Five minutes. Four.
I stand in the shadows near the main entrance, hands clasped behind my back, and wait for her like a man awaiting judgment. Like a condemned prisoner who walked willingly to the gallows.
Whatever this is, whatever is building between us, I need to understand it before I act on it. Need to know if it's real or just the desperate reaching of a man who's been alone too long.
But standing here in the dark, counting down the minutes until she appears, I'm starting to suspect that understanding won't matter.
Chapter
Eleven
I'm halfway across the grounds when I see him.
Maximus stands near the main entrance, hands clasped behind his back, watching me approach. The security lights cast sharp shadows across his features, highlighting the angles of his face, the stillness of his posture. He looks like a statue someone carved from marble and moonlight.
I slow my pace without meaning to. Something about seeing him here, waiting, makes my chest tighten in a way I don't want to examine.
"You didn't have to meet me," I say when I'm close enough to speak without raising my voice. "I was going to report in."
"I know." He falls into step beside me as I continue toward the entrance. "How do you feel?"
The question catches me off guard. Not "how did it go" or "what did you learn" but how do I feel.
"Fine. Good, actually." I glance at him, trying to read his expression in the dim light. "The mission was straightforward.Clara Ellis checks out, the complication was minor. I can give you the full debrief."
"Tomorrow is soon enough for the official report." He holds the door open for me, a gesture so old-fashioned it almost makes me smile. "I meant how do you feel about operating alone. First solo mission. That's significant."
We step into the entrance hall together, and I'm suddenly aware of how close he is. The way his presence seems to fill the space around him. I catch a hint of something, not cologne, exactly, but something distinctly him. Old paper and sandalwood and something darker underneath.
"I felt..." I search for the right word. "Capable. Like I knew what I was doing, even when the situation shifted."
"Good. That confidence will serve you well."
We're walking through the compound now, and I realize I don't know where we're going. My room is in the opposite direction. But Maximus moves with purpose, and I find myself following without question.
"Where are we headed?"
"My study. I thought a drink might be in order. First solo mission completed successfully."
The invitation surprises me more than it should. Maximus doesn't strike me as someone who celebrates anything, let alone with drinks in his private study. But I don't question it. The silence between us isn't uncomfortable, it's weighted, expectant. Like the air before a storm.
I watch him from the corner of my eye as we walk. The way he moves is economical, precise, every step deliberate. Centuries of existence have stripped away any wasted motion. He's wearing the same dark clothes he always wears, but tonight his collar is slightly loosened, his sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that are lean and corded with muscle.
I look away, irritated at myself for noticing.
His study is warm when we enter, a fire crackling in the hearth despite the fact that vampires don't need heat. Old habits, maybe. Or perhaps he just likes the ambiance. The flames cast dancing shadows across the walls, across the leather furniture, across…
A leather portfolio lies open on his desk. Through plastic archival sleeves, I can see yellowed documents, handwriting faded but still legible. Something old.
Maximus stops when he sees it, and I watch his posture change. A slight tension in his shoulders. Like he'd forgotten he left it out.
"What is that?" I ask before I can stop myself.
He moves to the desk, and for a moment I think he's going to close the portfolio, hide whatever I've glimpsed. Instead, he stands there looking down at it, his back to me.
"Letters," he says finally. " From my human life. My mother. Men I served with. A few others."
The words land strangely. His human life. Before he was turned. I remember the rumors I heard when I was searching for him, five hundred years, six hundred, maybe older. A world so different from this one that it might as well be another planet.
