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He glanced down at Abigail’s feet. “What size are you?”
“A solid eight.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. You’re in-between trolls and fae. Now if we had an elf on staff, but we don’t.” Generally elves despised any work having to do with home maintenance, a fact of realm life that still didn’t make sense to Abigail.
“And I need to borrow a brush and a scrunchy if any of the women have something like that.”
“I’ll see to it all.”
Abigail thought this would take some time so she spent the next few minutes snooping in Gerrod’s closet. Of course more of that fresh rain scent poured over her when she pushed the folding doors aside. She found that nearly everything he wore was some version of his Guard battle gear. He had at least a dozen pairs of black leather pants, and a variety of long, sleeveless black leather coats. Gus had once told her that some mastyrs, like Ethan of Bergisson Realm, often wore blue jeans, but Gerrod was much older and continued to sport a more formal, conservative look. The shirts were all made of soft woven fabric died in earth-shades from ochre to maroon to deep blue-green.
He had several pairs of boots as well, but all were similar in design with only a few silver accents to change the overall effect. Rather like corporate men and their suits.
When she heard a knock on the door, her thoughts went straight back to Gerrod.
She hurried over, trying to still her ridiculously beating heart.
She opened the door.
Not Gerrod.
Something second-best, however, waited for her: Gus with a tray of coffee, cinnamon raisin bread and scrambled eggs. “You are spoiling me, my friend.”
But he merely grinned at her once more, set the tray on the dresser, and said, “The least we could do for you, mistress.” He then waved a fae woman forward who bore a pile of clothes in her arms and several pairs of flip-flops dangling from her fingers.
He then gestured with a sweep of his arm toward her. “Will this do?”
“So much to choose from. How generous you all are. Thank you so much…for everything. Just, everything.”
Gus motioned for the woman to lay out the items on the bed and to place the flip-flops on the floor. She then handed Abigail a brush and the requested scrunchy, bowed slightly and left.
Her hair wasn’t always manageable, having a slightly unruly curl. But a ponytail would always work in an emergency, like now.
After the fae was gone, Abigail turned to Gus. “Really, my friend, thank you for everything, especially your wise words last night and for showing me the viewing room. I’ll never forget this as long as I live.” Because her heart was full, she hugged him.
He removed himself from her quick embrace with another rapid shuffling of feet, his eyes sparkling, his color high.
“Oh, mistress, you are too kind.” Now he was embarrassed. He hurried from the room.
Note to self: no grabbing and hugging of the castle staff.
Once dressed, Abigail had to steel herself as she left Gerrod’s private suite and passed from room to room. She was pretty sure that the entire staff had somehow made it their business to catch sight of her as she made her way to the north entrance, where the driver waited to take her to Hollow Tree. She had never seen so many about sweeping the floor, polishing candelabra, dusting already pristine tables.
She received more old-fashioned curtsies and grins than she had expected, which brought new heat to her cheeks.
Once in the car, she finally relaxed and took a deep breath until the driver said, “Good morning, mistress. It was lovely to hear the mastyr whistling. Very lovely indeed. Indeed.”
*** *** ***
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ethan said. “You got laid.”
Gerrod frowned. He had no intention of discussing Abigail with Ethan. The vampire had a wagging tongue nearly as long as Gus’s.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Just glad you came.” He moved into the room in that lethal manner of his. Ethan was an inch taller than Gerrod, with an equivalent larger mass of muscle. He was not a vampire to meet in a blind alley, at least not without a few blade-like or preternatural powers fully in hand.
“I value Augustus tremendously, but he should learn some restraint.”
Ethan drew his brow into a knot. “What the hell does Gus have to do with anything? Oh, I see what it is. You think your gossipy troll spilled the beans. Not so, my friend. I can see by your stature you got well and truly f**ked last night. Anyone I know, or need to know?” He waggled his brows.
With these words, a very odd tightening began deep in Gerrod’s gut. His hands became fists, his biceps flexing before he understood what was happening. “You are not to trouble Mistress Abigail.”
Ethan immediately threw up both hands in the surrender position. “Whoa. Didn’t mean to give offense. I take it she’s someone special.”
“No.” Too quick at that answer. But to say, ‘yes, she is special’, what would that mean?
He looked away from Ethan, glancing at the map of the Nine Realms laid out on his table and held at each corner by the most absurd cast iron scorpion weights. Abigail had given them to him for his birthday last month, a peculiar human tradition of giving gifts on the anniversaries of the day of one’s birth.
“What’s going on, Gerrod? I wouldn’t have teased you, been so indiscreet, if I’d thought it serious. Is it? Or is it something else?” Ethan moved to stand on the other side of the massive table facing him.
“The woman is human,” he said, though it only covered maybe a tenth of his present concerns.
“Holy shit, you hooked up with a…human?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Gerrod met his gaze and nodded. Ethan’s hair was in disarray. He had a mass of honey-brown curls that always escaped the woven clasps that male vampires used to hold back their long hair. Since the females of his staff tended to hang near multiple doorways when Ethan was around, he was certain that the easy look had a certain appeal.
Besides, the man was a handsome devil, big smile, big teeth, and a certain way of fixing his stare that could unnerve other males and weaken the knees of the females.
But all Gerrod saw was the concern of friendship, and for that he valued Ethan more than any of the other mastyr vampires. For all his relative youth, Ethan could be trusted, counted on.
“I don’t want to speak of Abigail at this time. I’m encouraging her to go back to Flagstaff where she lives and not to return.”
“Is she with one of the universities that she was allowed to be here in the first place?”
