Protector(40)
She didn’t tell Alex that; it wasn’t as if he’d be able to stop Marie, not when she was coming down here at the express request of the McAllister prima. Well, at Connor’s request, probably. Caitlin hadn’t spent a huge amount of time in their shared company, but she could tell that relations between Angela and Marie were a bit strained, no doubt because Marie couldn’t help seeing the daughter she should have had every time she looked at the McAllister prima, if only fate hadn’t intervened. But Marie would never go against the wishes of her primus.
“Have you met Marie?” Caitlin asked.
Alex looked somewhat surprised at the apparent non sequitur. “Um, no. I haven’t been up to McAllister territory since, well….” His eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers as he let the sentence die away.
“Since you went up to find out if you were Angela’s consort.” The thought of Angela kissing Alex in that age-old ritual sent an odd stab of jealousy through Caitlin, which was stupid. It was all just part of the tradition. They hadn’t even known each other. And Angela was ridiculously happy with Connor — anyone with half-decent vision could see that. But Alex? Obviously, he wasn’t married, and as far as Caitlin could tell, it didn’t seem as if he was involved with anyone, either. She sort of doubted he’d have let her sleep in his bed, his role of protector notwithstanding, if he was in a serious relationship with someone else.
“Yeah, since then.” His tone too deliberately casual, he continued, “Anyway, I met Connor once, and that’s about it for the Wilcoxes. I know some of them have started coming to Phoenix to shop and whatever, and a few more are attending ASU, but none of them have made it all the way to Tucson.”
“Until now,” Caitlin said. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. They’d slept in; it was almost nine. Her stomach rumbled, and although she didn’t want to impinge too much, she knew she needed to eat something so they could get on with their day. She really didn’t want to risk Marie showing up while she and Alex were still running around in their equivalent of lounge wear. “Are you one of those breakfast-skipping types? Because I’ll try to scrounge something if you are.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the most important meal of the day.” His dark eyes glinted at her, and it seemed as if some of his good humor had been restored. “I’ve got some frozen breakfast burritos, and there are bananas if you need fruit.”
Normally, she’d have yogurt and fruit, but a burrito sounded nice and sturdy. Caitlin had a feeling she’d need as much ballast as she could eat in order to face Marie Wilcox-Begonie.
* * *
Caitlin was nervous, that much Alex could tell. Obviously, she wasn’t too thrilled about having Marie show up here, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her. After all, she’d been hiding her gift from everyone, and so Marie had been managing seer duties for both clans for the past two years. From the tense, strained look in Caitlin’s eyes, Alex thought she was expecting some kind of dressing-down. He could only hope that Marie wouldn’t do that sort of thing in front of an audience, because he knew he wasn’t about to leave Caitlin alone with the Wilcox seer.
They’d eaten breakfast, and taken their respective showers and finished getting ready. Since breakfast had been so late, they only grabbed some fruit for lunch. Well, Caitlin had; he asked if she wanted a sandwich and she shook her head, so he put together a quickie ham on wheat bread sandwich for himself while she munched on grapes and stared off through the sliding glass doors, expression troubled. Whether she was worrying about what might be happening to her friends at that moment, or stressing about what Marie was going to say to her, Alex didn’t know for sure, and he didn’t dare ask.
At five minutes after one, the doorbell rang. He slid off the stool he’d been sitting on at the breakfast bar and headed toward the front door, Caitlin a pace or two behind him. She’d spent some time on her appearance, that much was obvious — her hair hung in shining waves past her shoulders, and she was wearing darker, nicer jeans and a dark green knit top that hugged her curves without being too revealing. Even so, he’d had to work not to stare at her when she emerged from the guest bathroom earlier that morning. She was just so frigging gorgeous.
When Alex opened the door, he saw two people waiting outside: a severe-looking woman with straight black hair and elegant cheekbones, and a man about the same age, also dark-haired, a ponytail hanging halfway down his back. That must be Andre Begonie, Angela’s father. Unlike his wife, Andre wore a pleasant expression, and smiled at Alex.