Njáll looks at me again. He opens his mouth and frowns and closes it again. I sigh. There is nothing else to be done here. I need to call Vlad and get things moving. We have a few hours still until the sun comes up, but I cannot risk other people coming across this fae’s body, and I cannot risk the selkie coming back.
“Thank you,” Njáll says finally.
I do not think that is what he wanted to say at all.
“It’s my job,” I reply.
That is not what I want to say, either.
Chapter Ten
Njáll
Lastnightisamessy jumble of memories, hard to focus on and harder still to piece together, but one thing is clear: I should not have taken Maurice’s offer.
I sit on the edge of my bed. The sun has been down for half an hour or so, and I have already checked my phone. I know I have meetings ahead, meetings I have to be entirely alert for.
But I cannot put the events of last night neatly together, and I feel it is desperately important that I do that before I step outside of my rooms and have to look upon Maurice again.
I remember chasing him. That much is still clear, even though my hunger was greater than I had anticipated. I remember catching him, too.
That memory makes my face heat. Not that it was… inappropriate, considering what we were doing. Only I should not have enjoyed the feel of Maurice beneath me. That was not the point.
I bit him. I drank. I remember that.
But after that things go hazy. Maurice was close and warm, and I don’t remember all that I said to him, but I remember him pinning me down and telling me no. Shame rises, thick and fast, and I swallow around a lump in my throat.
It has been a long time since I last chased my meal, and longer still since I last enjoyed another’s touch. Vasile pined after Deacon the entire time he was crai, I can see that now, but having a wolf as his mate had to also be convenient—he never had to worry about pushing the limits of his power too far.
After all, how am I to lie with another vampire now? I rule over all of those in London and work closely with my chieftains. The clans outside of this city are scattered, still healing, still wary of us. I might find a lone vampire, passing through…
I let out a frustrated growl and push my hair back from my face. I have not met a wolf who appeals to me, nor a mage. Humans are convenient but breakable, and their lives are so fleeting that anything long-term would either result in a broken heart or my turning someone far too soon.
Maurice is… convenient too, I suppose, and ignore the traitorous voice in the back of my head that tells me he is far more than just that. He killed for me last night. That’s important. Not to all vampires, not to all of us, but to me it is.
I shake my head and dress, and before I open the door to my rooms, I am certain I have a handle on myself and all the things I should not be feeling.
Only when I open the door, Maurice is leaning against the opposite wall, looking for all the world as though he has only been waiting there for a minute or so. Tonight, he wears a soft, straw-yellow shirt and another pair of dark brown trousers, rolled up at the cuffs so I can see the length of his boots. His legs stretch out, one crossed over the other, shoulders propping him up against the wall.
He smiles lazily at me, and I find I have to swallow again. “Feeling all right tonight, crai?”
I glance up and down the corridor. I do not want to invite Maurice into my rooms—that feels, somehow, as though I would be crossing a line—but I do not wish to risk being overheard. And I want answers.
“What happened last night?”
Maurice’s look is more subtle than mine, but I know he weighs the danger, too. “All we agreed on,” he says, frowning as though he wishes to know why I am asking.
“And then?” I shake my head when Maurice doesn’t answer and lower my voice further. “You killed someone.”
Maurice sighs. “Ah. That.”
“A fae?”
“Not here,” he hisses and pushes off from the wall with startling speed. “Your office, if you’re not going to invite me inside.”
I am tempted, but there is some wariness in his expression that has me nodding and stepping away from the door. We walk in silence from my rooms to my office, and the journey between the two points is short enough that we are not accosted on the way.
When the door closes, Maurice sighs. “What do you remember?”
