If a servant was allowed preferences—and she wasn’t—she would have preferred death.
the directive of a Council member who outranked him. He hadn’t expected her to disobey the Council member, any more than she’d been surprised to endure his ire and abused ego over it. Being the outlet for his anger was part of her responsibilities.
Pushing away any tension she had over serving a vampire again, she accepted her charge. She was to treat Evan as her Master, even though he would withhold the vital third mark that would bind her irrevocably to him, and she would be bait for Stephen, her true Master. It made her tired and sad.
If a servant was allowed preferences—and she wasn’t—she would have preferred death.
2
THERE wouldn’t be much to pack. Stephen’s household items had been seized by the Council, and most of the items she’d brought to the castle before everything transpired were gone, stolen while she was in the infirmary. However, upon her return from the meeting with Lady Lyssa, she found everything else had been taken. Apparently, the small corps of InhServ in permanent residence with the Council were sending one last message. Since it would be three days before Niall came for her, and she didn’t want her new Master’s representative to find her unprepared, she quietly approached the household staff, offering to help out with their duties in exchange for a couple of changes of clothes and basic toiletries. Hairbrush, toothbrush, makeup. Feminine products, since her health had improved enough for her monthly courses to resume.
Within a few hours of that discussion, a knock at her door revealed Jacob. Glancing at the sign that had been tacked there by the InhServs, his mouth tightened, his blue eyes getting cold, making it clear his Mistress wasn’t the only one with a dangerous side. When he reached for it, she lifted a hand.
“Please don’t. It’s better to leave it.”
After a close study of her expression, he nodded. Stepping inside the room, he put down an armload of packages and store bags. “These contain the items you requested from the staff.”
She couldn’t have been more mortified if Lady Lyssa herself had delivered them. “I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t. But you should have.” He touched her face, drawing her gaze up to him. “If you need anything further like this, Alanna, you’ll come to me or Victor and let us know. Don’t let me find out otherwise.”
Victor, Belizar’s servant, had run the castle before Lyssa took the Council head’s position by force. In that interesting way servants had, Victor and Jacob had overlooked their vampires’ differences and worked together to keep things running efficiently.
“I didn’t intend to cause you any additional work. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“You won’t be helping the household staff.” Picking up her hand, he examined the thinness of her wrists. “If you need something to keep you occupied, I’ll give you desk work. There’s plenty of correspondence. God knows, both Victor and I hate doing it.”
Jacob had been the only one to touch her since . . . Evan and Niall. She didn’t want him to let go of her hand. The strength and gentleness of his touch, the mild but unmistakable sternness of his voice, awakened a craving in her so strong she almost swayed on her feet. Drawing her dignity around her, even if it was a tattered cloak, she steadied herself.
“Thank you. Anything you need, I will be happy to do.”
Over the next three days, he’d kept her busy as promised, though she suspected it was more of his unexpected kindness than a real need for her assistance. But today that came to an end. She was preparing to join her new Master. Even if the main purpose of her placement was to draw Stephen out of hiding, perhaps she’d prove to be of true use to Evan. While drawing out Stephen was a use, she wasn’t certain how functional that was to Evan’s needs, except as a way to be rid of her sooner.
She’d become a burden.
When she was done packing, she sat on her bed, the suitcase before her. Her mind stepped back into that painting on her flesh. The hazy sun, the small dots of white flowers . . . the casually possessive graze of fingers over her sex. It was the only thing worth remembering anymore. That and Adam. But thinking about Adam was still too painful, because it connected to everything else.