else just as bad.” Vile stuff it was. But it quenched the thirst. Well enough, anyway.
“That’s all I’ve had since I arrived at Castle Hythe.”
“No maids? No widows? No whores?”
What the devil? “Just what do you know about whores?”
Following his lead, Sorcha tossed her napkin to her plate as well. “I ken a great many things, Alec MacQuarrie.” Then she pushed her chair back, nodded to the old codger who had somehow ended up on her left, and stalked from the dining hall.
Chapter Fifteen
Sorcha knew Alec had followed her. She could sense him a few paces behind her, but she refused to turn around. She couldn’t look at him. Not right now.
Oh, she knew all about the gentleman’s club he frequented in London. Though “club” was a euphemism, according to Rhiannon and Lord Blodswell. The club was populated with whores waiting to give themselves up to vampyres, waiting to give themselves up to Alec in exchange for the pleasure he’d give them. That hadn’t bothered her until now.
When she’d first learned of Brysi, she had been relieved that such a place existed. Relieved Alec had a sanctuary to escape to when he needed to do so. Relieved that he wasn’t forced to scour the darkness in search of a meal. Of course, Rhiannon loathed the club and all its offerings and had shocked her husband with a slight jolt of lightning for having mentioned the club to Sorcha in the first place.
But now… Well, she had been honest at dinner. She was jealous. Jealous of each whore at Brysi who had found pleasure in Alec’s arms. She knew she was being irrational. She had no right to be angry about the time he spent at his club. No right to be jealous of women who had shared their life’s blood with him. But she was anyway.
Irrationally jealous. Foot-stompingly jealous. Rip-a-lass’- hair-out jealous.
All things considered, it would be best if she escaped to the safety of her chambers and stayed there the rest of the night. Perhaps under the morning light, her good sense would be returned to her and she could have a rational conversation with Alec, instead of appearing to be a spoiled child who didn’t like sharing her playthings.
“Sorcha!” Alec called after her.
But she shook her head, not trusting herself to utter a word to him. She made it as far as her chamber before his hand on her shoulder halted her.
“Why are you running from me?” He muttered so quietly in her ear that gooseflesh rippled across her skin.
“I doona wish for company, Alec,” she bit out.
His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he stepped closer to her, drawing her back against his front. Sorcha closed her eyes, wishing she didn’t revel in the feel of him as much as she did. When had life become so complicated? She’d come to Kent to capture a Lycan husband, and she now found herself standing in darkened corridors with a vampyre. The same vampyre she was unreasonably jealous over. The same vampyre who loved Cait, despite his protestations otherwise. The same vampyre who had throngs of whores waiting to be taken by him.
“You’ve been tempting me all evening, Sorch.”
Only because the women in his club were too far away.
“You were supposed to save me a dance at least. Remember?”
Sorcha stepped out of his hold and grasped the cold door handle. “Next time, perhaps.” Then she slipped through the door and shut it before she could do something foolish like toss her arms around him and beg to be kissed.
She flopped onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling.
“Congratulations, Sorcha,” she muttered. “Ye’ve made a fine mess out of everythin’.”
~*~
Lying in his bed, Alec stared up at the ceiling, exhausted and more than a little irritable. He’d stayed up nearly half the night, wondering what he had done wrong the previous evening. One moment Sorcha might as well have offered herself to him on a platter, and the next she was fleeing to the safety of her bedchamber. He’d misstepped somewhere. That much was obvious.
Until recently, he’d thought he understood women. Then there had been the debacle with Cait. The insanity of Blaire and Rhiannon both giving themselves to vampyres. And now this, whatever this was, with Sorcha. Apparently, he didn’t understand a damned thing. He doubted he ever had.
He’d just been fooling himself for years.
That was certainly a lowering thought, especially since all he had to look forward to were more years than any mortal could dream of.