Zach was so much older. So powerful. He had no doubt seen and done things she couldn’t even imagine. Why would her touch make his pulse race?
Fatigue and weakness must surely be the cause.
“Have you eaten?” she asked him, trying hard to sound nonchalant.
“No.”
She glanced down at her bloody clothing, stiff and crusty in places where the wind had dried it on her way home. “Give me a minute, then I’ll fix us both something tasty.”
His fingers tightened around hers momentarily. Then, releasing her hand, he nodded.
“Make yourself at home.” Dashing downstairs, she entered her bedroom, tugged off her clothes, then slipped into the shower. Hot water sluiced down over her, rinsing the blood from her body. As steam rose around her, she tugged the tie from the end of her braid and unwound it.
She heard no movement above. Was Zach so quiet that even her sensitive ears couldn’t detect him?
Hell, for all she knew, he could be in her bedroom right now, peeking into the bathroom.
Spinning around, she rubbed the foggy condensation from the shower door and peered through the glass.
No tall, dark form blocked the doorway.
Grabbing the soap and washcloth, she gave her body a quick scrubbing.
Seconds later, the hot water rinsed the frothy lather from her skin and left her clean once more. A quick towel dry, followed by a frustrating competition between her comb and the tangles in her long, wet hair, and Lisette found herself standing before her open wardrobe, vacillating over what she should wear.
Something pretty? Or the usual combat-ready clothing?
Sighing, she chose the latter. She was already feeling oddly unsure of herself. Why wear something that might not inspire the response she wanted and would make things worse?
She refused to contemplate exactly what response she was hoping for and donned clean hunting togs. Black pants that rode low on her hips. A black T-shirt. She even added the socks and boots.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she shook her head. As a mortal and the daughter of a French aristocrat, she had worn corsets and layer upon layer of clothing, had stuffed her feet into fashionable shoes that had pinched and mangled her toes, had spent hours styling her hair since she had lacked the easy-to-use styling products available today, and more. It had been miserable. It had been ridiculously time-consuming. And she had looked lovely.
Now this. Most nights she didn’t mind dressing like a man, which was what wearing pants had been considered in those days. It was a hell of a lot more comfortable and far less trouble. But every once in a while, she missed feeling pretty and feminine.
Turning away from her reflection, she left the bedroom.
Upstairs she found Zach in the same place she had left him. While only a few minutes had passed, she had nevertheless expected him to at least seat himself in the living room.
“When I said make yourself at home,” she said, striding toward him, “I meant for you to have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable.”
He glanced at the living room. “Oh.”
She waited for more.
Nothing came.
He reminded her a bit of Roland in that moment. Maybe he was antisocial, too. Or, for whatever reason, simply wasn’t comfortable in social situations. He wouldn’t be the first shy immortal she had met. Alleck, the German immortal who visited the network periodically at Seth’s request to compare notes with Melanie, was about as shy as they came, and he was hundreds of years old. “Do you have a taste for anything in particular?” she asked as she headed into the large kitchen. She had a feeling if she hadn’t asked the question, he would have continued to stand near the front door.
Slowly, he followed. “No.”
She paused, fingers curled around the refrigerator door handle. “Do you need blood? I’m sorry I didn’t think to ask earlier.”
“No, thank you.” He frowned. “Did you give me blood while I was unconscious?”
“No. Should I have?” she asked, unable to abandon the suspicion that he wasn’t an immortal. Not like her and the rest of the Immortal Guardians anyway.
“No.” He had the most deliciously smooth, deep voice. “I’m an elder. I don’t need blood to heal.”
Which told her nothing. Seth didn’t need blood to heal either. She tried to recall if she had ever seen David infuse himself with blood and couldn’t.
Opening the door, she considered the packed-from-top-to-bottom refrigerator’s contents. (Tracy always kept it full enough to feed at least half a dozen.) Her brothers were big men, but weren’t big meat eaters. Étienne had once complained that he could eat a whole cow and still be hungry afterward. So they preferred vegetables and fruits that were more filling. Lisette was a carbohydrate fiend. She simply could not get enough pastas, breads, potatoes, etcetera. And fighting vampires burned a lot of energy.