“Of course,” Vitas nodded.
Reaching over, he laid his hand on mine. “It’s an honest offer, Kimber. Think about it.”
Pursing my lips, I nodded. “Thank you. I will.”
Vitas left the table and walked back to the food service area to pick up a few pieces of bread.
The looming druid behind me didn’t move. He made me nervous as he stood out of my view.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Please, have a seat, Master Dorian.”
“I am not here to make pleasant conversation, girl.”
I hated when he called me ‘girl.’
“Could you at least not stand behind me, master?”
There was a pause, and he moved around to the side where I could see him. He was grim, grimmer than I had seen him yet.
The silence that filled the air was awful. I had no idea how to break it. Or even if I should break it.
“Tomorrow evening, you will come with me.”
Wait. Did he mean…
“There is something you need to know, and you must see it for yourself to believe it. Tomorrow evening. Wear dark riding clothes. And if you have a sword, bring it.”
Blinking a few times, I finally nodded. “Yes, master.”
With a smart turn on his heel, he started to walk away. I was about to let my guard down when he was suddenly next to me again.
Hot breath caressed my ear. “While Master Vitas’s offer is kind, you will not take it. If there is anyone who is going to fuck you and fix this, it will be me.”
While Master Dorian was gone in the next moment, the air still crackled with his sexual threat.
Gods and goddesses, what had I gotten into?
Chapter Sixteen
~ Kimber ~
Standing in my darkest riding outfit, I waited in the empty main dining room.
I had spent the night hoping Elex might show up, but the only thing I received was a note from him, saying he was sorry and the last tremor had opened tremendous possibilities.
I’d been crushed.
But maybe Lunella was right. Maybe Elex wasn’t the one for me.
I fidgeted with the pommel of the sword on my hip. My father’s sword. I had all three of his—the fencing foil, the demonstration rapier, and the fighting sword.
Since I’d moved in, I’d wanted to hang the foil and the rapier. I hadn’t imagined I would be digging out the fighting sword first.
It was beautiful, with black and silver steel swirled on the blade. Folded thousands of times, for millions of layers, the straight blade had been honed to an edge on both sides and polished to a gleam.
The handle was wrapped in supple leather, and a single blood ruby was framed in the pommel at the end. The quillons on the cross guard also had small rubies in them.
From my father, from his father, and from his mother before that, the sword was nearly a thousand years old. Still as strong as the day it came out of the forge. A work of art—art I could kill with.
