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Cord jerked his head away from the knowing gaze before quickly looking back at the Vampyre. “Just swear to me that you will not force her to leave.”
“Castor,” Leonid said softly as he massaged the back of his neck. “She makes her own choices.”
“I know.” Cord nodded as he looked away and gave a bitter laugh. “I know she does, but ithasto be her choice. If that is what she chooses.”
“It will be her choice.” Leonid looked the Castor over in consideration once more. “It is deep indeed,” he noted softly.
“In my bones.” Cord’s voice was full of scorn. “In my veryblessèdbones.”
“You are honoured beyond measure, Castor,” Leonid said as he stood beside him and looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I hope you are worthy.”
“So do I,” Cord said grimly as he stared out at the bright morning. “I hope they are ready for this,” he said more to himself than his companion.
Leonid glanced at him sharply before Cord grabbed his arm, and the cave went dark.
* * *
Tegan stood at the window, looking over the grounds of the Northern Headquarters. She had dropped everything at House Ivanov as soon as she received word that Cord had brought her father home. She had been training the Sentinels in their House, which had been difficult at first, but when they realised she actually knew what she was talking about, and they accepted that she was an Elite Sentinel, the lessons and training had gone smoothly. It was gratifying to see how well they had progressed under her tutelage.
Tonight her frustration was not in the backwards beliefs of House Ivanov but in the absurdity of this evening. Her anger was telling in the tightness of her shoulders, the stiffness of her neck, the line on her forehead that she could not smooth no matter how hard she tried to relax.
Once more since arriving to take up her post as an Elite Sentinel, she wore a dress. Salem had placed it in front of her in a cream box. Tissue paper had concealed a beautiful satin dress, no poufy skirt, but a simple fitted bodice, a skirt that fell in soft folds over her hips, and a train that meant no one could get close to her. It was the perfect dress, and in any other circumstances, she would have actuallywantedto wear this one, but it wasn’t any other circumstances; they were atwar, which half of these imbeciles seemed to have forgotten.
“Your glare will shatter the glass soon,” Michael said from behind her.
“I want my fist to shatter someone’s jaw.”
“I know,” he said as he walked up behind her. “Dad hasn’t even allowed the Sentinels to attend. Only you, he and I have been permitted.”
“Permitted?” Tegan bit out. “Ordered, we have beenorderedto go to aballto a…a…dance, because the Great Council are idiots and think dresses and champagne anddancingare going to make Akrhyn forget that we areat war.”
“I know,” Michael agreed as he reached over and nudged her gently. “You cannot call them idiots tonight though,” he warned.
“Why? Father did,” Tegan snapped, and then she smiled at her brother. Herfatherwas here. Cord had done it, he had retrieved her fallen father. She frowned again as she thought she still had to thank the Castor. That would only make him more insufferable. She may need some of those flutes of golden champagne first, although Tove warned her the bubbles weren’t as innocent in the softly sparkling liquid as they seemed. Plus, she had spent no time with Leonid. He had been taken away to heal, and she had seen him for no longer than a moment.
“You are different with him here,” Michael observed as he turned towards her. Her hair was mostly down, falling in soft waves down her back. A simple circlet of silver held her hair back from her face, catching the locks of hair into a simple soft braid that was woven into her hair, blending into her thick tresses smoothly. It was simple to look at, but he knew he would never understand the hours it had taken to do it. Hours that Tegan had not sat through quietly, he knew.
“Different?” Tegan asked. “How?”
“More relaxed.” Michael looked away uncomfortably. “Easier.”
“Are you implying I am difficult?” Tegan asked, her eyes narrowing.
“No!” Michael gulped hastily. “It’s just a noticeable difference, that’s all.”
“You are jealous?” Tegan toyed with the skirts of her dress. “Of my father? I don’t understand.”
“Dad,” Michael began huskily before he cleared his throat, “Salem, is your father.”
“Michael,” Tegan sighed as she turned away. “It is not that easy,” she told him quietly.
“You call me brother readily enough,” Michael pointed out. “You took our House name. You do not argue when someone calls Zahra your sister, why do you reject our dad?”
“I don’t!” Tegan protested, her eyes wide with hurt. “You are my brother, and I never had any problem with that, youfeelright when I call you brother.” Tegan’s arms remained at her sides. “Zahra is…Zahra. I mean, I wouldn’t call her sister, but I don’t deny she is when someone says it.” Tegan groaned. “I am Heir, or one of them,” she added shyly at Michael’s raised eyebrow. “This is my House. Salem is just”—she searched for the right terminology—“more complicated.”
“Why?” Michael demanded, angrier than he thought.
“I don’t know.”
