“Well, I did have to turn down all my other invitations, but they’ll get over it,” I said when I had found my voice again.
His smile faltered. “Oh, I did not mean to make you cancel your plans for me.”
“Desmund, I’m kidding. If you hadn’t invited me to dinner, I would have come to see you tonight anyway. You owe me a checkers rematch, remember?”
I knew I’d said exactly the right thing when his mouth curved smugly and a gleam entered his dark eyes. “Indeed I do. Let us enjoy the meal the kitchen prepared for us, and then we shall have our rematch.”
He pulled out a chair for me, insisting that I sit while he served us since he was the host. He seemed to be enjoying himself so I obliged him even though I felt a little silly being catered to. I started to say he shouldn’t have gone through any trouble for me, but then I realized that he must have all his meals brought to him since he did not venture downstairs. I guessed that Tristan visited him sometimes, but still it had to be lonely eating alone up here most of the time.
“Here we are.” He laid a plate of lamb chops, rosemary potatoes, and vinaigrette salad in front of me then sat across from me with his own meal. It was a lot fancier than the food I normally ate, but I had a feeling it was standard fare for Desmund.
“Wine?” He held up a bottle of red wine, and I politely declined. “How are lessons with your new trainer?” he asked as he cut into his lamb chops.
“Better than I expected. I used my Mori strength to pick up a forty-pound weight with one hand this morning. I’ve never been able to do anything like that.” Desmund didn’t know anything about my Fae heritage, so I couldn’t tell him about the rest of my training.
“So working with Nikolas is not as bad as you had feared?”
“I guess not,” I admitted reluctantly. “He is helping me, even if I do still feel like clobbering him half the time.”
He laughed, and I was struck again by how different he seemed, relaxed and confident. I wished I could tell him about my incredible afternoon at the lake, but I still didn’t know him well enough to trust him with such a secret.
“Desmund, the last time I was here, you mentioned that you and Nikolas go way back and I got the impression you don’t like each other. Can I ask why?”
His expression became shuttered and I thought he was not going to answer. Then the ghost of a smile settled on his face. “Nikolas is one of the greatest warriors of this age, but there was a time when I held that distinction. I led hundreds of missions across Europe, and my kill rate was unmatched by anyone.
“I was leading a team to deal with a vampire problem in Glasgow when we encountered another team led by this upstart young Russian warrior, barely out of training. I told him we had the situation under control and he could turn around and go home, but young Nikolas did not take kindly to my words.” Desmund’s smile turned into a smirk. “Perhaps I said something about him not being old enough to leave his mother’s teat. Needless to say, we did not sit down to a drink together after the job was done.”
In the short time I had known Desmund I had already formed a picture of the arrogant and sardonic man he had been before the Hale witch attack. I could only just imagine the fireworks when he and Nikolas had butted heads, having had some firsthand experience with Nikolas.
“You two never got along because of that?”
Desmund chuckled. “Oh, that was nothing. We had a few other clashes over the next few years that were even better. It actually got quite boring over there when he decided to travel to America.”
I shook my head. “Somehow I doubt it ever got boring where you were.”
“True,” he replied with a cocky shrug. He took a sip of wine, and we ate quietly for a minute before he said he had heard about the excitement downstairs yesterday. After that I had to describe the whole kark incident in detail for him.
“I found out last night that I have a cousin here. Do you know Chris . . . Christian . . . um . . . shoot, I don’t even know his last name.”
“It is Kent, same as Tristan,” he supplied.
“I thought Tristan’s last name was Croix – like Madeline’s.”
Desmund scowled lightly. “Ah, Madeline. Never cared much for that one. I cannot conceive how a good man like Tristan could have sired a child as selfish and troublesome as her. Croix was her mother’s maiden name, and Madeline took it when she left here.”
“She hurt Tristan a lot when she left.” It was not a question; I saw flashes of hurt in Tristan’s eyes every time he mentioned her.
“Madeline was a fine warrior, but she thought that having Tristan as a father meant she was entitled to certain privileges and that she was above following the rules set down for everyone else. Tristan finally set her straight, and she ran off rather than change her ways. Too much like Elena, that one.”