For several minutes longer, I sprawl in the bed, soaking in Sylas’s scent and the last tingles of warmth. But after years of having no more than a cage less than half the size of this bed to roam around in, I’m not one to squander my new freedom by lolling around. I get up and limp to the door, intent on retrieving some clothes and my foot brace from my bedroom and then discovering what August has planned for breakfast.
When I slip out, another strapping figure is just stepping out of his own room on the other side of the hall. Whitt pauses and cocks his head, the tufts of his sunkissed-brown hair typically mussed and his bright blue eyes sparkling, as inscrutably gorgeous as ever. He’s left his high-collared shirt unbuttoned partway down his chest, giving a glimpse of the true-name tattoos winding across the tan skin over his sternum. August told me Whitt has nearly as many as Sylas.
“Good morning, mite,” he says in that tone that always seems to skirt the line between teasing and outright mockery. “I’m guessing it was a good night as well.”
A fresh blush burns my cheeks. I’m abruptly aware of the thinness of my nightgown and the fact that I have nothing at all on underneath it, although Whitt is keeping his gaze rather studiously on my face. I cross my arms over my chest. “I had a nightmare.”
He arches his eyebrows. “Hmm, don’t let Sylas hear you talking about your trysts with him that way.”
“I wasn’t—” I cut myself off at Whitt’s smirk and settle for glowering at him. I could tell him that all I did in there was sleep, but he might not believe me anyway—and I wanted to do at least a little more than that, so what does it matter if he thinks I accomplished it?
Whitt chuckles, and something in his expression softens just slightly. “I like this new ferocity you’ve been cultivating. One of these days I may have to promote you from ‘mite’ to ‘mighty’.”
“You could call me Talia. That is my name.”
“But where would be the fun in that?”
He starts down the hall—in the same direction I need to head in, naturally. I could hang back and let the conversation die, but that feels awfully wimpy after he just complimented me on being fierce.
Whitt told me not that long ago that he’s glad I’m here, that he wants me to stay. I shouldn’t need to be nervous of him, even if something about his temperament always seems to put me off-balance.
“Does having fun matter a lot to you?” I ask, summoning a little more boldness as I follow him. “Is that why you hold all those revels for the pack?”
“I arrange our revels for many reasons, but enjoyment is certainly a significant part of them.” He glances at me, the teasing glint in his eyes sparking brighter. “I suspect you’d enjoy them too. You’ll have to attend one and find out what all the fuss is about.”
“I can’t attend one right now,” I remind him. “I’m not supposed to let the rest of the pack see me still.”
“True, true. Just something to keep in mind for future plans. I’ll have you know—”
I don’t get to find out what he thinks I need to know, because right then he halts in his tracks, his head cocking again as if he’s listening intently to something with those lightly pointed fae ears, though my human ones haven’t picked up anything unusual. His smile tightens into a more determined shape. “As enjoyable as this talk has been, you’ll have to excuse me.”
He stalks off and vanishes into the room where I’ve gathered he carries out whatever work exactly it is that he does for Sylas. The room where I overheard him talking to a pack member once—a pack member who somehow vanished from the room without leaving through the door. They were discussing a conflict with the fae from the winter realm, the ones the men of the keep call the Unseelie. Has more news come about that?
What if Sylas ends up having two wars to fight?
That question twines uneasily through my gut. I grab a change of clothes from the assortment the fae men have gathered for me over the month I’ve stayed here—they must travel into the human world now and then and… steal them? Could they even buy them properly if they wanted to play fair?—and duck into the lavatory so I can wash myself as well as get dressed.
Even though Sylas and I didn’t do anything all that intimate, my skin probably picked up plenty of his scent from sleeping in his bed. August might have agreed to the idea of both he and Sylas pursuing some sort of relationship with me, but smelling the other man on me one time before upset him enough to send him charging off in wolf form. I’d rather not risk provoking any possessive inclinations if I can help it.
I don’t really care what Whitt thinks of my nighttime activities, but I don’t want August thinking I’ve devoted myself much more to Sylas than to him after all.
When I’ve finished, less exposed in my daytime clothes and skin tingling from the scrubbing, I nearly run into Whitt striding down the hall outside with a more purposeful attitude than I’m used to from him.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
He stops long enough to say, “Yes. Better than we expected, I think, though I’ll have to see what Sylas makes of it.”
Before he can hurry onward, I make a vague motion toward the stairs. “He’s gone out. He said a sentry reported something and he wanted to take a look.”
Whitt lets out a faint huff. “Well, then. I suppose this matter is hardly earth-shattering enough to require his immediate attention. No reason I should go chasing after him when I could wait here while indulging in a leisurely breakfast with prettier company.” He winks at me.
Even though I know he’s teasing, my lips can’t help twitching into a smile. I toss my nightgown into my bedroom and have just tapped my way down the stairs when the front door at the other end of the keep thumps. The fae lord comes around the bend looking as collected as always, so whatever he checked out couldn’t have been too much of a problem.
Whitt appears at the dining-room doorway in an instant. “A word, my liege?” he says in a sardonic voice.
Sylas comes to a halt by the doorway. “What is it?”
Whitt casts his gaze toward me where I’m approaching them and hesitates. I brace myself for him to draw his lord aside to speak with more privacy, but then he gives a curt nod. “You may as well hear this too.”
I wanted to know what was going on, but now that he’s implied that his news affects me somehow, my pulse stutters. I join them, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans to stop them from clenching into nervous fists.
Whitt focuses back on Sylas. “One of the people I sent to check up on Aerik reported in. From what he gathered and overheard, Aerik’s cadre and some others from his pack have been making comments rather publicly about how we’ve seemed pleased that no one has the tonic now. Trying to raise suspicions about our motivations or what have you.”
“That’s all?” Sylas says. “Nothing more damning than assumptions about our attitudes?”
“That was it. It might be simply an attempt to displace attention from themselves when the packs who relied on their regular deliveries of the tonic must be upset, but in combination with their interest in our territory… Aerik probably does see us as among the likely culprits in this one’s disappearance.” He gives my shoulder a swift pat. “But not the only ones—there’s no certainty to it. He’s trying to lay the groundwork for a larger case against us in case he needs to make one, yes, but he hasn’t got anywhere near enough ammunition to do a thorough job of it. We do make easy scapegoats.”