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He didn’t kiss me.
“Good night, Cate.”
He was halfway to the door before I’d pushed up in bed and demanded, “Where are you going?”
But Lach raked one lingering, longing look from my mouth to my bare thighs. “Back to the meeting I was in when you interrupted me.”
I should ask him to stay. He waited by the door as if he thought I might. I wanted to, but something silenced me. I didn’t know if it was pride or self-preservation. I tamped down on my confusion, not allowing it to turn into something sour. I yanked the sheets up with a shrug and tried to master a simple “good night.” All I managed was a nod.
As he slipped out the door, a new ache began in a place far more dangerous than before.
…
The next morning, I left my bedroom for breakfast, grateful that Lach’s door was still closed. Ciara accosted me in the foyer, grabbing hold of me. Thankfully, my wounds had been entirely healed when I woke up this morning, because she dragged me into a hug so tight I thought my spine might actually crack.
Ciara clutched my shoulders as she released me, worry lining her beautiful face. “Are you okay?”
I pinned a smile to my lips. “I’m fine. It was nothing.”
“Cate, you saved someone’s life at Alouette, and then two redcaps tried to back-alley Jack the Ripper you.” She shook her head. “You are not fine.”
There was no way I could tell her that of all the things that had happened last night, the redcap attack had shaken me the least.
“Really, I’m good.”
Her lips pursed, and I knew she wasn’t buying it. “Did Lach take care of you at least?”
Not exactly. I flushed slightly but nodded. “He gave me a gun.”
That was all she needed to know.
Ciara rolled her eyes and looped her arm through mine. “Of course he did.”
But she looked a little relieved all the same.
She chattered absently as we headed to the hotel brunch, her babbling a sign that she was as shaken by last night’s events as I should be. She didn’t release me until we were safely down the stairs without incident.
The breakfast room was already full of visiting fae. My heart stumbled when I saw Lach among them, deep in conversation with Bain and another male I didn’t know. Lach didn’t look up as I entered, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being the first one to approach after last night.
“Want something to eat?” Ciara asked, oblivious to the fact that I was staring at her brother.
The fifty-seat oak trestle table was laid with bone china and gold flatware. Knowing how filthy rich the fae were, it was probably real. A buffet of sorts had been laid on a smaller table by the arched windows overlooking Waverly Avenue. No one was sitting down, and as usual, no one was eating. Maybe never getting full meant never feeling hungry. That wasn’t a problem I had. After last night’s emotional roller coaster, I was starving. I took one look at the plates of croissants and pastries, little bowls of butter and jams, and the steaming chafing dishes next to them, and my stomach growled.
“I’m starving,” Ciara said and yawned, scooping eggs and sausages onto a plate. “And then there was the whole clover drama last night.”
I plopped a smatter of cherry jam on a croissant. “The overdose?”
“Well, I guess that, too.” She piled a few beignets next to the eggs.
I reached for a napkin. “What clover drama happened?”
“Lach didn’t tell you?”
“I haven’t spoken to him this morning.” I twisted off a piece of croissant and popped it into my mouth. Any time before sunrise was technically night, according to the terms of the bargain.
She paused and studied me. “I thought he went to talk to you.”
I almost choked. I covered it with a cough. “Why would you think that?”