Part VIII
Such Sweet Sorrow
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sword hadjust entered its intended victim when Malcolm Lennox stormed into the Odalisque, his face frozen in a glower.
“Libba!” he barked, evidently caring not a whit for what he was interrupting.
She spun, shocked to hear his voice, as she hovered over Rhys, Lem, and Garrett, considering their placement. “Mal?”
“‘A curse,’” muttered Rhys pathetically, “‘on both your houses.’”
She shot him a glare and motioned for them to continue their rehearsal, moving to the side of the stage to try to intercept her brother before he could get too close. “What the Devil are you doing here? Don’t you have business to attend to?”
“Oh, I did,” Malcolm announced, his jaw clenching. “It changed abruptly. Guess whom I just ran into at the pub? I know what you and Jasper have been up to!”
Libba paused, blinking a few times. “Backstage,” she decided, her heart lodging somewhere between her collarbones. “Follow me.”
She walked steadily, ignoring the delicious ache in her bones that she had been enjoying up until this point. Suddenly, it felt more like a hobbling than a private reminder.
She wound him through the ropes and pulleys, past the dressing rooms, and to her own private office, all the way at the rear of the theater, her blood warming a little more with everystep. She gestured for him to enter in front of her and used the full weight of her body to seal the door shut once they were both inside.
“Well?” he snapped, rounding on her like an angry dog. “Libba?!”
“What, exactly,” she managed thinly, “did he tell you?”
“He didn’t have to tell me agoddamn thing,” Malcolm barked. “Why don’t you just assume I know everything already, hm? How about that?”
“He didn’t…?” she began, cutting herself due to how dry her mouth had gotten. She paused, licking her lips and shaking her head. “So you are assuming—?”
“No!” he snapped. “I have it on good authority. Iknowwhat you’ve been up to. How long has this been going on, Lib? How long?!”
“Just since last night,” she said, wilting. “It happened very suddenly. I never thought… I didn’t even realize I saw him that way. But he took me to his flat and it just… happened… and…”
She paused, pressing her lips together.
Malcolm had sagged, the color draining from his face. His furious, ticking jaw had gone slack, his mouth hanging open.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, dragging a hand over her mouth until her bottom lip was sagging under her fingertips. “That isn’t what you meant. Is it?”
Malcolm’s lips moved. Sounds came out. But no words.
He stared at her for a moment and then plopped into the chair behind her desk, a hysterical, reed-brittle laugh cracking out of his throat. “You…?” he began, staring at a fixed point in empty space, then shaking his head. “He…?”
“Well, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you,” she said immediately, pushing off the door and pacing over to the desk.
She put her hands flat on the glossy surface, bending down to try to get his eyes to meet hers. He did not look up untilshe had put her face directly under his. “Malcolm,” she said, as reasonably as she could manage.
He stared at her like he had never seen her before in his life, his eyes wide and reddening. “Kill,” he decided. “I will kill…”
“You willnot,” she said, frowning and bringing one hand up to grip his chin. “You were angry when you came in here. What were you angry about?”
“Kill,” he said again, blinking with effort.
She slapped him. Not hard. Just a whack to the cheek.
It seemed to startle him out of his fugue, if only for a moment. He blinked four times and then focused on her. “Xandine,” he said. “Templeton-Rath.”
