Nassar stood next to him, talking softly. He wore blue sweatpants and a light-grey T-shirt. A towel hung over his shoulder and his pale hair was wet and brushed back from his face. Poised like this, he appeared massive. Muscles bulged on his chest when he moved his arm to underscore a point. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. His legs were long. Everything about him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the way he carried himself - controlled and aware of his size - communicated raw physical power. His wasn’t the static bulk of a power weightlifter, but rather the dangerous, honed build of a man who required muscle to survive. If a genius sculptor wished to carve a statue and name it Strength, Nassar would’ve made a perfect model.
He glanced at her. His green eyes arrested her and Grace halted, suddenly realizing she wanted to know what he would look like naked.
The thought shocked her.
Something in her face must’ve equally shocked him, because he fell silent.
A torturous second passed.
She forced herself to move. Nassar looked away, resuming his conversation.
I can’t be attracted to him. He forced me to come here and risk my life and I don’t even know why. I know nothing about him. He’s a monster. That last thought sobered her up. She approached the benches.
“Grace,” Nassar said. His magic brushed her. “This is Alasdair, my cousin.”
Alasdair unfolded himself from the bench. “Charmed.”
“Hello.” Grace nodded at Alasdair, then turned to Nassar. “You drugged my drink.”
“Actually I drugged the cream,” he said, “and technically it was my sister who did it.”
“Why?”
“You were in shock. I wanted to spare you the breakdown and anxiety when you came out of it.”
Grace held herself straight. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t do it again. We have a deal. I’ll keep my part, but I can’t do it if I have to watch what I eat and drink.”
Nassar considered it for a long moment. “Agreed.”
“A deal?” Alasdair’s eyebrows crept up. He was lean and sharp, his movements quick. His stare had an edge. If Nassar was a sword, Alasdair was a dagger.
“I’ve agreed to do my best to help you and, in return, you’ll leave my family alone for five years,” Grace said.
Alasdair grimaced at Nassar. “That’s incredibly generous, considering what they’ve done. We owe them nothing.”
Nassar shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s worth the reward to have her full cooperation.”
Grace took a seat on the bench. “What did we do exactly?”
“You don’t know?” Alasdair passed her a plate of scones.
“No.”
The dark-haired man glanced at Nassar, who shrugged. “You tell it,” he said.
“At the end of the nineteenth century your family and our clan were in dispute,” Alasdair said.
Grace was learning to decipher their code. “In other words, we were murdering each other.”
“Precisely. The dispute grew out of control and so our families agreed to end it. The peace was to be sealed through a wedding. Jonathan Mailliard of your family was to marry Thea Dreoch.”
“He was your great-grandfather’s brother,” Nassar supplied.
“The wedding went well,” Alasdair continued. “There was a very nice reception in one of the Mailliard gathering halls, a beautiful old hotel. Everyone ate, drank and was merry. The couple went upstairs to their rooms, where Jonathan pulled out a knife and slit Thea’s throat.”
Grace froze with a scone halfway to her mouth. She had expected something of this sort. To force her family into indefinite servitude, the crime had to be horrible. But it still shocked her.
“He waited for almost two hours by her cooling corpse,” Alasdair continued, “until the party died down. Then he and several Mailliard men and women went through the hotel door to door. They murdered Thea’s sister, her husband and their twin daughters who were flower girls at the wedding. They killed Thea’s parents and her two brothers, both minors, and would’ve slaughtered the entire party, but they were seen by a Dreoch retainer, who started screaming. Our offensive magic w