His expression changed, and he took hold of my arm more aggressively than the gentleness of his expression suggested, his thumb running gently over the mark.
“Am I hurting you when I do that?”
I shook my head. “It’s not painful. But I’m very aware of the sensation, especially when you whisk me away from home in my pajamas.” My smile didn’t ease his concern. “It’s fine.” Withdrawing from him, I made my way to my glass of wine and took a long drink from it. “I’d like to make another request of you.”
He returned to the coffee table, finishing off his glass. “You’re making quite a few requests. Does it have anything to do with preserving the life of Amelia’s mother, Vina?”
My grip on the wine glass tightened to subdue some of the trembling.
“What?” I spluttered out. “Vina?” I couldn’t begin to command the acting skills necessary to pull that off.
“I knew who Amelia was the moment I saw her.”
“So you didn’t save her for me, but for you. To correct Vina’s wrong?”
“It was an action that had dual benefits.” He’d never give me a moment of reprieve from knowing he was calculating and manipulating at every turn. “I would like to find her, and I believe her daughter will be useful for that. You don’t realize the problems she’s caused.”
“It’s not Amelia’s fault.”
“Did I give you the impression that I believe it is?” His eyes were piercing as they held mine.
He hadn’t. I was quickly growing tired of playing verbal gymnastics with him. His indecipherable face gave me nothing to go by.
“Don’t just whisk me away like you did earlier, okay?” I told him, draining my glass and quickly returning to the shelves.
“As you wish. I won’t do so without telling you first,” he said with a finality and evasive timbre that felt like a distinction without a difference.
“You need to ask me before you do it,” I pressed.
I took his deep murmur as tacit agreement.
After hours of poring over the books without success, I took a break, shoring up the courage to reexamine Diehle’s artifacts and objects. Not that I believed they’d help. It was just hard not to be drawn to their macabre and dark surrealness. Curiosity made me wonder about their history, uses, and even how he’d acquired such terrible and strangely beautiful things. Drawn to the crystal decanter containing the gravity-defying moving liquid, I didn’t hear Cirrian’s approach.
“I’d be mindful of what I touch and stare at for too long.” It was the same warning he’d given me the first time. “Nothing here will help, and I’d prefer not to use our time undoing the havoc these objects may cause. We need a spell, not Diehle’s morbid collection of charms, talismans, and artifacts,” he said. He turned to return to the living room, his arm stretched behind him, his fingers spread as an invitation to place my hand in his.
“You don’t have to tether me to you. I’m not going to run away, no matter how terrifying the things in this house are,” I teased.
“That is the least of my concerns, Kara.” His fingers waggled insistently. I linked mine through his, and he guided me back toward the living room. Getting a glimpse of Diehle’s pond, I slowed.
“The mer-creature. What will happen to him?”
“I’ve fed him today. I’ll continue to do so until Diehl’s absence is discovered. His replacement will be responsible for his care.”
Recalling the rows of sharp teeth, I knew it wasn’t a vegetarian diet that sustained him. Cirrian studied me.
“Once we are done with Diehle’s home, there will be many competing for this territory. Which is why we should finish today.”
After another half hour, his defenses appeared to relax, but his optimism had waned as he placed another book on the small stack I’d determined was the possible pile.
His eyes lifted to meet mine, cool and calculating and unamenable to questions. In one fluid sweep of movement, he was gone. He returned with the wine and two bottles of water. Handing me the water, which I quickly emptied, he refilled the wine glasses.
Taking the empty water bottle from me, he handed me the wine glass. I placed mine on the side table next to us, suspecting we didn’t respond to wine the same, and I needed a clear head. He finally took a seat on the sofa opposite the stack of unhelpful books on the floor and table.
“Cirrian.” I waited for him to look at me, and when he didn’t, I moved closer, angling my body toward him. It took an exceptionally long time for him to acknowledge my presence and answer me.
“Yes, little minx,” he said, avoiding eye contact by resting back against the sofa and studying the ceiling.
“I want to know more about the war and the werewolves?—”
