you six weeks of hard work and physical pain. We’re even.”

 

“Tess,” he said.

 

The sharp command in his voice drew her up. Scowling at him, she fell silent.

 

He took one of her hands and bowed over it to press his lips against the knuckles of her slim fingers. She twisted her hand around to grip his. When he straightened, he said quietly, “You gave me blood. I’m supposed to protect you.”

 

Her face started to crumple, but then her jaw clenched and she hardened her expression. “Not any longer. We have no liaison, remember? I ended it.”

 

He told her, “In twenty-four hours, we will have this conversation again. Then we’ll see what we have.”

 

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