“Do you mind if I stay in the city tomorrow and Wednesday?”
he asks.
“Of course not. Why though?”
“I don’t feel right staying here without you,” he says.
“It’s your home too, you know,” I remind him.
“I know, it’s not that. Being here in this bed alone will just be a reminder that you are with him and not with me.”
I nod in understanding and feel a pang of guilt for the secret I am covering up.
“Have you spoken to Devon?” I ask to change the subject.
“Yep. Are you going to be okay?”
I turn sharply to him. “I’m fine. He said this changes nothing between us.”
Cole nods but says, “Liv, he won’t leave you again. You don’t have to be worried about that.”
“I’m not. I already told him he couldn’t. I don’t want you to leave me either.”
Startled by my vehemence, he says, “I’m not going anywhere. That is something you definitely don’t have to worry about.”
He sounds so sure, but I know differently, and it breaks my heart that if he ever found out (again) he would go and never come back.
“I should go. I have a big scene on the river today.”
“Oh?” I perk up, interested.
“Yeah, spies, boats, and guns! It’s going to awesome,” he says excitedly.
“Well then, don’t let me keep you,” I say with a smile and he kisses me for a few minutes before he reluctantly turns to leave.
I step back into the bedroom to find Lincoln awake but still lying on the bed. He peers at me curiously with his big green Wolf eyes and I know he has heard all of our conversation. While we didn’t say anything intensely private, it bothers me just a little bit that he eavesdropped. I like things with Cole to be separate. As much “just ours” as I can get them, which isn’t very much in this life. I sit next to him and scratch behind his ears and he huffs out a breath and licks my fingers as I rub under his chin. I climb back in bed and snuggle into the pillows as Cole, showered and dressed, kisses me goodbye and with a quick pat to Lincoln, who snaps his teeth at him, albeit in play, he leaves for the city. I stay in bed for a bit longer, having a nice lazy morning on my own. Sort of. I get up and have a long soak in the bath.
The house is empty when I go downstairs, followed closely by Lincoln. I can’t even remember the last time I had this much time to myself. It’s nice. I decide to do a bit of work. I hardly have anything to do anymore, even with this Queen thing. Jess is superb and deals with everything and she always goes to the delegates first before coming to me, if there is something she can’t sort out. There is, however, nothing for me to do. All taken care of. Wow, do I even really need to be here? Seems the Underworld can be run quite nicely by a weeks-old teenage Vampire and a handful of well-respected and well-chosen Ambassadors. Jess wasn’t kidding when she said she could do this. Harvard’s loss is my gain.
I decide then to read in the library and flop down on the sofa with my feet up and Lincoln’s head on my lap. I get all of two pages into my book when I feel a presence. Lincoln lifts his head and growls, stepping in front of me protectively. I pat him absently, more irritated than afraid.
I glare into the corner. “Remiel, what a shocker. What do you want?” I ask rudely. “Come to fling me around the room a bit more?”
He sits in the chair a few feet away from me and sighs dramatically. “I’m bored,” he says, his clipped British accent even more posh than my own.
“So, you thought bothering me would light up your day?”
“I thought killing you would light up my day,” he crosses his legs and folds his hands in his lap, his bright blue eyes showing some trace of amusement.
“You know, as much as I would love to help you with that, it’s not going to happen.”
“I knew engaging in conversation with you would be a mistake. You harbor no fear of me anymore,” he sulks.
“Can’t say I had much to start with,” I lie, and he chuckles, catching me in it.
“Liar,” he says easily. “But I am loathed to admit, as much as I prefer flinging you around the room, I also like talking with you. You are blunt and your questions are intelligent. It has been so very dull these last centuries with no witty banter or insult trading.”
“The crossed-over spirits not a chatty bunch, then?” I ask with a wry twist to my lips.