I leave the living room in search of my phone. It cannot be far, and I have not heard it ring, but if one of the others needs assistance, I am the person they are most likely to call.
I am searching in the kitchen when Jeremiah appears in the doorway. He merely leans against the frame, watching me with the same hard glint in his eyes he has carried for the last few months.
Maurice appears to have mostly overcome my lapse in judgement, though I am not certain he has forgiven me for what happened between him and the Huntsman. Jeremiah is content to hold a grudge.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
He studies me for a moment, then sighs. “Well, I’d hope so. We’re running low on intel and this fae you have us chasing keeps giving us the slip.”
“Yes, well…” I locate my phone and check the screen. No notifications. As far as I can tell, Grant is still firmly inside the building. “Merletta is known for her ability to slip through space, according to the Huntsman. I told you she would not be easy to find.”
“I know that. Do you have anything else?”
“Where did you last track her?”
“Near Canary Wharf.” Jeremiah scoffs and shakes his head. “Not the place I’d expect to find one of the fae.”
“As long as we keep them away from seats of power, we are doing our best for now.”
“Vladimir.”
I frown at him. “What is it?”
He shakes his head again but then pauses, staring at me like he did before. “What happened?”
“I do not know what—”
Jeremiah pushes off from the door and back into the living room. I follow him at some distance, not understanding at all.
He stands in the centre of the room, eyes lingering on the books that fell when Grant’s power tossed me into the bookcase. “Training went wrong?”
“No. His power is incredible.”
For the first time in months, something in Jeremiah’s gaze softens. “He’s scared, Vlad.”
“Of me?”
“No.”
“Of himself.”
“I think that’s some of it.” Jeremiah darts a glance at the door that leads out into the hall. It is unlikely that Grant can hear us at this distance, with the door to his bedroom closed, and that is if he has chosen to listen at all. “Take it easy on him. We’re all looking out for him. You know we’ll all protect him.”
A growl bubbles up in my throat. “He is not yours to protect.”
Jeremiah scoffs. His eyes fall to the scattered books again and he pushes his hands into the pockets of his long coat before he looks at me.
“I can’t tell what you want.”
“It is not—”
“No, Vlad. I mean it. I can’t tell if you want to keep him close or push him as far away as possible.” His eyes spark with anger. “And if I can’t tell, then I promise, Grant can’t either.”
I shake my head. Can Grant read me better than Jeremiah? Surely. And yet, when I turn the idea over in my mind, I shrink back from the realisation that I do not know, either, whether I want him close or far away.
“I’ll call Maurice about the fae,” Jeremiah says. “Sort yourself out, would you?”
He leaves without another word, and I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples. They all wish to keep Grant close. They all say they will protect him—and I am not a fool; I know they will try.
