“No one’s eaten. I thought we should.”
“Always thinking, aren’t you, little queen? Mind’s always going.”
He was drunk, she could see that. Too much whiskey had dulled his eyes and thickened his voice. But she could also see the pain. “You should sit before you fall over.”
“Thanks for the kind invitation, in my own bloody house. But I just came down for another bottle.” He shook the one he held. “Someone appears to have made off with this one.”
“Drink yourself sick if you want to be stupid about it. But you might as well eat something. I know you eat, I’ve seen you. I’ve gone to the trouble to make it.”
He glanced at the counter, smirked. “You opened a tin.”
“It’s sorry I am I didn’t have time to kill the fatted calf. So you’ll make do.”
She turned around to busy herself, then went very still when she felt him behind her. His fingers skimmed the side of her throat, light as a moth’s wings.
“I’d have thought you tasty once upon a time.”
Drunk, angry, grieving, she thought. All of those made him dangerous. If she showed him her fear, he’d only be more so. “You’re in my way.”
“Not yet.”
“I don’t have time for drunkards. Maybe you don’t want food, but Glenna needs it, for healing strength.”
“I’d say she’s feeling strong enough.” Bitterness edged his tone as he glanced up. “Didn’t you see the lights brighten a bit ago?”
“I did. I don’t know what that has to do with Glenna.”
“It means she and my brother are having a go at each other. Sex,” he said when she looked blank. “A bit of naked, sweaty sex to top off the evening. Ah, she blushes.” He laughed, moved closer. “All that pretty blood just under the skin. Delicious.”
“Stop.”
“I used to like when they trembled, the way you are. It makes the blood hotter, and it adds to the thrill. I’d nearly forgotten.”
“You smell of the whiskey. This is hot enough now. Sit down, and I’ll make a bowl for you.”
“I don’t want the fucking soup. Wouldn’t mind that hot, sweaty sex, but
likely I’m too drunk to manage it. Well then, I’ll just get that fresh bottle, and finish the job.”
“Cian. Cian, people turn to each other for comfort when death’s come. It isn’t disrespect, but need.”
“You don’t want to lecture me on sex. I know more of it than you could ever imagine. Of its pleasures and its pain and its purposes.”
“People turn to drink as well, but it’s not as healthy. I know what he was to you.”
“You don’t.”
“He talked to me, more than the others, I think, because I like to listen. He told me how you found him, all those years ago, what you did for him.”
“I amused myself.”
“Stop it.” The tone of command, bred into her bones, snapped into her voice. “Now it’s disrespect you’re showing for a man who was a friend to me. And he was a son to you. A friend and a brother. All of that. I want to put a stone up for him tomorrow. It could wait until sunset, until you could go out and—”
“What do I care for stones?” he said, and left her.
Glenna was so grateful for the sun she could have wept. There were clouds, but they were thin and the beams burst through them to toss light and shadows on the ground.
She hurt still, heart and body. But she would deal with it. For now, she took one of her cameras and she stepped outside to let the sun bathe her face. Charmed by the music of it, she walked to the stream. Then just laid down on its bank and basked.