“That’s your problem, my darling. Should have thought of that before interrupting the adults in the middle of the night.”
Cecily huffs, and as she disappears around the corner, calls out, “Good night, Uncle Bowie. Good night, Andras, Uncle Bowie’s suitor!”
My cheeks flush with heat.
“That child is a nuisance.” Catherine has a hand on each hip, somehow managing both a formidable glower and an amused smirk at once. “Andras, you must accept my sincere apologies for my youngest child. I’m afraid I’ve been far too indulgent in her rearing. She’s become quite the little devil as a result. Her brothers never gave me this kind of trouble.”
Bowie is enjoying a fit of laughter at his sister’s expense. I’m not sure what to say, but a chuckle escapes my throat in spite of myself. I slam a hand over my mouth.
“No, no. Go ahead and laugh, my dear. I deserve it.” Catherine plops back onto her lounge with a flustered sigh. “That girl will be the death of me.”
I take her at her word and laugh along with Bowie. This family. The sister knows he’s a vampire, the niece knows he fancies other men, the housekeeper knows I’m a werewolf, and all seem perfectly at peace with those details.
My life has been shrouded in secrets and hiding since before I even understood what those words meant, so this sort of openness comes as a delight. Against all odds, I find myself relaxing in their company. I enjoy watching them together, brother and sister, each with obvious affection for the other. They tease but with kindness. They’re more likely to laugh at themselves than at the expense of another. I admire that.
They chat the rest of the night away, and I join in. Shy at first but with more confidence as time drifts by until I forget to worry that what I say might sound dumb. When Catherine starts to yawn, Bowie insists she get to bed. I can’t believe how late we’ve kept her up. I can’t believe how my night has turned out.
I can’t believe I’m free of the pack and out of their territory.
Chapter 5
As late night turns to early morning, Bowie leads me up a flight of stairs to where a guest room has been prepared.
“My suite is here,” says Bowie with a wave of his hand to indicate an open door revealing a dark blue interior and the pleasant scent of lavender and rosewater. We sweep past it. “And this”—another dramatic flick of his wrist to accompany the pause—“is Seashore.”
Of course it has a name. I’ve never slept in a room so fancy as to be properly named, and suspect I’d be more comfortable outside under the shade of a willow tree.
I enter a sea-foam green palatial space big enough to fit all four rooms of Ava’s cottage. I’ve never seen a bed so large. It stands like an island fortress among the other finery, covered with quilts in shades of aqua and white fluffy furs I’m instantly afraid to touch for fear of soiling their pristine beauty. Four towering posts rise, one from each corner of the bed, and over them hangs a drapery of green-and-blue silk.
As the name would suggest, seashells of every type decorate the space. Paintings of oceanside views adorn the walls.
I can’t touch anything in this room. I’m pondering shifting to my wolf form and sleepingunderthe bed when Bowie pipes up.
“Or you could stay with me?”
My gaze darts to meet his in an effort to interpret his meaning. I’m not opposed tosleepingsleeping with Bowie, but in his sister’s house? And so soon? What if it makes working together awkward?
But his face is open in a vulnerable way, not a flirtatious manner. He rushes to fill the silence. “Just to sleep, of course. I don’t know much about werewolves, but I did some research. I know you’re pack animals and prefer not to sleep alone. We could watch each other’s backs?”
I relax. Take a breath. Of course he didn’t mean…what I thought he meant. Just because Bowie favors men doesn’t mean he favors me. I’m still a freak, and he’s a handsome nobleman. A handsomevampirenobleman who surely could have his pick among men. I didn’t want to sleep with him anyway. So why am I suddenly disappointed?
Bowie’s correct about most werewolves not sleeping alone, but I’ve had to get used to it.
With a glance back to the gaping space, I know my answer at once. I don’t want to be alone in this room, however nice it is. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” The smile I’m coming to enjoy dances across his face, lips curling at the sides. “Come.”
I follow him into his suite, which is actually several rooms. A sitting room as one enters, a space with a table, desk, and chairs, then the bedchamber. As big as Seashore but somehow less intimidating. The deep blue of the walls makes the space seem smaller, cozier, and though his room is clean, it’s not untouchably pristine. It looks lived in, with possessions scattered around. Books, clothes, shoes, scarves—the normal stuff of life—clutter the surfaces.
Yes, I’d rather sleep here.
“Make yourself at home,” says Bowie. “I’ve kept you up all night long. You must be exhausted.”
I’m not, but I don’t reply. The full moon would have kept me up anyway, and though I’m ready to sleep, I wouldn’t say I’m exhausted.
Bowie is removing his blue coat, button by button. “I must ask a favor, a small one. Should you wake during the day, please don’t peek out the windows. The drapes block out the light for a reason. The sun will burn my skin quite quickly.”
The drapes are a thick velvet, also blue, with silver embroidery. They cover the windows so completely I hadn’t known they were there. “I won’t.”
