find herself sprawled naked in the silk sheets of a king-sized bed and alone. Si ng up, she peered around the darkened room, making out furniture, blackout blinds, and several doors, but no Harper.
Frowning, she slid her feet to the floor and stood up. She started toward the nearest door, hoping it led somewhere besides a closet, but stumbled on something on the floor and paused to glance down at her boots. She stared at them blankly for a moment, some part of her brain working out that Harper must have removed them for her while she was unconscious, and then continued forward again. The first door she tried was an en suite bathroom. The second was a closet, but the third led out into a hall, and she padded down it on silent, bare feet, only pausing when it ended at a set of four steps down into a large open living room. Eyebrows climbing up her forehead, she ran her eyes over the huge fireplace, the elegant black and white furnishings, and the wall of windows that surely stretched fi een or twenty feet to the ceiling at one end of the room. That's where her gaze stopped. Harper stood in the center of the wall of windows, dressed in his shirt and pants, staring out over the lights of the city. She would have bet a lot of money that he wasn't seeing anything outside, however. There was a moroseness about his pose and expression that convinced her he was lost in thoughts, and not pleasant ones.
"We're life mates."
Drina s ffened at the grim announcement. Apparently, he'd heard her approach despite her silence. Or perhaps he'd simply seen her, she realized as she spo ed her reflec on in the glass. And then his words sank in.
Crap. He knew.
Of course, she supposed she should have expected as much. As it was fabled, life mates did apparently faint a er sex. No doubt he had too, though it appeared he'd recovered more swi ly than she had. And she'd obviously been deep in it. He'd not only carried her to bed but tugged those boots off without her stirring. She'd been out like a light.
Sighing, Drina continued forward, crossing the room toward him. "Most people would be happy about it."
"I am," he said, and she snorted in disbelief.
"You don't sound happy," she pointed out, pausing beside him and considering his face. "And you definitely don't look happy."
"Did you know?" Harper asked.
Drina turned to peer out the window. "Yes. I tried to read you the night we met, and then there was the eating and . . ." She shrugged.
"And you didn't say anything."
Drina sighed. "Marguerite said you might have some trouble accep ng it, and it was be er to let you figure it out on your own."
"Marguerite," he muttered wryly.
"She said you feel guilty about Jenny's death and have been punishing yourself."
"It was my fault," Harper said wearily.
"I know you feel that way, but - "
"It's true," he barked. "If she'd never met me, she'd still be alive."
"Or she might have had a heart a ack jogging. I mean, it was her heart that gave out, wasn't it? Some unknown defect she had?"
"Still, it was the turn that - "
"Harper, I do understand," Drina interrupted quietly, and he turned on her sharply.
"How the hell could you understand? Have you killed a life mate?"
Drina's eyes narrowed, and she said dryly, "Not yet, but there's still time."
He blinked in surprise.
"Don't yell at me. I know you're upset and hur ng, but don't take it out on me," she said firmly. "It's one thing to punish yourself for what you think is your fault, but I won't be your whipping boy."
Sighing wearily, Harper ran a hand through his hair and turned away, mu ering, "Sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."
"No, you shouldn't. And whether you want to believe it or not, I do understand your guilt over Jenny. I have my own guilt."
"For what?" he asked with surprise.
"Hello. Were you listening when I told you my history? I'm pre y sure I men oned Beth and the girls in detail." Mouth fla ening, Drina turned to peer out the window again. "I'm pre y sure Jimmy only picked them for vic ms because of their connec on to me. If I'd never entered their lives, they might have lived to a ripe old age and never endured the horrors that twisted them at the end."
"That wasn't your fault," he said quietly.