Kit stared at the collar in their hands before drawing in a deep breath, exhaling, and then speaking in a clear voice. “I’ve always wanted more from you, and I’ve known that you didn’t really want to give it to me, but I thought maybe with time, you would. But you don’t, so I started looking for a real master. And I know the timing is shitty, and we only talked about this last night, but I’ve been feeling this way for a few weeks now.”
“You’ve already been searching for a real master,” Roger murmured. He put his hand to his lips, then shook his head.
“Yeah.” A serious weight landed on Roger’s shoulders as Kit met his gaze. “Roger … you’ve been planning this dangerous stuff since Taliville, and you didn’t share that with Carver or me. But Zack was in on it. And now Carver’s dead. And I almost died. And you ran off tonight without a freaking word.”
Pushing away the disappointment in himself, Roger gently put his hands on Kit’s shoulders. “I don’t blame you for wanting to leave, and I release you without condition. I’m sorry that I failed you, Kit. If you ever need sanctuary and I can provide it, I will. I promise you that.”
“I appreciate that,” Kit said quietly.
Roger smiled at them with every ounce of genuine warmth he could muster. “One of the bags upstairs is still yours. If you need help bringing it down, ask Vincent.”
“Thanks.”
Candide coaxed Kit toward her with her finger. “Come here, petit renard.”
Kit went back to her, and she took the collar from their hands. Instead of making Kit kneel, she stood and smoothly buckled the collar onto their neck. A flush brightened Kit’s cheeks, and a warm desire rolled out from them. That warmth grew when Candide kissed their cheek.
Roger had never brought that emotion out of them.Never tried to either. I’m an ass for risking their life without being what they needed.
“I’ll be back in a minute, mistress,” Kit said.
“Don’t rush. A wound like yours is still healing, and I need a moment to speak with your old master.”
Kit nodded.
Candide became as motionless as a statue while Kit to walked out of the room. Cold and professional was her default nature, but there was a glint of anger in her eyes.
Roger mimicked her stillness and waited until he heard the click of the door at the top of the stairs. Exhausted, he dropped all pretense of holding himself apart from his emotions and crossed the room to the bar. He found a bottle of rum and two glasses and began to pour. “I swear to God, if you’re going to throw a shit fit about what happened at the party, I will drive a semitruck through the Chateau.”
Candide strode over, each step purposeful and silent. “Oh, you will?”
When she went to take one of the glasses, Roger caught her gaze and said warningly, “Don’t start.”
“It has taken me seven years to host the Winter’s Grand Ball. Do you know how many times I hosted it before that? Three times in over a hundred years. How often were you hosting it before you disappeared?”
“Every five,” Roger muttered.
“Every five years. And how much work did you really put into the event?” Candide asked sharply.
Roger put both hands on the bar. “You used my name to get what you wanted because the asshole misogynistic mages wouldn’t respect you. You benefited. After all, you took my money and built your glorious donor house in my absence.”
“That isn’t the point, Roger.” Candide swiped one of the glasses of rum and clutched it tightly. “One night, you’re promising to become a leader, and weeks later, you’re jeopardizing my long-standing relationship with the fey courts by causing not one but two scenes with our wretched sire. In addition to appeasing the Chicago Court of Shadows, I have Seamus watching my every move!”
She threw the glass at him.
Roger caught it. The force and speed of her throw had sloshed the rum, but most remained in the glass. As a point of pride for catching the damn thing, he drank the remnants. “Finished? Or are we going to have a proper fight?”
“Nathaniel has built a darling, if rustic, establishment.” Candide crossed her arms. “I would rather not ruin such a wonderful place by kicking your ass.”
“I wasn’t going to let Seamus ruin your party by infecting it with his mystical manipulation. I believed showing off that I could inspire more lust than he could exude fear would serve me in the long run,” Roger replied.
“That one, I understood. But you stole his head pet.”
“Vincent relinquished Seamus’s collar of his own free will,” Roger said.
Candide scoffed. “We both know that Seamus’s pets never think to give those things up.”
The rumble of anger surged upward. Roger wasn’t the only one who had been at Seamus’s side for centuries. Candide had been there, too. The realization unlocked all kinds of chests at the bottom of his mental sea, and the emotional contents of each were rushing toward the surface. He couldn’t slam the lot of it back down where it belonged.
