“I don’t know.”
She jerked her head up and pinned him with her stare. “You do know,” she whispered feelingly.
He regarded her, a silent enigma, every bit as eerily still as Royal became at times as he watched her.
Her cheek felt hot when she turned it back to the flames. What had caused that outburst of emotion? She couldn’t understand what was happening to her. At times, she was filled with energy and purpose, almost manic-like…desperate. At others, a strange malaise overcame her, and all she wanted to do was sleep.
The one thing that had remained a constant since coming to Sanctuary was her odd desire to seek out Lord Delraven.
She inhaled unevenly, trying to gather herself.
“Will you be my Marc Antony?” she asked throatily. Dread filtered into her awareness as she waited for his refusal. Of course he wouldn’t do it, a man such
as him. Still…she’d felt compelled to ask him.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked instead of answering her. “Water? Wine?”
She shook her head, raising her eyes to the painting above the carved mantel.
“Who is she?” she asked after a moment, referring to the beautiful woman in the portrait wearing topaz silk and ermine, and what appeared to be diamonds sewn into the fabric of her dress. A small, delicate diadem sparkled in her light brown hair. Her blue eyes were so clear, her gaze so intelligent, it was as if she actually looked directly at them over the span of centuries.
“Her name is Elysse de Gennere. She was a princess once…long ago.”
“Was she the one you saved from agents of the Spanish crown? The one who ended up marrying the English prince and—”
She stopped herself abruptly when she recalled the sad ending to the story. She continued to stare at Elysse de Gennere, although all her attention was on Blaise behind her. Emotion once again swelled thick in her throat and chest.
“Yes. She is the one.”
“Did you make that dress for her?”
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?” she asked softly.
“The soulless cannot love.”
She turned slowly. The vision of him filled her.
“The soulless do not feel torment, either. You do.” When he said nothing, she stepped toward him. “Who told you that you have no soul?”
“Usan. The Magian who watches over me.”
“Magian?”
He inhaled and walked over to his desk where he picked up a small obsidian sculpture of a horse in full gallop. He studied it intently, as if he’d never seen it in his life.
“We know very little about the Magian, my brothers and I. They form a council of sorts and monitor our lives. For the most part, they are invisible to us. They tell us little about our purpose. They watch us, though…study us. They are similar to us in genetic make-up, but they possess souls. They were our creators.”
“You know the man who created you?” she asked, stunned by this strange news.
He hesitated, but then set down the horse with a brisk bang. “I’m a monster,” he said quietly in a richly accented voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not like you. I came into consciousness in this form,” he said, sweeping his hand before him. “If I was ever a child, I don’t recall it. Usan was there, in the beginning, but he speaks in riddles—or refuses to give me answers point blank. I was not left unsupervised and at the mercy of my parasitic nature, as were some of my brothers. Usan taught me how to control my hunger from the beginning. I am thankful to him for that, if nothing else. Adrian, Isaac and Saint suffered unbearably with the knowledge of their unregulated bloodlust, left as they were to survive without understanding how to control their nature.”
“You are different. You have control.”