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She chewed that over as well, eyes glazing slightly as her gaze grew distant with the thoughts running through her mind.
“To what end?” she asked. “Why would he do this?”
“Accusing me of kidnapping his child in retribution for what happened to my father? That would give him a very good excuse to enter our territory with force if needed and would make our people doubt which side they should be on. It would weaken the Kuznetsov name. Perhaps beyond repair. Those reasons might be viable, no?”
She sighed, deeply, running her hands over her tied up hair, her fingers through the ponytail, detangling the strands as she looked for what answer to give him. To all of his questions, he presumed.
She reached out, grabbed a cherry, popped it in her mouth. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms around them, leaning her chin against her knees, eyes on his. The gesture was endearing and suggestive at the same time, as though she was deciding whether to trust him with her future or not. He wanted her to.
He really wanted her to say yes.
What would he do if she said no?
“What if I say no?” she asked, letting her legs go, feet back on the floor. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No,” he said. “But I may have to send you away.”
“What would that solve?”
“Well, if you’re not here and we clear any evidence that you ever were, then anyone claiming otherwise is merely spreading false rumors. Rumors we can deal with.”
“Don’t rumors start wars?”
“Not in the real world. Or where money is concerned. Action starts wars. And action stops them.”
Her eyes rested on his for a drawn-out moment, making something akin to a quiver run through his chest at how closely she was studying him. Were his palms actually getting sweaty?
“Like killing the messenger,” she concluded.
Yes, Gregor had made a severe mistake. He would have to pay for it.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
He observed the emotions that ran through her expression. Hesitation, anger, detachment. Finally, she settled on a casual eyebrow raise.
“Nope,” she said.
He smiled at the way she used the word with such a subtle hint of exactly how dead she wished Gregor would be.
“Can I have a minute to think it over?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Where would you send me to?”
He laughed then.
“I’m not telling you that,” he shook his head. “You’ll have to choose between this house and the absolute unknown, big-wide somewhere else.”
She gave him a look of annoyance, but there was something oddly playful in it. As if she was daring him to prove he’d actually do it. She shouldn’t push him. If she did, he would prove exactly how seriously he was taking her being there, and what it might mean for his family.
“Let me show you to a guestroom,” he said.
She got to her feet, as he did, before nabbing a final cherry and walking past him, leading the way up to the door. This time she opened it and held it for him, waiting for him to catch up. A soft thrill started in the middle of his chest at the sheer audacity.
Careful, he thought, uncertain of whether he was telling himself, or sending a warning her way.
They walked out of the family dining room, into the broad hallway, taking them into the entrance hall. He’d had the place built in the late 1800s, wanting somewhere that was secluded enough that he could get out of the city. Breathe fresh air. Stretch his wings. Though that didn’t happen too often, modern technology making it difficult for the bigger shifters to do what they’d once done on a daily basis, living whatever hours of the day best suited their inner animal in that shape.
