“Now, wait a minute,” Magda said. I stopped digging through my suitcase for something that wouldn’t leave me looking like a rumpled tourist, and went to my own door. “You guys agreed that we could come with Pia. I was there when she talked to you, remember? You said that it would be fine if we accompanied her.”
“To Vienna,” Julian said, glancing over at me. “The council agreed to the Zorya’s terms because they had no other option, but only she will be permitted in their presence.”
Magda looked at me. “What do you think? We can leave if you’re not comfortable with the idea of bearding the lions by yourself.”
“The Zorya already agreed-” Julian started to protest.
I raised a hand to stop him. “I’ll be OK by myself.”
“You sure you don’t want someone with you when you tell them you want . . . you know.” She cast a glance toward Julian.
He raised his eyebrows at her.
“I don’t think you can help me there, but thank you,” I answered.
“All right, but I’m willing to make a fuss if you need me.” Magda’s face, normally filled with sunny good humor, was clouded with worry.
I gave her a little smile. “I’m still technically a Zorya. I think Christian knows the sort of power I can wield if anyone gets out of line.”
Julian took an involuntary step backward.
“You have a point,” Magda agreed, watching him. “All right, but if you need us, just yell.”
It didn’t take me long to get cleaned up and presentable. I spent a few minutes shaking out my clothes, trying to decide between a pair of linen harem pants that were flattering to my figure, or a gauzy peach sundress with a matching shrug, eventually going with the latter. Although I knew the vamps would not have forgotten the fateful evening in Iceland-or, more to the point, my role in it-I figured it couldn’t hurt to emphasize the fact that I was a woman.
“If men insist on being chauvinists,” I muttered to myself as I slipped on the thin shrug and tied it beneath my breasts, adjusting so it exposed a smidgen more cleavage, “then they can’t complain when it’s used against them.”
Julian was waiting outside my door when I emerged. He said nothing, just gestured toward the stairs. I caught him wrinkling his nose, though, as I passed.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, pausing on the landing.
“No. Why do you ask?” He looked surprised at my question.
“You made a face when I walked by you. I’m sorry if you don’t like my perfume. I didn’t use much of it because I know some people are sensitive, but I hate going out without a little dab of something.”
An oddly embarrassed look flitted across his face as he gestured again toward the stairs. “It’s not that. It’s . . . er . . . you are a Beloved.”
“Technically, yes.”
“Has no one told you what that means?” he asked, marching down the stairs beside me.
I met the frankly curious glance he slid my way. “Not really, other than the fact that I evidently gave Kristoff back his soul or something along those lines.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he said slowly. I continued down the stairs, grateful we were going down, not up, so I wouldn’t arrive before the all-important council sweaty and out of breath. “Once Joined, a Dark One can’t exist without his Beloved.”
“I hate to doubt you, since you must know your people much better than I do, but I’m pretty much a contradiction to that statement. I haven’t seen Kristoff since the night he got his soul back. So obviously Dark Ones can get along just fine without their womenfolk.”
He didn’t look surprised, just gave a little shake of his head. “You will judge for yourself how well Kristoff has been without you.”
I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at him, a sudden stab of fear piercing my heart. “Is something wrong with him? Is he sick?”
Julian just waved toward a hallway. We were on the second floor, at one end of a long hallway that ran the length of the house. “As a Beloved, you must know the mental, physical, and emotional state of the one mated to you.”
I laughed a grim little laugh. Julian’s prim, chiding manner somewhat reassured me that nothing serious was wrong with Kristoff. Surely if he had been injured, someone would have told me? “June Cleaver I’m not. Besides, communication is a two-way street, and thus far Kristoff has refused to venture down that particular avenue.”