Something like irritation moved through his eyes, there and quickly gone. “You’ve ignored me for a week straight, Caleb. I thought it was more of the same.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My face heated. “I guess you have a point.”
His gaze went to the older painting, and I looked at it over my shoulder.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Jesse was silent. When I turned back to him, he stared at the painting for another beat before focusing on me.
“It’s a long story,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you’re willing to listen.” He glanced around the sun-drenched gallery. “But I’d rather not do it here.”
He’d lost weight. Not much, but enough to make his cheekbones sharper. Faint hollows marked the skin under his eyes.
Something within me loosened.
“And you’ll tell me the truth?” The question came out before I’d decided to ask it.
A determined glint appeared in his eyes. “That’s the only thing I’ll tell you from now on,” he said. “I vow it.”
Coming from anyone else, the old-fashioned words would have sounded silly. But not from him. On his lips, they sounded right.
I probably shouldn’t have believed him. Believing Jesse van der Meer was a bad habit I needed to break.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
JESSE
Iled Caleb to the salon.
He cast an assessing look around the room as he settled on one of the sofas. “This is a lot more modern than the rest of the house.”
“I renovated it when I first bought the place,” I said, taking the chair angled toward him. “I don’t spend much time here.”
“Too busy hunting rogues?” he asked, blue eyes steady.
The barb landed exactly as he’d intended, and I drew a deep breath. “I deserved that. But as I’ve already told you, I didn’t choose to become what I am.”
He swept his eyes over the bright walls and heavy ceiling beams before giving me another pointed look. “Is this Philippe’s house?”
“No.” Just the thought of it tightened my chest. “I can’t return to any of his properties without attracting attention.” I ran a hand through my hair, buying myself time. Upstairs, I’d vowed to speak only the truth, and I’d meant it. But sitting across from him with my whole ugly history weighing me down, I wasn’t sure where to begin.
“Everything I told you about my origins is true,” I said finally. “Philippe was my sire. He found me dying on a battlefield inFrance, and he turned me to save my life. He wasn’t supposed to. Siring new wolves requires permission from the Council of Elders. But Philippe had always operated by his own rules, and the Council wanted wolfseekers badly enough to let him.”
Caleb listened, his forearms on his thighs and his hands loose between his knees. Afternoon sunlight turned him even more golden than usual. Every part of me ached to touch him.
“Wolfseekers are rare,” I continued. “We track rogues. We help new werewolves learn control. We help old wolves get it back. There are only four of us left in the world right now.”
Surprise flared in Caleb’s eyes, but he didn’t speak.
“We were all turned by Philippe,” I added.
Caleb sat up. “All of you?”
“Yes.” It was a story I could go the rest of my life without repeating. But I owed it to Caleb to tell him the truth.
