Chapter Thirteen
Idreamt of her that morning and every one after.
Countless times I found myself in the Souzterain, wandering the stalls and hoping I might catch a glimpse of her, but I never did. And though I knew I could call on her, there had been such a wild look in her eye as she’d fled the music room, I feared the consequences of such a reckless action.
That did not stop me, however, from dreaming of her. Dreaming of her lips, her skin, the way she fit in my arms. The sound of her voice, the scent of her arousal blossoming like a flower in the sun.
And now here I was, at the home of an immortal I would have rather buried myself alive than visit, because I hoped I would catch a glimpse of Mademoiselle Valois. Jules had not answered any of my correspondence about whether or not they would all be in attendance.
From the moment I’d landed on the drive of Lord Montag’s home, I’d been inundated with the buzz of the lord’s excitement. The house was set on the northwest province of Oylen, similar to my own, and nestled against the deep forests connected to the ones in which my maker slept. Though his house was smaller than many a lord’s of his rank, what Lord Montag lacked in size he made up for in lavishness. Every partof his estate swarmed with sculpted hedges and tinkling fountains. The inside of his home was so crammed with art and textiles it made my head hurt.
“It is such an honor, I cannot believe you are here,” he babbled at my side, adjusting the diamond in his cravat. “You, of course, will have first entry if you would like it.”
I waved away his words. “No, no. That is not necessary. You are host and it is your right.”
Lord Montag stopped before the double doors to what I assumed was a parlor or perhaps a conservatory that led into the garden and forest beyond. The scent of the outdoors slipped through the crack along with the rumble of voices on the other side.
“Forgive me, sire”—I fought a cringe at the intimate address—“but I’m afraid I must ask for one concession tonight.”
I dipped my chin. “Of course.”
“Mademoiselle Valois is here to be my prey.”
A stone dropped into my stomach. I forced the mask of indifference I’d seen so often on Callum’s face to cover my own. Lord Montag paused for a moment, waiting as if I might have had something to say, before he cleared his throat.
“She is the only one off limits. I have secured another giver of similar looks and beauty, if you wish to claim her instead.”
My fingers itched to wrap around his throat. His assumption my desire for Adrienne came merely from her looks made my teeth grind together. When I did not respond, his voice picked up speed.
“Of course, I have told the others the same and given them an opportunity to learn her scent so they may steer clear. It is only that I know of your long-standing relationship with the Searahs and that you and Mademoiselle are on friendly terms. I wished to speak with you privately to give you the respect you are due.”
Friendly terms.The memory of her lips brushing mine flashed in my mind, coupled with the maddening scent of her arousal.
A sheen of blood sweat broke out across his brow and snippets of fear trickled from his mind, tangled with the memories he had of the mademoiselle and me. He’d caught sight of us dancing, my head inclined to speak with her, before Mateo had ushered him away. Another flash of our conversation in Kysoi at my dinner table. Jealousy twisted through the memories, a covetous bitterness washing across my tongue with each image.
But this was his home and therefore his rules. It was important I abide by such laws. So I dipped my chin again. “As you wish, Lord Montag.”
He bowed low, his sigh of relief bouncing off the stones. “Thank you, sire.”
I swallowed the acid threatening to creep up my throat as he stood and opened the double doors. A quick scan told me no humans were in this room—something the scent alone hinted. Instead, it was filled with ten or so immortals, speaking in excited tones around a roaring hearth and staring out onto the wide veranda spilling out into the forest.
Mateo’s laugh was audible above the din, mixing with Henry’s. They looked up as I entered, the former’s smile falling for a moment into something contemplative while the latter beamed brighter.
“Uncle!” Henry cried, taking quick strides across the room until he was close enough for me to embrace. “I did not expect to see you here.”
I pressed my lips to his brow as he pulled back. “Nor I you.”
“Uncle,” Mateo greeted, and I leaned forward to brush my lips across his brow as well, followed by the press of my thumb. The small ritual was common place within our society,indicating to the others that these males were members of my household and under my protection, regardless of who their maker might be.
All conversation died upon sight of me. Lord Montag, however, stepped around us, arms spread wide. “Come, let us make our way into the garden.”
We waited until he stepped onto the veranda first and all held back until I was next, the rest following in an approximation of rank order. These sorts of displays made my skin itch—the idea that I must be the first to exit after the host because of my age or status was ridiculous.
He told you?Mateo sent telepathically.
I hummed.
And will you listen?
