His legs buckled. He turned that into a controlled slide, lowering the two of them to the ground. His chest heaved. Her face was buried in the side of his neck, her hair spilling over his shoulder and chest.
Benedict stroked that hair. His hand still trembled, but for a different reason.
“Wow,” she whispered into his skin, then lifted her head. “You’ve got such big hands.” Her voice was soft and dreamy. “I never knew that was possible, what we just did. Such big hands.”
Her face was a pale oval in the darkness. His hands smelled like her now. So did his body. His heart still thudded strongly in his chest, its earlier gallop slowed to a canter … and at peace. He smoothed her hair back from her face. “If I live another hundred years, this moment will remain clear and vivid for me.”
She didn’t say anything, but she smiled.
“What kind of flowers do you like?”
“What?”
“You want to be courted. I need to know …” He stiffened, his head turning.
“What is it?”
She hadn’t heard, of course. “My father. No, don’t panic, he’s not coming here. Shh.” He listened.
Silence was not Arjenie’s strong point. Mostly she managed it only when a magical binding would not allow her to speak. But she distracted herself from talking by grabbing frantically for her jeans.
But as Benedict had told her, Isen wasn’t approaching. He stood at the back door of the house and spoke softly, knowing Benedict could hear. First he apologized for the interruption, then he explained it.
Benedict sighed. “Seabourne’s back.”
Arjenie quit trying to wiggle into her jeans without standing up. “What did he find out?”
“Not what we wanted him to.” Benedict hated having to tell her. “He couldn’t find your sister. The guest cottage behind Friar’s house is empty.”
THIRTY-FOUR
ARJENIE had told Benedict that sex didn’t fluster her. That was mostly true, but it occurred to her as she put various pieces of clothes back where they belonged that everyone in that house would be able to smell what she’d just been up to. That was a level of sharing she was not used to.
Everyone but one. Cynna had left, but as soon as Arjenie and Benedict went back inside, Lily and Rule emerged from the bedroom wing. She wore the man’s shirt she’d had on earlier with a pair of wrinkled slacks. And, of course, her sling.
Isen looked at Lily and shook his head. “You did not hear Seabourne return.”
“No, but Rule did.”
Isen bent a look on his younger son. “I had hoped Lily would sleep.”
“So had I,” Rule said dryly.
“I will. Just not yet.” Lily turned a wide-awake look on Cullen and began asking quick, to-the-point questions.
Arjenie paid anxious attention to his replies, but part of her noted that, in a room brimming with really bright alpha males, Lily was still somehow in charge. At least, she considered herself in charge—maybe not of the people, but of the questioning—and no one disputed her assumption.
That was deeply interesting, but she couldn’t think about it now. She sat beside Benedict on one of the couches while Cullen explained what he’d seen, done, and smelled.
Apparently Cullen had been studying Friar’s wards off and on for some time. He knew about the weak spot Arjenie had used, and that’s where he’d crossed, too, though his method was different. It involved him being able to see the wards and manipulate them directly, which was a very neat trick. He’d arranged to reach the little cabin unseen by having Danny intentionally set off the wards some distance away, drawing Friar’s soldier wannabes away.
He was good with locks, he said, so when Dya didn’t respond to his soft call at her window, he’d gone inside the cabin. She wasn’t there. He didn’t find her clothes or other items that might have belonged to her … but her scent was all over the place. A clearly nonhuman scent. He’d Changed to better register it.
The lupi all perked up as if that was important. What did she smell like?
Rather like an otter might if you added cloves and subtracted fur. Also oily, he said. Oily like olive oil, with its bright green notes, though she was definitely a meat-eater.
No, he didn’t smell spilled blood. Nor did he see any.
Benedict squeezed Arjenie’s hand gently when he said that.
Cullen had tried to track Dya’s scent. The strongest scent trail, he said, seemed to head to Friar’s house, but he couldn’t follow it far without being seen. He did not find a recent scent trail leading away from the cabin in any other direction. He’d waited in the cabin for an hour, hoping she might return. But when Danny set off the wards again as planned, he’d had to leave while he had the chance.
Lily drummed her fingers on her leg. “The obvious assumption is that Friar moved her into his house. Sometimes the obvious is accurate. There was no sign of foul play.” She looked at Arjenie when she said that. “We’ve no reason to believe she’s been harmed.”
Arjenie swallowed. She couldn’t even nod. The stupid binding wouldn’t let her agree with the fact that her sister existed.
“That’s the obvious assumption,” Isen agreed, “and it may be what’s happened. However, there’s information you lack. I’ve had Friar’s place watched for several months.” He looked at his older son. “Benedict?”
“Originally,” Benedict rumbled in his beautiful, deep voice, “we simply watched from the road to keep track of who came and went, particularly on nights when he held Humans First meetings there. It pays to know who your enemies are. When I looked over the lists my men kept, however, I noticed some anomalies. That’s when we decided to keep a closer watch.” He glanced at Arjenie. “A decision that led to my marking the location of the wards three nights ago.”
“What anomalies?” Lily asked.
“Twice someone left Friar’s place who hadn’t been seen arriving. Once one of his lieutenants arrived—and was never seen to leave again, though he later showed up in Sacramento. It might be that my men screwed up either in observing or in recording what they saw. Or it might be they were right.”
Rule spoke slowly. “You think he has some secret means of egress.” He gave his father a hard look. “I wasn’t told about these anomalies. About Friar being watched, yes—”
“Which you hadn’t mentioned to me,” Lily said.
“Which,” Isen said, “is one reason I didn’t tell Rule about the anomalies. He dislikes withholding information from you. Also, it seemed vaguely ridiculous. Why would Friar be sneaking people in and out through the wilderness? We were curious, so Benedict set additional watchers. We’ve had men observing Friar’s neighbors as well and the dirt road at the rear of the property.”
“Last week, it happened again,” Benedict said. “Paul Chittenden left Friar’s house with Friar shortly before ten P.M. on a Tuesday. He was not seen to have ever arrived at Friar’s. It’s clearly possible to come and go from Friar’s without being seen—it’s rough country, with plenty of opportunities to hide. But you must make an effort to go unseen. Why would Chittenden enter in great stealth, then leave openly with Friar?”
“What are you suggesting?” Lily asked, frowning. “That he’s got some sort of secret tunnel?”
“Yes.”
“You’re kidding.” She frowned harder. “You’re not kidding.”
“I consider it one possibility. A somewhat remote one, I thought, until now.” He paused. “She has an affinity for underground places. Under some of her names, she was a goddess whose worshipers built altars to her in caves.”
Lily had a funny look on her face, as if she’d bitten into something nasty and wanted to spit it out. And couldn’t. “But we’re talking about Friar. She’s not here, so whether he’s hanging out aboveground or below wouldn’t affect her.”