Chapter Eight
Isabel paced nervously in front of the fireplace when they finished the scene.
“Why do you become so agitated after rehearsing your lines?” Blaise asked, his eyes glued to her profile. A light sheen of sweat shone on her forehead and cheeks, and her lips were flushed dark pink. He was toning out her vitessence from his sight at the moment, finding he became too easily overwhelmed by her vibrant aura. Besides, the physical manifestation of her soul was enough to enthrall him.
“It’s this scene that has me worked up. I can’t seem to get it right,” she replied edgily.
“You get it perfectly.”
She paused in her pacing and blinked, meeting his stare.
“Would you like some wine to calm yourself?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
Her gloved hand brushed against his when he handed her the glass a moment later. She went still before she brought the goblet to her lips, watching him over the rim. He watched her for a few stretched seconds, their gazes locked. His body responded to her of its own accord, as it always did. He was a fool to allow these afternoons spent in her presence, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself any more than he could prevent going to her bed at night.
This was magic beyond his rendering…beyond his understanding.
In the midst of preparing himself to resist Isabel’s enthrallment of his senses, something occurred which truly distracted him.
“What is it?” Isabel asked, sensing his diverted attention.
“It’s Saint,” he said brusquely, hearing his brother request a meeting in his mind by means of telepathic communication. He moved over to his desk, set down his wine and pressed some buttons on his computer. Once, he and his brothers had communicated solely through telepathy, but even the Sevliss princes were not immune to modern technology.
“Saint is one of the Sevliss…the one you speak of who lives in Chicago?” Isabel asked.
“That’s right,” Blaise replied.
“Would you like me to leave while you speak to him?”
He met her stare. “No,” he replied honestly before he could censor himself. She smiled. Difficult not to be foolish, when her smile was his reward.
A few seconds later, Saint’s image filled his computer screen. He sat within a familiar den at Whitby, hundreds of books lining the wall behind him. Saint’s sharp blue eyes immediately landed on Isabel, who stood next to where Blaise sat on the chair.
“This is Isabel Lanscourt, the woman I’ve told you about,” Blaise said. “Isabel, meet Saint Sevliss.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Isabel said. Blaise glanced into her face when he heard her breathlessness. She stared raptly at Saint’s image on the screen. He supposed most women would look at Saint in just such a fashion, but he didn’t relish seeing Isabel do it.
“The pleasure is mine,” Saint returned, nodding his head, his gaze glued to Isabel just as hers was to him. His face was somber, but his blue eyes gleamed with admiration. “The rumor of your beauty preceded you, but it was vastly underestimated.”
Isabel laughed. “If it came from Blaise, I’m surprised it was mentioned at all.”
Saint looked faintly amused by this. Blaise cleared his throat loudly.
“What is it, Saint?” he asked.
“I have news. I hope you will understand the importance of it,” Saint said, pinning Blaise with his stare.
“Why don’t you just tell me the importance of it?” he demanded, frustrated by yet another example of Saint’s new tendency for puzzle-speak. He was becoming as much of an enigma to Blaise as the Magian themselves.
“I will just give you the news,” Saint replied, his mouth set in a grim line. “One of my finest Iniskium warriors—Isi—is going to be flying into London tomorrow evening.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaise said with a bark of laughter. What Saint stated was impossible. As an Iniskium warrior, Isi was one of Saint’s followers, similar to how the Literati were tied to Blaise. Saint and Blaise had both embraced their bands of followers, making them what they were, sharing with them their unique power. The Magian had used their magic, however, to restrict each prince to a given territory. Blaise had never seen Saint, Issac, Adrian, Celino or Galen in person, even if he did know them intimately. The same was true of each princes’ followers. They could not leave the princes’ territory, bound as they were by Magian magic.
So Saint saying that Isi was coming to London made as much sense as the sun starting to revolve around the earth.
“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Blaise accused when Saint regarded him with a bland expression.