Wounded Kyn could not be trusted to adhere to their practice of not killing humans. If they took too much blood all at once from a donor, a strange psychic reaction, known as thrall and rapture, caused both to lose consciousness. The Kyn fell into thrall, which Burke had described as a sort of state of suspended animation that could last as long as a week. The human donor also slid into an irreversible coma—what the Kyn called rapture—and always died within twenty-four hours.
The average human body held about ten pints of blood, and donors needed six weeks to recover from losing even one pint of that. An army of Kyn wounded in battle could theoretically wipe out an entire village in a single day.
She could explain all that to Jamys, who she was sure would understand. But would it stop him from giving the emeralds to Richard Tremayne? Would he care enough about the safety of the mortal world to sacrifice his chance at becoming a suzerain and having his own country to rule? And what would the council do to her for revealing their intentions to a Kyn?
How do I ask him to choose me over the emeralds? They’re his future; I’m not.
Melloy dropped her off in front of her apartment building, and waited there until she waved to him from the third-floor landing. She’d originally sublet the apartment across from Sam’s, but once her cop neighbor had turned Kyn, she’d offered the place to Chris.
Sam had insisted she was doing her a favor. “The rent’s paid through the end of the year, and by then I might change my mind about living with Lucan.”
Chris hadn’t been as worried as her friend. While the homicide cop and the immortal assassin’s relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, anyone who saw them together felt instant, grinding envy. Chris suspected that alone they’d both been sleepwalking their way through life, definitely too wounded by the past to trust anyone. As a couple they’d woken up and started living again. Before she’d watched Lucan and Sam fall for each other, she’d never thought of love as something that could heal; in her experience it was more like a wrecking ball.
It doesn’t have to be that way with me and Jamys. Chris took out her keys. We could make it work, I know we could. I just have to show him how much he needs me, and what a great tresora I’d be. After I ruin his chances of ruling Ireland, or I disobey the council and destroy my future.
She really needed a third option. And an aspirin.
Once inside her apartment Chris turned to secure the three dead bolts Sam had installed, when she heard a knock, and opened the door to see Jamys standing outside.
It took two tries for her to find her voice. “How did you get here?”
“A cab. I followed your car.” He glanced past her. “May I come in?”
“Why? Sorry. Of course.” She stepped back, and absently dropped her purse on the fussy little antique cherry table she’d bought with her first jardin paycheck. “If you needed me for something, you could have called. I’d have come straight back.” He didn’t say anything. “Okay, well, ah, come on in.”
Chris flipped on a few lights as she led him to the living room. Sam had told her to do whatever she liked with the old furniture, so she’d begun gradually replacing it, donating most of it to Goodwill as soon as she’d bought what she wanted to put in its place. A wonderful old wingback armchair, still clad in faded floral tapestry, took the place of Sam’s recliner. The anonymous department store lamps had been sacrificed for four smaller, porcelain versions with glittering bead-fringed shades. She’d sold Sam’s still serviceable bedroom set to a new neighbor looking for something cheap for his guest room, and splurged on a gorgeous four-poster in black oak and bedding of white satin.
Sam’s battered sleeper sofa had been the last to go, making way for Chris’s most expensive buys: an outrageously curvy, completely indulgent long chaise upholstered with soft rose velvet, and a matching settee. Both held an assortment of small pillows and bolsters covered in satin, silk, organza, and velveteen.
Jamys moved around the room, inspecting the old piano shawls Chris had hung as window treatments and the fancy baker’s rack that held her television and DVD player. “I do not remember it looking like this.”
“Over the years I got rid of Sam’s old stuff and bought new old stuff.” She watched him reach up to touch a gleaming blue crystal star hanging from the curtain rod. She felt a little embarrassed by her ever-growing collection of shaped, colored lead crystals, which she had suspended by fishing line over every window in the place. “When I open the blinds, the sunlight shines through them and makes little rainbows on the walls.” Which made her sound as deep as a six-year-old.