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“You promised me you’d stay in your room, miss,” she said, kneeling to brush her hair back from the girl’s face.
“I’ll stay with her,” Jesse said tiredly, “until her dad comes back.”
“Thank you,” Joanna said with a heartfelt smile. “I need to check in with Tom.”
Jesse took Dimity into her room. Soon they were both crouched on the floor with paper and pencils, drawing Father Christmas and his reindeer.
“Your reindeer are very wobbly,” Dimity said with a critical frown.
“My artistic talents are limited, even without a headache,” he said, handing the pencil back to her. “Here… You take over. I’ll watch.”
“See? They need two antlers each,” she said, correcting Jesse’s drawing, the concentration intent on her face.
“Dimity?”
They both looked up. Emory was in the doorway. He had changed into trousers and a navy jumper. His hair was combed back with not a strand out of place. He was smiling. Jesse found it hard to summon the image of his bared teeth and twisted scowl.
Dimity sprang to her feet and ran to him. He lifted her from the floor, murmuring non-answers to her questions, kissing her hair.
He caught Jesse’s eyes over her head, and his expression fell. He set her back on her feet.
“It’s late, darling,” he said when she tried to draw him into the room. “Can you let Joanna read you a story? Uncle Jesse and I need to talk.”
She narrowed her eyes, looking between them narrowly. “You’d better not be fighting.”
“We’re not fighting, dearest,” he said, patting her cheek. “Be a good girl now.” Emory stepped back and Joanna reappeared, smiling warmly and bearing a mug of warm milk. Dimity kissed her father goodnight, hugged Jesse and allowed herself to be guided to bed.
“Night, love,” he said as he closed the door. Then he followed Emory down the hall, his head spinning.
Emory held the door to the master bedroom open. The neatly made bed and soft fragrance of the sheets and carpets brought memories rushing back. Jesse ignored them, went straight to the windows and closed the drapes.
“Jesse.”
“What the hell happened back there?”
“Can you look at me, please?”
Jesse turned. Emory stood with his hands in his pockets. His face was blank, but emotion simmered in his eyes.
“You’re hurt,” he said, reaching out to touch Jesse’s head, but he stepped back out of reach.
“Answer my question.”
Emory drew a deep breath and sighed it out. “Lucien is a very, very old friend.”
“He almost ripped Tyler’s head off,” Jesse said, his voice rising, despite his desperate clutching for control.
Emory frowned delicately. “You knew that human?”
“We’re not talking about me,” Jesse retorted. “We’re talking aboutyou—and thisLucien. He almost dismembered that guy—and just a few feet from your fucking house, Emory. The house where your kid…” He trailed off, blood rushing to his face. His head ached worse than ever. He clenched his jaw and swallowed the fear-fueled words, watching Emory’s face ice over.
“You have something you wish to say to me, Jesse,” he said. “I would like you to say it plainly.”
Jesse looked at the bed, his skin tingling, then dropped his gaze to the floor. “I saw the list, Emory.”
“List?”
Jesse made himself meet his lover’s eyes and not flinch. “Your ‘Kill List’.”
