Black Dalliances (A Blushing Death Novel) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page A

“I truly hope we meet again.”
    He stepped out, and Alex closed the door behind her.
    “Who wa . . .?” I asked, but Patrick raised his hand to stop me with a quick flick of his wrist. My teeth clicked as I shut my trap. In complete and utter silence I stood, waiting for Patrick to move, to meet my gaze. Anything.
    Patrick’s jaw hardened and his shoulders went rigid as he forced them back. His obsidian gaze fell on me hard like a stone through a plate-glass window. My blood raced through my veins as my instincts heightened and I suddenly felt very much like prey.
    “Did you need something?” Patrick’s tone was sharp, unfeeling, and cold.
    “I wanted to see you. To talk. But I can see you had company,” I said, hoping he’d tell me what was going on. At least, I didn’t want him to turn me away.
    Placing his hands flat on the desk in front of him, he lowered himself down into his chair. Tight, strained muscles bunched and rippled beneath his dress shirt with the controlled movement. The itch to grab my gun was too much to bear. But I was with Patrick. I wasn’t in danger here . . . right?
    “We have nothing to talk about.” He folded his hands on the desk, intertwining his fingers together as he glared up at me.
    “Nothing? You told that man I wasn’t here.”
    “And you weren’t.”
    “I could have been,” I almost shouted, finally frustrated.
    “I didn’t want you here,” he ground out in a growl so low, I barely heard him. But I understood the rage lacing the sound of it all too well.
    “Why?”
    “You have proven to be untrustworthy!” he shouted, and I flinched at the hatred roiling in the pit of my stomach that didn’t belong to me. Even if I hadn’t been able to feel his emotions, I would have seen the fire of it burning in his dark gaze, stiff in his tight posture, and the snarl curling his lips.
    “Patrick?” I whispered, taking an unsteady step forward.
    “Now,” he bit out, his voice deep and husky as he slammed his hands down on the surface of the desk. The deep mahogany wood cracked beneath his strength, and I stepped back. “If you will excuse me, I have to see to my guest and this colony.”
    “Patrick, please.”
    “Get out,” he snapped, his voice sharp.
    My stomach twisted in my gut and my mouth went dry.
    As he turned his gaze down to the contracts on his desk, ignoring my presence entirely, I backed out. One slow step after another until I was standing in the foyer with what seemed like the space of the world between us. Pulling the door shut and putting just one more barrier between us, a single hot tear cascaded down my cheek. I held my breath and the sob I knew would follow. I couldn’t give him any indication that he’d hurt me. I didn’t know why, but the thought of Patrick knowing I cried over his dismissal rankled.
    But in the back of my mind, the Eithina in me whimpered, knowing he wouldn’t care anyway.

Chapter 5
    Faerie, The Outer Realm; Date, Unknown
    The fire burned an unnatural blue in the frozen wasteland of the Outer Realm. Milagra huddled near it, wrapped in a heavy cloak lined in rabbit fur. The fire gave her superficial warmth but the frigid chill of the wintry wind still seemed to swirl around her from every direction, sinking deep into her bones.
    Saeran, dressed in a heavy tunic of burgundy wool, black leather buck-skin pants, and a heavy green wool cloak draped elegantly across his shoulders, didn’t seem cold at all—not a shiver or a chatter of teeth. He didn’t need the fire to keep his blood warm, he had magic for that. No. The fire was for her.
    “Shift, darling, it will keep you warm,” Saeran pleaded, handing her a bowl of stew.
    Concern dripped from his voice, making Milagra cringe for being so stupid, for causing him concern, for needing to shift when she didn’t want to be the creature that had caused everyone so much pain.
    “N-N-N-No.” Her teeth chattered in her head as she spoke. “I c-c-c-can t-t-t-take it,” Milagra