Dark Choices - I. T. Lucas Page 0,18

as Dalhu entered the house, he felt the charge in the air. It seemed like it was vibrating with energy, and the only source of that could be Amanda. Except, she wasn’t in the living room, waiting for him on the couch with a fashion magazine in hand or surfing the net like she usually did before dinner.

The only sounds in the house were coming from the kitchen, where Onidu was working on their evening meal.

The guy always knew where his mistress was.

“Good evening, Onidu. Do you know where Amanda is?”

“The mistress is in the bathroom, master.” He bowed. “I believe that she is taking a bath.”

“Thank you.” He hated it when the butler bowed to him and called him master.

Dalhu didn’t want to be anyone’s superior, and he also didn’t want to answer to anyone. He’d had enough of it in the Brotherhood, and he didn’t want anything to remind him of those days.

He was happy now, creating instead of destroying, feeding his soul instead of killing it, and the only one he had to answer to was Amanda.

Technically, he also had to answer to Kian, but the guy never demanded anything from him. If Dalhu came along on a mission, it was because he’d volunteered to help, and not because he’d been ordered to do so.

Dalhu sighed. He needed to remember that Onidu wasn’t a person, and the only reason he called him master was because he’d been programmed to do that.

He shouldn’t get triggered by that damn word, but the response wasn’t voluntary. Each time it happened, Dalhu had to remind himself that the butler wasn’t a human servant, but a cyborg, and that he didn’t really consider Dalhu his boss.

Onidu only answered to Amanda, but originally he’d belonged to the goddess, who’d programmed him to call those he served masters and mistresses.

Dalhu had no intention of bothering the Clan Mother with updating the butler’s vocabulary to better suit him. The best thing would be to add that damn trigger word to the many changes still needed in his own programming.

With Amanda’s help, he’d made good progress in some areas, but the road to full recovery was a long one. Undoing 800 years of shitty life experience in the Brotherhood couldn’t be achieved overnight, over a year, or even over a decade.

Dalhu wasn’t in a hurry. He had his entire immortal life ahead of him to rebuild who he was from the inside out.

Except for the occasional slips into the dark vortex of his past, he was living a dream and thanking the Fates daily for his good fortune.

After unloading his equipment in the studio, Dalhu washed his hands and his face in the adjacent bathroom before heading to the master bathroom.

Should he join Amanda in their jacuzzi tub?

It was tempting, but perhaps she’d had a difficult day at work and needed time alone to unwind. That could be the source of the crackling energy in the air.

Amanda rarely got mad, but when she did, it was on the same grand scale as everything else she did.

Had someone annoyed her at work? Professors were a highly competitive bunch and far from scrupulous. Backstabbing and stealing ideas from one another were not common, but occasionally it happened.

That would explain why Amanda was taking a relaxing bath before dinner on a weekday. Usually, she did that before going to bed, and occasionally during the daytime on weekends.

Dalhu froze. Was it possible that he’d gotten so absorbed in his art that he hadn’t realized it was Saturday?

When working seven days a week, twelve to sixteen hours a day, time blurred, and he often didn’t know what day of the week it was.

Except, calling what he did work was the wrong term. He was creating, and the money he made from selling his art was a bonus, not the main impetus driving him to create more. Even if he were giving away his paintings and illustrations for free, he would have still produced at the same rate. The burning need to create, to improve his art, didn’t let up no matter how many hours he put into it. That was why he hated it when Amanda dragged him to social events.

Dalhu would have much rather spent those hours painting.

He was well aware that it was also a form of escape, giving him a great excuse to stay out of the social pressure cooker of the village. He didn’t have to interact with people, and yet no one held it against him.

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