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Chapter Twenty
“I only agreed to dinnerbecause I have questions and I figured it would be best to ask them here.”
Two hours had passed since he’d left her alone.
She’d taken a bath in hopes it would help her relax, then she’d dozed off for maybe a half-hour. She was still worn out, but much of it was tied to grief and stress more than anything else.
She’d chosen one of the outfits that had been left for her by Niko’s people, and she had no idea why.
It was new.
Although there were no tags on the garments, she would have known if anybody else had worn these. No amount of laundering would have been able to wash away another person’s scent on clothing.
A mourning ceremony wasn’t a formal affair but it wasn’t a jeans and t-shirt sort of gathering either. Not among Therians, at least. And considering it had been her father, and considering her history with Niko, she would have more than a couple of people watching her.
If it hadn’t been for the meeting with Alison—not to mention the rather torrid encounters with Niko, maybe she would have gone with the far more sedate clothing she’d brought. But after smoothing on a lotion with a scent subtle enough that it wouldn’t bother sensitive Therian senses, she’d found herself picking up the black jumpsuit with the sheer capelet overlay. It was somber enough for the wake, but there was something undeniable feminine about it. Something almost... sexy, although even the sternest matrons within the pack wouldn’t be able to fault her on her choice of clothing.
But she saw the appreciation in Niko’s eyes as he took in the sight of her, gaze lingering on her throat, then sliding down along her body to take in every inch down to the simple black ballet flats on her feet.
“You look lovely.”
She stepped around him so he wouldn’t be able to see how the simple compliment affected her.
It took him a mere second to place himself at her side. Although they didn’t touch, she could feel the heat of his body and it warmed her through and through, even the places she hadn’t realized were cold.
Except she’d always been cold.
There were places inside her that had been cold for ten years and she’d grown so used to that chill, she’d simply forgotten to notice it.
As they drew closer to the kitchen where the two of them had shared so many meals, the savory scents in the air grew stronger and her mouth started to water. Hopefully, the nuts and cheeses she’d found in her room to snack on would keep her belly from rumbling.
“I was sorry to hear about your father,” she said as they passed by a narrow table in the hall. Over it was a large family photograph, a black ribbon tied around the top, a memorial of the former Prime. The only person in that photo who was still among the living was Niko. His mother, Galina, had died eighteen years ago during childbirth, along with his baby sister.
“Thank you.”
There was a careful lack of emotion in his voice, but she knew that meant nothing.
Niko had loved his father fiercely and had been loyal to him, as a son, a soldier, a second-in-command, and as the future Prime.
“The men who were behind his attack?”
“We’ve hunted most of them.” Grim satisfaction in his voice, he skimmed a hand down her back as they passed through the doorway into the kitchen. “Two of them are still alive and being questioned. They haven’t given up much, but I’m... persistent, as are the men assigned to the task.”
She suppressed a shiver at the grim tone, knowing what persistent meant—those men were likely being tortured for information. It bothered her on some level, but at the same time, an attack on a Prime did not bode well and she knew it.
As they entered the kitchen, she pushed the thoughts aside and focused on her surroundings. There was a table set up near the windows, the places already set with all the dishes out, waiting for them.
There were two formal dining rooms in the big house, but unless the situation dictated it, Zee and Niko had always eaten in this room with its country French design and warm atmosphere. She was glad he hadn’t led her to the small formal dining room. Even though the table there only sat six, it had a cool, elegant remoteness that had always kept her from being comfortable.
He pulled out her chair and she was struck by how easy it was to fall into that familiar rhythm. The decade between them might have not existed, but for the scars that still lingered on her soul and cut into her heart.
And the memories. So many memories.
“Very little information about the actual attack ever made it into the media,” Zee said after he’d settled across from her. Meeting his eyes, she waited, wondering if he’d tell her or if she’d have to ask.
Mouth tight, Niko picked up the bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.
“It was an offshoot of HF.” Distaste was in every word.
