Fated by Sarah Fine Page A

with him. He took her in, including her hands and slender fingers, and saw no weapons. He looked around, wondering where she might have stashed the Blade.
    “I was intrigued,” he said, adopting a casual tone. “Not everyone gets an invitation to the Charon’s home.”
    She glanced at her surroundings as if wondering what he might notice. It was as tidy as a pin, and he would have expected no less. The decor was elegant and modern but not frilly or fanciful: simple cream-colored couches and chairs, cushions that provided hints of color, paintings and knickknacks that spoke of her years dealing with business partners all over the world. Everything flowed, streamlined and organized but still beautiful, like Aislin herself. “I didn’t really feel safe at Psychopomps,” she said quietly.
    His eyes snapped back to her as she closed the door. Her hands were trembling, just the slightest bit, but he felt the unsteadiness in his gut. “What happened?”
    She turned to him. “Rylan assaulted my guards and appeared in my office.” She folded her arms, looking so vulnerable that Moros had the sudden urge to move close and shield her from the specter of her brother.
    Which might be exactly what she wanted—it would be an excellent opportunity to slide a blade between his ribs. He stayed where he was. “Did he hurt you?”
    She shook her head, but he could tell she was lying. And he couldn’t stop himself from indulging in a momentary fantasy of tearing Rylan Ferry’s head from his neck. The former Charon had caused Moros so much irritation over the years, intruding on his meetings with Patrick Ferry, constantly complaining about the Kere, suggesting a new rule every week to “manage” the Kere’s money. He’d never liked Rylan. But now?
    Now he craved the man’s blood on his hands.
    Still, that didn’t mean he could trust Aislin. “So it was a social call,” Moros said, making sure to sound indifferent. Unconcerned.
    Her eyes met his, and he read the pain there. “He wants me to join him.”
    “Not surprising at all, my dear. Did you call me here to renege on our agreement?” He’d actually dared to hope Aislin would be steadfast in her commitment to fate. And to him.
    “No,” she said, straightening and letting her hands fall to her sides. “I invited you here to cement our alliance.”
    He gave her a close-lipped smile. “Haven’t we already done that?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. We might have shaken hands, but you’re still keeping secrets. I know you don’t trust me.”
    “I don’t trust anyone,” he admitted. “To do so would be rather naive, don’t you think?”
    To his surprise, she nodded instead of arguing. Then again, Aislin was one of the few beings able to surprise him.
    She was staring at him, those ice-blue eyes riveted on his face. “How can we work together if I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish?” she asked, taking a step closer to him. He let her come, but had to restrain the urge to strip off his gloves. She tilted her head as she noted his tension. “You look like you think I’m going to attack you, Jason.”
    He smiled. “You’re the only one apart from my sisters who calls me that.” And even with them, it was rare.
    “Isn’t it your name?”
    It was the name he’d chosen as he’d joined the modern world, not the one he’d been born with. “Perhaps, but others prefer to use the name of myth, the one that makes clear they know what I am.” He watched her as she took another step closer. He could smell her now, a hint of spring violets tempered by honey, and the scent made his blood run hot. His fingers twitched. “But you, my dear, I suspect you prefer to think of me as human.”
    She smiled. “I’ve never once thought of you as human. But would you prefer I call you Moros?”
    “No,” he said, caught off guard by his own honesty. “I suppose I wouldn’t. But I would like to know what you’re up to.”
    “I need you to trust