Darknight(40)

At first I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. Then I realized he was uncertain, was wondering if some part of me wouldn’t have rather been here in this mansion than in his apartment, which, while very nice, was an order of magnitude removed from this place. “Goddess, no!” I replied with such vehemence that he startled a bit. “I would rather be stuck in a drafty single-wide with you than be here with your brother.”

“Well,” he said, sending me a relieved grin, “I wouldn’t exactly call my apartment a single-wide.”

“No, of course not. I love your apartment. It’s cozy and warm, and just right. Besides,” I added, recalling the open countryside we’d just driven through, “I have a feeling you’d have to go a lot farther to get some decent tapas in this place.”

He actually laughed at that. “You’re right. I can’t guarantee you tapas today, but we usually put on a pretty good spread. So let’s go. I’m hungry…we used up all that breakfast.”

That we did. I’d actually begun to feel a bit peckish right before we left the apartment, although now my appetite seemed to have taken a back seat to nerves. “Okay,” I said reluctantly. I’d agreed to this, so sitting in the car and not moving at this point was a little silly. The time for protests was long past.

I wrapped my fingers around the door handle, opened it, and got out. The biting air was all around me, although a little more bearable now, since the sun had been up for hours, and the temperature had warmed a bit. Most of the snow had already melted off the tree branches, although it was still thick on the ground.

Connor paused at the hatch to the Cruiser’s cargo compartment and got out the two bottles of wine we were contributing to the potluck. His cousin Marie, whoever she was, had supposedly already brought up the tamales I’d made, but at least this way we weren’t walking in empty-handed. Then he came up to me and took my hand with his free one.

“Ready?”

I nodded. No, I wasn’t ready — talk about walking into the lion’s den — but I certainly couldn’t back out now.

He squeezed my fingers. “It’ll be fine. Like I said, we don’t bite…much.”

Even in the freezing air, I could feel my cheeks flush. I’d done my best to arrange my hair so it covered some of the more obvious bite marks on my neck, but they were still there. The little supply of makeup I’d been given hadn’t included foundation or cover-up; I didn’t know if that was a vote of confidence for the quality of my complexion, or that whoever had been buying the stuff didn’t trust themselves to get me a correct match. Either way, I’d been pretty limited in what I could do to make it look as if Connor and I hadn’t spent the last eighteen hours jumping one another’s bones.

I’d asked him if he could do anything about it, just a little camouflage spell or something, but he’d shaken his head. “No, I can only alter my own appearance. I can’t do anything about those.” And he’d reached out to brush his fingers against the smudged-looking bruises on the side of my neck.

Just that light touch was enough to ignite the fire within me once more, but somehow I’d managed to push it away. I certainly didn’t have time for another shower at that point, and I was already nervous enough about facing the Wilcox clan without walking into Damon Wilcox’s house reeking of sex.

Now I saw that someone had swept the snow off the walk leading to that house, so the footing wasn’t as treacherous as I’d feared. I still clung to Connor’s hand, just to be safe. Or maybe that was just me trying to get whatever reassurance I could.

The oversized door had an equally oversized pine wreath, complete with red bow, hanging from it. I wondered if Damon himself had put it there, or whether one of his relatives had hung it to give the place a more festive look. Somehow I just couldn’t imagine Damon Wilcox being the cheery holiday-decorating type. Then again, I never could have imagined him hosting a potluck, either.

Connor opened the door and led me in. I suppose he didn’t see the need to knock, as it was his brother’s house. Or maybe it was locked against anyone who wasn’t a Wilcox. All I knew was that I didn’t intend to touch the door handle to find out. Those magical shocks were strong enough that I’d still be able to feel them even through my gloves.

When we entered the place, my first impression was of sound and light — people talking and laughing, pale winter sunlight shining through the pine trees that surrounded the house and slanting through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows in the room opposite the entry, windows that surrounded an equally enormous stone fireplace. Logs crackled and snapped within. I pulled in a breath and wished I knew a good invisibility spell. Or one for teleportation. That would do just fine, too.