He wasn’t ready for this. He knew this to be true. But the treaty left him no choice.
Cinaed parked the car in the common garage, the one that lay cloaked off a small winding dirt road leading up to the keep. His frown echoed the tension rippling through Lucian’s body.
“You look as though a demon is walking over your grave,” Cinaed said quietly to him as he held the door of the limo. Arabella was striding with angry paces ahead of them to the elevator.
“Well, the grave is certainly on my mind.” Lucian grimaced as Arabella kept her back turned to them. She was waiting for the elevator, arms crossed.
“My liege.” The look of concern on his friend’s face was a mirror of his brother’s earlier, only more kind. Cinaed was relatively new to the House of Smoke, having come with his own baggage and troubles not long before the move from France, but he had been Lucian’s steadfast friend throughout everything that counted in his life.
He clapped a hand on Cinaed’s shoulder. “Worry not, my friend. Save it for someone who deserves it.”
“Lucian—”
“And tell the House I’m not to be disturbed.” He scowled to keep any more questioning at bay and left Cinaed cursing softly in his ancient tongue, the one he was born into before he fought for his freedom from the House of Fyre and swore fealty to the House of Smoke.
Lucian activated the lift when he arrived and gestured for Arabella to enter first. The car went straight to his lair, private access to his individual apartment within the sprawling expanse of the House. The ride was tense and quiet, with Arabella keeping to the back corner of the small space, bracing against the brass rail that ran along the center.
He needed to start thawing this arctic breeze—the sooner, the better, now that they were alone. “Were you able to catch up on your work?”
“Some.” She watched the crack of the door like it held her release, not her imprisonment.
“I imagine those you help are grateful for it.”
No response.
“Do they tell you as much? Or do you see the change in their lives and simply know?”
Her eyes flashed—flitting a hot look to him—then she returned her hard stare to the door, waiting. “I know all I need to.”
It was more words, all in a row, than he’d gotten in the last two hours.
The motion of the elevator ceased, and the doors slid open. She broke for the exit like she was escaping a dungeon. He hurried to follow her into his lair. It was as if she were running away from him, but to where, he couldn’t imagine. Was she planning to hide in the guest room?
“How do you know?” he tried, trailing behind her determined strides through the front hall. “It is because you’ve been in that same position—”
She whirled on him just before she turned the corner to the great room, and he had to check his stride lest he barrel right into her. Her finger jabbed the air near his face. “You do not get to ask me personal questions. Do you understand? That is not part of this deal.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“And speaking of our deal, what the hell was wrong with Sandra?” Her arms locked across her chest, anger flushing her cheeks. “How can you even know who she is after fucking her one time? Was it really that bad?”
He grimaced. Here it came. “No. Or rather… I wouldn’t know.”
Her face scrunched up, those green eyes dazzling in their rage. The red in her cheeks highlighted the freckles that floated just below the creaminess of her skin. That he found her alluring in the full flower of her anger… it was a danger sign he should be heeding.
“What does that even mean?” she demanded.
He stepped closer and softened his voice. It felt as dangerous as tiptoeing at the edge of a cliff. “I didn’t bed the woman.”
“What?” The heat in her eyes flared to dangerous levels. She unlocked her arms and flung them out in exasperation, her fingertips nearly reaching him. “First, you reject one candidate after another, all because they don’t have green eyes, for whatever fucking stupid reason. Then you refuse to even meet with the first two who managed to get your approval. And then you don’t even go through with the hookup? Are you even trying with this?”
“I am,” he said, barely breathing the words. “Very hard.”
“The hell you are!” She turned away from him, and he reached to stop her from fleeing—
The rest happened in a blur. She spun on him and hit him, a soft hand bunched and plowed into his shoulder, nudging him back simply with the surprise of it. Then she grappled with him, moving in to plant her body to throw him over her hip, some kind of close-quarters fighting move that reminded him of her actions in the alleyway. Only she hadn’t reckoned on his size—he was a mountain compared to her. The attempt only brought her angry, teeth-gritted face close to his, the warmth of her breath brushing his face.