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“What’s he like?” She leans her elbows on the table, her face suddenly far too close to me, so I lean back in my chair. “I just want to know what I’m getting into, you know? I’ve heard all kinds of rumors about him, but he’s really fucking hard to read.”
I snort. “He’s not as broody and mysterious as he first comes across as, promise.”
The words do little to calm her restless energy though. She drums her fingers rapidly on the table, her shoulders rounded.I know that look.I saw it on Calla, Adrienne, felt it in my own permanently fucked-up posture. The body’s way of bracing itself, of protecting itself. Subconsciously hunching in and making yourself a smaller target.
This isn’t just about him not liking her.
What had Jones said?
To me she just looks…scared.
Even though this is the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had, I soften my voice. “If you’re concerned, you don’t have anything to worry about. He’s kind…and loyal…and thoughtful and…” I clear my throat, my cheeks heating. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. So you don’t have to worry.”
I swallow hard, worried I’ve said too much, that she’ll be able to read it all over my face. But she offers a smile, looking kind of shy.
“Thanks, Valerie.” She drops her gaze again, taking in the books and papers strewn across the table. “Shadow realm, huh?”
I hum noncommittedly as she pulls one of the pages closer to her and examines it.
“You know, my Marionette back at Vasiliev is into this kind of stuff. I swear he’s always reading.”
“He didn’t come here with you?”
She shakes her head, still looking over the page. “He and my father had something to finish up. He’s supposed to get here later this week though. You two should chat! My eyes always glaze over whenever he tries to talk to me about this stuff. I will give you his number. The four of us will probably be spending a lot of time together anyway.” She takes one of my pens from the center of the table and jots it on the corner of the page in front of her. “His name is Feddei.” She offers a small smile as she nudges the paper to me like it’s a peace offering.
“Thanks.”
We stare at each other until she jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Right. I’ll just—”
“Anya,” I call before she can slip from the library.
She casts an uncertain glance at me over her shoulder, looking young and small and nothing like the glowing, intimidating creature who’d stood over me on the plane stairs.
“Thanks for apologizing. And I don’t think it’s ridiculous that we could be friends.”
A sigh of relief loosens the last of the tension in her shoulders, and she gives me her first real smile since she stepped in here.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
I expectAuclair to be quiet when I rise well before the sun sets. Aside from the human servants, the corridors at the Carrington estate tended to be empty until the vampire residents rose after dark. I can’t tell if the crowd here is usual or a product of the over-occupancy and dire situation that has officials working around the clock.
The gym, however, is mostly vacant when I step inside. Cam and I have trained in here only once since he prefers outdoors. A few Marionettes are by the squat racks, and they pay me no mind as I head for a treadmill to warm up.
I immediately miss my runs with Monroe as I start with a light jog. Her constant conversation was always distracting enough to get me through it, but now all I have is the music in my headphones as my out-of-shape lungs struggle through a mile.
I have half the mind to give myself a little magical aid. Especially with how much power I have to spare these days, maybe sending a little to my tired muscles…
But then I remember how sudden it feels when it comes on. How overwhelming, like it’s out of my control. Just the idea of making the cut has the adrenaline in my blood skyrocketing.
For the first time in my life, I think I might be afraid of my own magic.
The disgusting protein shake I chugged before coming here threatens to make a reappearance as I step off the machine, but I keep it down as I head for the punching bag next. A part of me thinks Cam designed the thing to taste bad, but I’ve been dutifully drinking them every day.
I run through as many of the combinations that I can remember, starting with punches, then kicks, then a mix of both. Sweat pours down my face, but it’s like the harder my heart pumps in my chest, the less my mind spirals, giving me a few minutes of blissful quiet.
And it’s not like I haven’t done much harder things than getting back in shape.
Damsel in distress my ass.
