“Pick it up,” he said.
When she continued to glare, he exhaled softly and raised his right hand. A dark-red tendril emerged from his palm and shot through the bars. It wrapped around the flask and moved it toFelicity’s hand. Her heart thundered in her chest as she stared at the manifestation of his power. She’d seen him control his blood but had never come so close to it.
“I had hoped we might make amends,” the earl said.
She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the rapidly dwindling flame of her anger. He’d killed her brother and uncle. It didn’t matter that the hunters had attacked him first or that he was now her elder nest brother. She would not forgive him, and she certainly wouldn’t let him order her about.
Jonathan’s laughter echoed in his mind, followed by a tangled mess of his emotions: frustration that he’d once again needed to be rescued, gratitude that his eldest brother had arrived in time to save them, and guilt for having told her they’d never be anything more than enemies.
I forgive you, Felicity thought, because it was true. Her temporary heartache had been nothing compared to the fear and pain he’d suffered after sending her away.
“Drink, Miss Sorrow,” Lord Kingsbury said. “Or I will make you.”
Not wanting to be touched by that awful snake-like tendril, she grasped the flask, unscrewed the lid, then tilted it against her lips. The lukewarm liquid inside was terribly bitter, nothing like Jonathan’s blood, and it nearly made her gag. She tried to drop the thing, but one look at Kingsbury’s stern expression changed her mind. When she’d drained the container, he smiled.
“Better. I apologize for confining you, Miss Sorrow, but it was necessary. Fledglings are unpredictable, and we could not rely on Jonathan to control you.” He chuckled. “You nearly tore out my throat before we managed to get you inside the cell.”
She did not apologize, even though she remembered little between crashing through the window and awakening on the floor. Her memories were blurry, as if she’d imbibed too much wine.
Jonathan rolled onto his back. “Leave her alone, brother.”
Warmth bloomed in her chest at the sound of his voice. She propped herself up on her elbow to caress his cheek with her fingers. He no longer felt cold. “There you are. I was worried.”
He tilted his head into her hand. “I know.”
The soft creak of weight on the wooden stairs indicated the older vampire’s departure. She hardly noticed as she was too distracted by images streaming through her new bond. She tried to focus on each one, but it was as futile as cupping her hands beneath a waterfall.
She tweaked his nose. “You’re giving me a megrim.”
He snorted. “It’s not my fault you’re a slow thinker.” Then there was an odd shifting feeling in her head, and the onslaught slowed to a trickle.
Don’t leave me. Please. I need you.
Her heart leaped into her throat at the desperation saturating his thoughts. He truly believed she was going to abandon him the same way—she inhaled sharply. He’d loved Marguerite, but it hadn’t been enough to keep her from exerting control over him.
My maker killed your parents because of me.
Felicity laid her head on his chest. “I know.” A week earlier, that knowledge might have made her resent Jonathan, but it was impossible to feel that way when his pain and grief radiated so strongly through their connection.
“I’m sorry you lost her.”
He curled an arm around her back. “She did what she felt was necessary.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He sighed. “No. But if I keep saying it, maybe one day, I will.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Four months later, Paris
“Jonathan!” Felicity yelledfor what felt like the hundredth time, but her husband, mate, and maker was nowhere to be seen. She juggled the heavy crates in her arms. When she found him, she would give him a good whap across the head.
Starting a museum using the vampiric artifacts from her exhibit had been Jonathan’s idea. She’d wanted to restore them to their original owners, but that had proven nearly impossible, given the age of some of the relics. They’d been so focused on transporting all the items from London and finding a new place to live that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Winifred or the other members of her nest.
Without warning, her burden was lifted from her arms by the object of her current frustration.
“There you are,” she said. “Where have you been?”
