“But we’re getting off track again,” Sark said, eyeing me with a frown at the corners of his mouth. “I still need to know how to make you glow, my lady. Your husband told me that he’d been trying for an entire standard year before he decided to hire me to help. Tell me, what has he been doing wrong?”
What has he been doing wrong?
His words echoed in my head and froze me with a slice of blenda berry toast halfway to my mouth. So many awful memories of the past year rushed in on me that for a moment I didn’t see the giant Kindred guard sitting across from me—I saw only Baslik with his sneering grin and cruel hands, pinching and twisting and jabbing as he shouted, “Glow for me, you little bitch! Glow so I can breed you—I’m tired of waiting, damn it!”
I saw him touching me, hurting me—taking what I wasn’t ready to give. Making me feel dirty and ashamed and sick and worthless inside…
“My lady? Isla?”
It was Sark’s worried voice that brought me back. I looked up at him blankly.
“Hmm? I mean, I beg your pardon?” I asked mechanically, remembering my manners.
“You’ve crumbled your toast damn near to dust,” he told me. “And…you’re bleeding.”
Reaching across the table, he dabbed gently at my lower lip with a white linen napkin—it came away with scarlet splotches on it.
“I…forgive me.” I reached for my own napkin and dabbed at the same spot, hoping I hadn’t wounded myself too badly. “I…must have bitten my lip. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I don’t either, but I’d sure as hell like to find out,” Sark rumbled, frowning. “But maybe we’d better talk about something else while we finish our breakfast.”
“Yes, please!” I felt vastly relieved. I brushed the pulverized toast crumbs carefully onto a side plate. “Tell me more about yourself, if you please, Mr. Sark. What other missions have you been on and what other important people have you protected? You must have led such an exciting life!”
This sort of small talk—fawning questions meant to make a man talk about himself and feel important—was one of the first things a female learns before she goes out into society. It causes most men to puff up their chests and talk importantly of all their fine and manly doings in the wide world. It’s a good way to take the spotlight off oneself, which was what I was hoping to do.
However, my new guard didn’t puff up his chest or begin speaking immediately about himself. He gave me a level, knowing look—a look that seemed to say,
I know you’re hiding something.
But to my relief, he said no more about me being a Moonstone goddess and didn’t ask again how to bring on my glow. Instead we spoke of other things—the weather of late and what to expect at the public appearance before the people today. When breakfast was finished, he thanked me most courteously for letting him dine with me and rose as I excused myself from the table.
I ducked into the bathing chamber, of course, to record this morning’s events. I really have no notion what to think of Sark now. He looks like a perfect pirate with his black leather clothes and short black hair and tall boots, but he speaks like a gentleman and professes to think that women and men are equals—something no gentleman of my world would ever admit to thinking, lest they be considered weak and effeminate.
I truly cannot make him out, but I find myself much more comfortable with him now. Though comfortable or not, I confess I am still dreading tonight’s treatment, which cannot be skipped since we know that Baslik is watching over the monitors he had placed in my rooms.
Ah—there is the gong calling all the royal family members to gather for the public appearance. Supposedly there is some sort of announcement the Prince, my father-in-law, will make. I must go—more later.
Isla put down her pen and hid it and her diary away in one of the bottom-most drawers of her bathing chamber vanity. A variety of hair care products scattered over it made practically invisible—especially to male eyes, which would only see female bric-a-brac.
Satisfied that it was well hidden, Isla closed the drawer and hurried to take her place beside her husband among the other royal family members.
She had no idea what desperate danger she was going into.
TWELVE
From the recorded logs of Sark, Hybrid Kindred Warrior and Security Specialist for Hire:
Fuck. Fuck! I nearly lost her and I’ve never lost a client before—fucking never.
Hang on—let me try to get myself under control. It was just so fucking close.
I’m pacing in front of the fire as I record this and Isla is in the fresher taking a long bath to try and relax. After what nearly happened earlier, I don’t fucking blame her. You’d need a bath that lasted a fucking year to get over it!