And surprised about.
Pausing in front of one of the French doors that opened into the courtyard, she thought of the photograph he’d shown her. It was so obvious he was of blooded relation to Butch—and thereby the king. But neither Manuel nor she was interested in risking a regression. No, she very much agreed with him on that. They had each other, and considering what they’d already overcome, there was no reason to chance a bad outcome.
Besides, the information would change nothing: The king had opened his house to her male even without a formal declaration of blooded affinity, and Manuel was going to be allowed to have contact with his human mother. Further, it had been decided that he would work here, with Doc Jane, but also with Havers. After all, the race needed more good doctors, and Manuel was superlative.
And as for her? She was going to go out and fight. Neither Manuel nor her brother was exactly thrilled with the danger she was going to face, but they were not going to stop her. In fact, after she had spoken to Manuel at length, he seemed to accept that that was a part of who she was. His only caveat was that she get the very best weapons—and her brother had insisted on seeing to that.
Fates, the two of them seemed to be getting along. And who could have ever predicted?
Moving to the next window down the line, she searched the darkness for headlights.
Where was he? Where was he . . .
Manuel was also going to talk to Doc Jane about the physical changes he’d experienced—changes that, given the way Payne glowed whenever they made love, were likely to continue. He was going to monitor his body and see what happened, and they were both praying that all she did was keep him healthy and perpetually young. Only time would tell.
With a curse, she doubled back, crossed the foyer . . . and entered the dining room.
Down at the third window in the row, she glanced up into the heavens. She had no interest in going to see her mother. It would have been wonderful to share her love with those who had brought her into the world. But her sire was dead, and her mahmen? She didn’t trust the Scribe Virgin not to imprison her again: Manuel was a half-breed. Hardly the pure stock her mother would have approved of—
The pair of glowing eyes mounting the rise upon which the compound was built made her heart race. And then there was the music—a thumping beat curling in through the glass.
Payne tore out of the dining room and ripped across the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in full bloom. She was out through the vestibule and into the dark night a moment later—
She skidded to a halt at the top of the steps.
Manuel had not come back unaccompanied. Behind his Porsche, there was a massive vehicle of some sort . . . a huge, two-part vehicle.
Her male got out from behind the wheel of his car. “Hi,” he called out.
He was all smiles as he came up to her, put his hands on her hips, and brought her against his chest. “I missed you,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Me, too.” Now she was smiling as well. “But . . . whatever have you brought?”
The elderly butler stepped out from behind the wheel of the other vehicle. “Sire, shall I—”
“Thanks, Fritz, but I’ll take care of it from here.”
The butler bowed low. “It has been a pleasure to have been of service.”
“You’re the best, man.”
The doggen was positively beaming as he danced into the house. And then her male turned to her.
“Stay here.”
As a stamping sound emanated from inside the big contraption, she frowned. “Of course.”
After kissing her again, Manuel disappeared around the far side.
Doors opening. More stamp
ing. Creaking and a rolling sound, followed by a rhythmic thumping. And then—
The whinny told her what she had not dared to hope for. And then his beautiful filly backed down a ramp and was brought around to her.
Payne clasped her hands to her mouth as tears formed. The horse was mincing with grace, her sleek coat shining in the light that bled from the house, her strength and vitality returned to her.
“What . . . whatever is she here for?” Payne said hoarsely.