The trouble was, every minute she was with him kept proving that his essential character was very different from what he projected. He wasn’t selfish; he was generous. He wasn’t self-involved; he was thoughtful. He wasn’t disinterested; he cared.
When Parisa had accidentally flown through the mist and Marcus had appeared in the air within seconds, in full-mount, ready to protect them both, her first thought had been, Thank God. Her second had been, Who is this man?
She released a heavy sigh. From the time she’d met him four months ago, during Alison’s ascension, she’d known she was in trouble. Her crazy attraction to him was simply overwhelming. Add to that a subsequent four months of having sex with him in the darkening, acknowledged or not, and connections had been forged between them that should never have been built in the first place.
And oh, God, could the man make love. She didn’t know if it was the breh-hedden or if it was just four thousand years of excellent practice or what, but damn he knew how to work her body. Desire rippled over her and resulted in a full-body shiver. She squeezed her eyes shut and for one ridiculous moment thought about calling Marcus back to bed. She moaned.
Okay, this was so not helping her time of reflection.
The trouble was … the trouble was … the longer she was with him, the more she enjoyed him, being with him, talking to him, sharing this difficult journey by his side, his sword drawn half the time, his body pinned to her the other half. She loved it so much, the connection, the physical oneness, the shared bed.
Yeah, she loved it all.
There was only one problem, the same issue she’d had from the beginning—she didn’t want to be in a relationship. She didn’t want her heart to swell with love and risk being punctured, deflated, obliterated by yet another death.
With the loss of her entire family so many years ago and later Eric’s death, she had learned to live a serene, unruffled, unemotional existence because she had determined in her heart that she would never be in love again, never be married again, never risk losing someone she loved. The pain had been too much, and her ensuing commitment to a solitary life had been profound and purposeful.
A tear slid over the bridge of her nose. When had she started to cry? Only then did she understand that though she could intellectualize her situation, her heart knew she was in serious trouble.
She drew a deep breath and sat up.
Reflection time was over. She had to face the day. She had work to do, and it would include figuring out how to do a split-self so that she could engage in darkening work. In fact, with her ability to be in the darkening she might just be of some real use in the war effort. How happy that would make her, to have one more tool by which she could honor Eric’s death.
A light knock sounded on the door. She dragged the sheet up around her bare br**sts and covered her hips. “Who is it?”
“Just me,” Marcus said.
She smiled, surprised that he would knock. “Come in.”
He opened the door and stepped inside. He wore what she’d come to think of as his casual uniform, a short-sleeved silk shirt, this time in navy, and cotton slacks with a perfect break in the cuff. He also wore a variety of casual but expensive loafers, this time in dark brown leather. His hair was damp and combed behind his ears. He looked fantastic and, oh, damn, her heart swelled at the sight of him. His gaze slid over her face, her hair, her shoulders and her arm pressed beneath her br**sts to keep the sheet in place. His eyes flared. She glanced down. Oh. She wasn’t exactly covered.
When a wave of fennel washed over her, like licorice and grasses and summery scents, she closed her eyes and swayed even though she was sitting on the bed.
She expected him to slam the door shut and throw himself on her. Instead, he stayed put. Did he know she wouldn’t have turned him away?
She opened her eyes and glanced at him. She lifted her brows, a silent question.
“Bad news,” he said. “Endelle wants to work with you this morning.”
Havily’s first reaction was simple. “I can’t. I have final meetings with my team leaders today and then the Reception this evening. I don’t have time.”
“Endelle rescheduled for you. She says this is more important.”
Havily swallowed hard. Great. Then she noticed that Marcus’s eyebrows were low on his forehead and he still hadn’t advanced into the room. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked.
“Shall I tell you straight-out?”
Oh, God, what? “Yes.”
“Only this—I feel it as well, this pressing need for you to figure out how to do the whole weird splitting-self skill. I’m afraid I’m with Endelle today. Your safety is at stake.”
“You’re really serious.”
He nodded.
What a great way to start the day.
As though he’d read her mind, he smiled. “I do have some good news. Parisa is making frittatas for breakfast.”
She wanted to smile in return but she couldn’t. She looked away from him, her gaze drifting to the lace curtains and the blue sky beyond. Well, she had wanted to be of real use to the war effort, but she wasn’t exactly happy about having to endure Endelle’s bucking-bronc style of tutoring again. Her head ached just thinking about it.
She glanced back at him. “I’ll take a quick shower then join you in the kitchen.”
When another wave of fennel pushed over her, when he growled but left the room, she knew she wasn’t the only one making sacrifices this morning.
She showered then donned a gray silk dress and water-marked gray silk scarf. She wore heels. In gray. She felt gray as she ate her frittata then headed with Marcus and Parisa over to the admin building.
But when she saw Endelle, she felt even worse. The woman wore a black leather bustier, of all things, as well as a black-and-white-striped skirt made of some kind of animal fur. Havily so didn’t want to know where the fur came from.
Whatever.
By the end of the second hour of enduring Endelle’s strident method of teaching, Havily’s brain had turned to mush. Her Supremeness had tried every possible means of forcing her to do a split-self. She had given her new memories, she had showed her by example, she had yelled at her, she had even folded a chaise-longue into her office so that Havily could practice while reclining. But nothing seemed to work. For whatever reason, she just couldn’t make sense of the process.
By the end of the third hour, tears streamed down her face and her head was killing her.
Endelle paced and shouted, “You should be able to do this. I don’t get it. What the hell is wrong with you?”