Even now she could see their faces as they lovingly teased each other. See Esmee's face as she took her shopping for hats-Esmee's one great weakness in life. Never could she pass by a shop without dashing in to see what they had. She would spend hours in the haberdashery trying on every bonnet and hat they had while her father watched her and laughed.
Danger had loved them both so much...
And then in the dreaded heat of summer, the Revolution had swept through France worse than a plague. Thousands had died in a matter of weeks.
Her brother, Edmonde, had only been four, her sister, Jacqueline, less than a year old, and her countrymen had brutally slaughtered them. None of her family had deserved the deaths they had been granted.
None of them.
Except for her husband. He had earned every wound she had given him for his cruel betrayal. And all because he had coveted her father's home and wanted it for his own. He'd gotten it, all right, and she had seen to it that he hadn't lived long enough to enjoy it.
Shaking with anger and grief, she pushed back her red and gold covers, then parted her gold curtains so that she could leave her antique tester bed.
Alexion could rot in hell before she ever helped him go after the Dark-Hunters or anyone else. She would never be part of such a witch hunt. If Acheron wanted them dead, then he could do it on his own.
She wasn't about to help Alexion judge anyone. She'd seen enough of that in her human lifetime.
With her conviction set, she quickly washed her face, dressed, and went to find him to give him a piece of her mind.
But those thoughts fled when, after a brief search of her house, she found him sitting on the couch in her media room. Perfectly coiffed, he seemed strangely at home. There was a stack of DVDs in front of him. He looked just as he had when she'd left him the night before. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that he hadn't slept.
She paused in the doorway as he literally used his finger to fast-forward the machine to a new scene selection.
How did he do that?
"Where's the remote?"
He turned his head toward her. "Remote?"
"Yeah, you know, the thing you turn the television off and on with?"
He looked at his finger.
Bemused, Danger went to the DVD shelf beside her television and picked up the remote. "How do you control the player without this?"
He waved his hand and the TV turned off.
Completely baffled, she returned the remote to the shelf. "You're a total freak."
He arched a brow at her, but said nothing.
Danger crossed the small space to stand before him. She took his hand into hers, grateful that for once it was warm. It looked like any other hand... well, except it was rather large and well manicured.
It was a man's hand, callused, strong. She pointed it at the television.
Nothing happened.
"Are you sitting on a universal remote?" she asked suspiciously.
He just stared innocently at her.
"Get up," she said, pulling him to his feet so that she could see the cushions.
No, there was no remote.
Frustrated, she glared at him. "How did you fast-forward and turn it off?"
He shrugged. "I wanted it off and off it went."