Page 31

I flinch at the implication—for some reason, ripping out a spine is scarier than ripping out a throat—and Misha’s head turns toward me. His eyes, so blue I want to believe they’re contacts, lock onto mine, and a smile spreads slowly across his face.

“Well, well. Who’s this little bird? Have you finally found a new feeder, Tristan? He’s not your usual type. Very…” His gaze slides over the parts of me that he can see, and I’m suddenly grateful that the wall exists, both to hide me and to support me. “… grotty.”

“Hey, fuck you,” I snap, the insult shattering my common sense. “I showered this morning.”

“Pierce!” Tristan snarls, not looking my way, and Misha stumbles forward, half turning to glare over his shoulder as Pierce comes out of the dining room.

“Watch yourself, puppy,” he warns, and Pierce’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t reply, striding quickly toward me and blocking me from Misha’s view.

“Get back in there,” he hisses, jerking his head toward the living room, and for once in my life I decide not to argue. If ever there’s a time to do the smart thing, it’s probably now. I push off the wall and turn toward the door, Pierce crowding behind me the whole way but never quite touching me.

As I reach the doorway, Misha calls, “Bye-bye, little bird. See you again soon.”

I falter, and Pierce murmurs, “Ignore him. Move.” He follows me in, looks around, notes Anna is outside, and barks, “Clive!”

The sound of a cupboard slamming closed precedes hurried footsteps, and then Clive appears around the corner from the kitchen. He takes one glance at me, then at Pierce’s face, and blanches.

“Keep him here,” Pierce orders before disappearing back into the corridor and firmly closing the door behind him.

“What did you do?” Clive hisses, hustling toward me and grabbing me by the arm. He drags me further into the room, well away from the door, and then lets me go.

“Nothing,” I say, then wince. “I eavesdropped, that’s all. I didn’t think they’d see me.”

“Who saw you? Pierce?” He wrings his hands together. Either I misjudged Clive and he hates me less than I thought, or I seriously, seriously fucked up.

“And that Misha guy.”

He flinches. Okay, so I might have fucked up.

“What’s the big deal? People are going to find out that Tristan has a feeder. I have to travel with him, and Pierce was talking about formal dinners.” It’s not like they’re planning to keep me locked away from prying eyes.

Clive sucks a deep breath in through his nose, but before he can let loose with whatever verbal barrage he has planned, the glass door to the patio opens, and Anna walks in. She makes it three steps before sensing the tension.

“What happened?” Her eyes flit from Clive to me and back again. “You said you’d try to tolerate him.”

My brain takes a second to realise what that means. “Hey! Tolerate me? I’m better than tolerable!”

They ignore my outburst, Clive jabbing a finger at me as he tells her, “He went out there to eavesdrop and Misha saw him.”

“Fuck,” Anna mutters. She comes toward me. “Are you okay?”

I blink. “I’m fine. I wasn’t anywhere near them.”

“Now do you see why his presence here concerns me?” Clive asks. “He’s a danger to us all.”

That’s not fair. “I haven’t done anything to you, mate,” I snap, planting my hands on my hips. “The only thing I’m a danger to is a decent meal, and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth—likely to say something nasty—but Anna interrupts. “Clive, now’s not the time. Why don’t you get started on lunch or something?”

He doesn’t look happy about it, but he nods and stomps off into the kitchen. I flip the bird at his back, wishing he’d turn around to see it. Then he might actually have something to bitch about.

Anna grabs my arm and tows me over to the half turret, which is as far from the kitchen as we can get without leaving the room. The remains of our coffee break are still there, and it seems weird to think that was just a few minutes ago. It feels like forever.

“Sit,” Anna orders, pushing me into one of the chairs and perching on the coffee table facing me. “What happened? Don’t leave anything out.”

I sigh, but this is starting to get freaky. Everyone is way more unsettled by this than the situation seems to call for. “I heard yelling,” I report, then explain in excruciating detail—her idea, not mine—every step of my thought process between that moment and Pierce chivvying me back inside.

She’s quiet for a moment, then takes a deep breath. That seems to happen a lot around here. “You spoke to Misha.”