“How often would something like that happen?”
He shrugged. “Not often, but it is a situation that has arisen before. Someone might be alone and require a dancing partner.”
The spark in her eyes faded, to be replaced with a clear look of dread. “I suppose I should be prepared.”
“Tess, you are good for my soul,” he said. He gave her a completely serious look. “If I ever feel that I am suffering from an overabundance of pride, I shall look for you immediately so you can trample all over it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, dismayed. Then she quickly tried to change course. “Or maybe I mean, you’re welcome?”
He almost burst out laughing, and considering that he had come to mirth when he had started out in anger, this conversation had ended up having a great deal of merit after all. “On that note, I believe we’re done for tonight. Please see Raoul on your way out, so that he can draw blood.”
She rose to her feet, but didn’t leave immediately. When he glanced up, she looked at him steadily. “Thank you again, for taking a chance on me,” she said. “I promise, you won’t regret it.”
Oh querida, he thought. I already regret it.
But he would not say so and crush such sincerity, so instead he smiled and nodded. He watched as she left, easing the door closed behind her.
Alone at last, he poured another glass of bloodwine, but the drink had lost its savor, so he set it aside and lost himself in the soothing contemplation of the fire, and tried to let the silence wash away the strain of the last six weeks.
It wouldn’t leave so quickly or easily. Scraps of memory from the last several weeks kept playing through his mind. The pressure on Julian right now was extreme, and therefore so, too, was the pressure on him.
There was nothing else he could do but hold steady in the storm. He sent out his people to gather as much information as he could, while his gut told him that they stood on the brink of some event.
The tension within the demesne was too high. Something must occur to release it, some event that destroyed the peace. Someone’s temper would flare. Loyalties that were already tenuous would snap.
The two likeliest candidates for trouble were Justine and Darius. If they weren’t the actual instigators, still, either one would be quick to try to seize power at the slightest provocation.
Both were very old Vampyres, much older than he. While Justine had come from Britannia, Darius had been turned only a few hundred years after Julian, during the decline of the Roman Empire.
Like all Vampyres, they retained the core identities they’d had while they were human. Darius had always been overly fond of the gladiator arena, and Justine’s beautiful face hid a vicious wolverine.
Neither of them had ever truly embraced the idea of the Nightkind demesne. They had no interest in protecting or preserving areas for other creatures of the night, or banding together to create a cohesive political unit. They certainly had no interest in any idea or cause that was greater than themselves.
They were wholly self-involved, quick to violence and eager for self-gain. He would have long since killed them both, if he could have gotten away with it.
He tapped his fingers on the leather-covered arm of his chair. Perhaps the opportunity to do so would still come. He could hope.
A quiet tap at the door interrupted his increasingly dark thoughts. He said, “Come in, Raoul.”
The other man entered, carrying a crystal goblet. The rich, heady scent of blood filled his nostrils as Raoul crossed the room.
Tess’s blood.
Out of nowhere, ravenous desire struck, and his fangs descended. He clenched against it, watching as Raoul approached to offer the fresh blood to him.
For a moment he didn’t trust himself to take it. Then he forced his hands out and very carefully received the goblet with its precious contents. It was warm from her body heat.
“How did she do?” he asked.
“Perfectly well,” Raoul said. “Her issue isn’t with giving blood; it’s with you taking it. She said it was all quite straightforward and clinical, like giving blood at the Red Cross.”
“Thank you,” he managed to say. When the other man made as if to linger, Xavier told him, “Good night.”
Hesitating only for a moment, Raoul inclined his head. “Good night.”
As Xavier waited for Raoul to exit the room and leave him in privacy, his hands started to shake. Bloody hell.
He was not an animal. He was not.
He was a thinking and feeling, rational and ethical creature. He would not be ruled by this storm of feeling, whatever it was. Moving with care, he set aside the goblet and gripped the arms of his chair.
A direct blood offering was a powerful act. Drinking from the vein was intoxicating for the Vampyre, and those who offered up their blood were always in such a vulnerable position. Prone to euphoria and quick to lose control, they ran the risk of offering up everything to the one who drank from them, and some unscrupulous Vampyres did not resist.