fingers on my skin. “Did you learn anything from your investigation?”
“Has the Order reconsidered its position on allowing me to aid them?”
“No,” he admitted.
I tugged my hand free of his grasp. “Then we have nothing to discuss.”
He let the matter drop, and I escaped to the quiet of my room. A terrible ache throbbed in my head, right behind my eyes, and I kept dropping my pins as I took down my hair. My fingers felt swollen and clumsy, and every creak and groan of the house reminded me of the sounds of the brothel.
I sighed in frustration as my hairbrush slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. For a moment I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to center myself to regain some sort of composure, and when I opened them again I gasped at Michael’s reflection in my dressing mirror. He stood behind me, my hairbrush in hand, and I turned to face him.
“You can’t be in here,” I blurted.
“I know. I won’t tell if you won’t,” he teased with a strained smile. “May I?” Michael raised the brush—I had always been partial to having my hair brushed, and it had been one of our rituals before bed each evening. A few moments of calm to ourselves, without the interference of children or mentors.
A blush heated my skin as I nodded. “We’ll both be in trouble when he finds out.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer and ran the brush through my unbound hair. I blinked back sudden tears at the familiarity of the simple gesture, and I took a deep breath and stared down at the pile of hairpins I had just removed. Though it was a simple thing, I had missed it dreadfully.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I blushed again, arranging the pins in a neat row. “Thank you.”
“Are you going to tell me where you were this evening?”
“No.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I was in the company of a guardian. There is hardly any place safer in all of London.”
“Perhaps. But it is my job to catch you when you faint from a vision.”
I smiled, for that was true. “Did you get in much trouble for catching me before?”
“Yes, and I’d do it again,” Michael said without hesitation. “I’ve missed you, Em. It’s been terrible living these long months without you and the children.” Michael squeezed my shoulder, and I reached up and placed my hand over his.
“Your hands are cold,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“My apologies. I can raise my body temperature, but that requires more blood, and we have been…frugal in our feeding.”
I thought of the blood brothel and the goings-on within it, and the idea of my husband partaking of that sort of debauchery, particularly with another woman, filled me with nauseous jealousy as I stumbled to my feet, out of his reach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t…” I trailed off, shaking my head. I stroked my throat with my good hand, as though afraid of finding bites already there, or in an attempt to ward them off. “Who have you been feeding from? Before the ritual Simon fed almost exclusively from you. How are the two of you feeding now?” I wasn’t certain I wanted to know the answer. My imagination was filled with enough scandalous images.
“The Order provides us with donors. Male donors.” He set the brush gently on my dressing table. “I would never do anything to betray your trust.”
“Not on purpose, perhaps,” I muttered in reply. He stepped toward me, and I moved away.
Michael sighed deeply. “Emily, please—”
“You can reassure me all you want, but I can see how different you are. Your entire aura has changed. You are simply not the same man I married.” I bit back the urge to add that he appeared just like Simon, but he wouldn’t understand why that bothered me, for Simon’s eccentricities had never troubled him as they did me.
“But I am. I promise you, my body may have changed, but my heart and my mind remain the same.”
He stepped toward me again and held my face in his hands. I
“Has the Order reconsidered its position on allowing me to aid them?”
“No,” he admitted.
I tugged my hand free of his grasp. “Then we have nothing to discuss.”
He let the matter drop, and I escaped to the quiet of my room. A terrible ache throbbed in my head, right behind my eyes, and I kept dropping my pins as I took down my hair. My fingers felt swollen and clumsy, and every creak and groan of the house reminded me of the sounds of the brothel.
I sighed in frustration as my hairbrush slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor. For a moment I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to center myself to regain some sort of composure, and when I opened them again I gasped at Michael’s reflection in my dressing mirror. He stood behind me, my hairbrush in hand, and I turned to face him.
“You can’t be in here,” I blurted.
“I know. I won’t tell if you won’t,” he teased with a strained smile. “May I?” Michael raised the brush—I had always been partial to having my hair brushed, and it had been one of our rituals before bed each evening. A few moments of calm to ourselves, without the interference of children or mentors.
A blush heated my skin as I nodded. “We’ll both be in trouble when he finds out.”
“Yes.” He stepped closer and ran the brush through my unbound hair. I blinked back sudden tears at the familiarity of the simple gesture, and I took a deep breath and stared down at the pile of hairpins I had just removed. Though it was a simple thing, I had missed it dreadfully.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
I blushed again, arranging the pins in a neat row. “Thank you.”
“Are you going to tell me where you were this evening?”
“No.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I was in the company of a guardian. There is hardly any place safer in all of London.”
“Perhaps. But it is my job to catch you when you faint from a vision.”
I smiled, for that was true. “Did you get in much trouble for catching me before?”
“Yes, and I’d do it again,” Michael said without hesitation. “I’ve missed you, Em. It’s been terrible living these long months without you and the children.” Michael squeezed my shoulder, and I reached up and placed my hand over his.
“Your hands are cold,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“My apologies. I can raise my body temperature, but that requires more blood, and we have been…frugal in our feeding.”
I thought of the blood brothel and the goings-on within it, and the idea of my husband partaking of that sort of debauchery, particularly with another woman, filled me with nauseous jealousy as I stumbled to my feet, out of his reach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t…” I trailed off, shaking my head. I stroked my throat with my good hand, as though afraid of finding bites already there, or in an attempt to ward them off. “Who have you been feeding from? Before the ritual Simon fed almost exclusively from you. How are the two of you feeding now?” I wasn’t certain I wanted to know the answer. My imagination was filled with enough scandalous images.
“The Order provides us with donors. Male donors.” He set the brush gently on my dressing table. “I would never do anything to betray your trust.”
“Not on purpose, perhaps,” I muttered in reply. He stepped toward me, and I moved away.
Michael sighed deeply. “Emily, please—”
“You can reassure me all you want, but I can see how different you are. Your entire aura has changed. You are simply not the same man I married.” I bit back the urge to add that he appeared just like Simon, but he wouldn’t understand why that bothered me, for Simon’s eccentricities had never troubled him as they did me.
“But I am. I promise you, my body may have changed, but my heart and my mind remain the same.”
He stepped toward me again and held my face in his hands. I
Similar Books
