Page 84 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

Chapter Twenty-One

Later that night, Sorcha found herself thinking embarrassingly fond thoughts of Aidan. Naughty ones, too.

But when she peeked at his bedroom door, it was open and the room was empty.

He wasn’t here. Again.

He wasn’t in the library, or the kitchens, or the drawing room. She had checked before convincing herself to go to sleep, failing after three-quarters of an hour, and popping her head back out.

No Aidan.

She retreated back into her chambers, scowling. She had no real claim over him. No reason to be cross. But some reason to worry. Wouldn’t he worry if she simply left without a word?

Which was his right.

Why was this so complicated? When it wasn’t, really. It was simple. He could wring pleasure from her body in ways she had never imagined, but they had no true understanding, no real promises made. They owed each other nothing. She had agreed to it. Agreed with it still, even if her treacherous heart was trying to get involved. Unsolicited, it had to be said.

She might not be able to sort her own thoughts from feelings or find a comfortable way to braid them together tonight, but she could wake her paper birds. The full moon was fast approaching, and there had not been a Cauldron called in days.

It was soothing, familiar work. The methodical folding of paper to create little birds with long necks, to whisper magic to them until they slowly lifted into the air. To open the window and bid them fly, fly, fly. It made her feel better, but also more tired, the magic unspooling from her to give flight to her birds.

And it did not bring Aidan to her door.

She knew this for a fact, because she could not help another peek.

Where she found herself nose to nose with Simon.

He startled her so thoroughly that she shouted. Rather like one of her chickens, regrettably. Simon recoiled and hit the wall, yelping. Sorcha yelped back. A painting fell to the floor. The ghoul snickered from down the hall.

It was not a very graceful affair.

Simon scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed. His limp seemed momentarily improved by the scare.

“Who is yowling?” Hecuba drawled from the top of the stairwell. There was blood on her chin, which she wiped at delicately. “Why do debutantes always taste like roses?”

All in all, Sorcha was suddenly glad Aidan was not here as witness.

“Oh, settle down,” Hecuba added, catching Sorcha’s expression. “She was in the gardens outside of a ballroom bored out of her mind. I gave her a story to tell. Or to hide, which is even more fun.”

Simon shook out his hair, very much like a wet dog. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Lady Sorcha.”

“Me either,” Sorcha said. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and hurried away.

“That’s not the first time I’ve caught him lurking by your bedroom door,” Hecuba murmured, approaching in that graceful, floating way of hers.

“He’s protective. You know how wolves are.”

“He does not sleep much. Mostly paces the halls at night.”

“His leg must be bothering him,” Sorcha said. “I’ll make a tincture for him in the morning.”

Hecuba watched him limp around the corner and out of sight. “Hmm. Make him some cologne while you’re at it, would you? He smells like a dog.”

“Hecuba! He can probably hear you.”

The vampire shrugged. “It’s not my fault you all smell.”