“It would have been if I hadn’t suspected that Gunnar’s timely death hadn’t been an accident.”
Her eyes widened. “Murder?”
He nodded, although a vampire didn’t have that particular word in their vocabulary.
Until the previous Anasso had taken command of the vampires they’d been little more than brutal savages who took what they wanted without consequences.
That’s why it was imperative that a vampire become a member of a clan with a strong chief who could protect them.
“Yes.”
She tilted her head to the side, the threads of bronze and gold in her hair shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights.
“Was there another contender to the throne?”
He shrugged. Only a vampire with the mark of CuChulainn could claim the right to become clan chief.
“None that had survived the battles.”
She frowned. “Then it was an enemy?”
“Only one that could have walked past the guards.”
There was a long pause as she studied his grim expression. “You know who it was, don’t you?”
“Fala.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. “Oh.”
Fine cracks began to form on the table where his fist rested against the cheap Formica.
“She had convinced herself that my glorious destiny needed a helping hand.”
“Were you angry with her?”
“I was disappointed she didn’t trust my ability to win a fair fight against Gunnar.”
Her well-guarded expression at last softened, her hand reaching to lightly touch his clenched fist.
“Have you considered the fact that might not be about trust?”
He scowled. “Then what?”
“Maybe she wanted to spare you the trauma of killing a man you once respected. That’s what a mother does.” Her eyes abruptly hardened at the thought of her own mother. “Well, at least, I suppose that’s what a mother would do if she wasn’t a psychopath.”
He inwardly cursed, turning his hand so he could capture her chilled fingers.
He’d revealed his past in an effort to earn her trust, not to bring up old wounds.
“Sally—”
“What happened to her?” she firmly interrupted.
His gaze shifted to where her pale fingers remained in his tight grip, absorbing the tactile connection. Her warmth was the only thing that allowed him to speak past the cold regret that surged through him.
“Not long after Gunnar’s death she met her ancestors.”
“What does that mean?”
“She greeted the dawn,” he said, his tone stripped of emotions. Not that he could hide the intense pain he’d felt when he watched Fala step from their lair into the morning sunlight. He’d never truly forgiven himself for being too far away to save her. “Most assumed that she’d tired of her very long life. It’s not that uncommon among the very ancient.”
Genuine sympathy darkened Sally’s velvet eyes. As much as she longed to be a callous badass, her vulnerable heart would always betray her.
Of course, it was that very vulnerability that constantly managed to unman him, he ruefully conceded.
“But you didn’t believe that?” she asked softly.
“I’ve always feared it was guilt.”
Without warning her brows snapped together. “No.”
“No?”
She squeezed his fingers. “Fala sounds as if she was a strong woman who firmly believed in fate,” she insisted.
He gave a slow nod. “She was.”
“Then she would have considered her choice a matter of destiny.”
“Or desperation.”
“Roke, if she truly had faith in her visions, then she had faith in you.” She leaned forward, her expression one of utter certainty. “Whatever led her into the sun, it wasn’t guilt.”
Roke became lost in the dark beauty of her eyes, the gnawing fear that he’d been responsible for Fala’s death easing at the certainty in her voice.
How many years had he punished himself with the fear that Fala had to betray her own honor to protect him?
It’d been a constant source of shame.
Now, with a few simple words, Sally had given him the courage to remember Fala as a proud, fearless vampire who accepted her duty, just as Roke had accepted his.
It was a gift that was beyond price.
He lowered his head in a gesture of profound respect.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
Sally managed to eat through most of the menu before she at last shoved aside the plates, sighing in relief.
Or at least she told herself that it was the vast mounds of food that had lightened her mood and caused the strange flutters in the pit of her stomach.
Otherwise she’d have to admit that Roke’s unexpected glimpse into his tormented past had broken through her defenses with an ease that should terrify her.
She didn’t want to ache at the thought of him being haunted by the memory of the woman who had sired him, or blaming himself for her death.
And she certainly didn’t want to feel the prickles of electric excitement at his casual touches. Really was there any need to brush a stray crumb from her finger, or tuck a curl behind her ear?
It was much better to pretend that nothing had altered between them.
As if to mock her ridiculous decision, Roke reached across the table, his fingers a soft caress as they touched her face.
“You have some color back in your cheeks,” he murmured, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
With a sudden need to distract her odd mood, Sally slid out of her seat and deliberately glanced toward the window.
“It won’t be long until dawn. Shouldn’t we be finding someplace to stay?”
The silver eyes studied her with a hint of puzzlement as he rose to his feet.
“I called the local clan chief before we reached the café and he offered us a safe house not far from here.”
She wrinkled her nose. She’d been on the run most of her life, so it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to going for weeks without a hint of luxury. That didn’t mean, however, she had to like it.
“Another safe house?”
“I have hopes this one will provide a few more amenities,” he said in sympathy. “Are you ready?”
She shrugged, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms as a growing sense of restlessness tingled through her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Tossing money on the table, Roke led her out of the café and toward the car parked in the center of the lot.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head.
With a jolt of surprise, Sally realized that she’d fallen a step behind Roke, her gaze glued to his rock-hard ass shown to perfection in the faded jeans.
Cursing her increasingly strange mood, she jerked her head up and prayed he hadn’t noticed her lingering stare.
“What’s pathetic?”
“This . . .” He waved a slender hand toward the car. “Piece of shit.” He gave another soulful shake of his head. “We need a new ride.”
She arched a brow. “Are you one of those men who need an expensive ride to make him feel macho?”
With a fluid motion he turned, his hand cupping her chin as he studied her upturned face.
“I’ve never had a problem with macho, but I do have a problem with riding around in a tin can.” His gaze lowered to her unsteady lips, perhaps realizing she’d lost track of his words. Awareness sizzled in the air, sending a dangerous, melting heat through her blood. Then, with a hiss, Roke’s attention shifted toward the nearby trees. “Get in the car.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Dashing around the hood of the car, she yanked open the door and slid inside. She managed to get the door shut, but she was still struggling with her seat belt when Roke had the motor started and was shoving the car into gear.