Page 17 of Blood Stone

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“She came fromwhere?” Nial asked, folding up his glasses and sliding them into his breast pocket.

“Antler, North Dakota,” Winter repeated unhappily. She clasped her hands between her knees. She had healed the skin on her hands and her knees as soon as she had escaped Finka’s presence and the public street. Now all that was left was the blood that had dried on her shins. It didn’t even sting anymore. She sat on the plush dining chair pulled up in front of the round table, still wearing her business suit.

Nial sat, as usual, on the tallest perch in the room so he could stretch out his legs. Today, that was the arm of the sofa. He still wore the suit he would have donned for his meeting, but he had removed the tie. Sebastian sat on the sofa itself, cross-legged and barefoot, already back in his jeans and soft cotton shirt. He had rearranged the furniture in the hotel suite that was their home for the next little while and was already quite comfortable in it.

It took Winter longer to relax in a new location, and she was feeling uneasy now, too, for neither Sebastian nor Nathaniel was taking her latest news well.

Winter had left Finka on Hollywood Boulevard, along with the name of her hotel, which Finka had verified using Winter’s cellphone to check that she was a guest.

“You told her, just like that?” Sebastian asked. There were only the faintest sounds of incredulity in his voice.

“It was that, or she goes to the media. She said she had it all written down. A whole book’s worth. With names, dates, photos. Documented. The lot. Including everything my brothers ever told her.”

Nial pulled at the flesh over the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb, like he was very tired, or stressed. “And you believed her,” he said flatly.

“I let her think I believed her,” Winter amended, “so that I could get away from her and do something about it.”

“What does she want?” Sebastian asked. Hedidsound tired.

“Her brother is dying. A rare blood disorder. He has weeks left and the doctors have given up.” Winter shrugged. “He’s the only family Finka has left. The only relative who made it out of Serbia.”

Nial glanced at Sebastian. Then he cleared his throat. “I assume that ‘Morana’ means ‘winter’ in Serbian?” he asked.

Winter stared at him, her heart jumping. Why the change of subject over to something so trivial?

No one knew Nial very well. Sebastian knew him best, but Winter was starting to catch up with a vengeance, especially in the last year with all the work they were doing to neutralize the Pro Libertatis and to bring vampires out safely. She had seen Nial strategizing and watched how his mind worked up close and very personal.

So she knew now that he had changed the subject because he was covering up his real thought processes. He didn’t want to continue down the path he had been following.

Why not?

Winter made herself answer his superficial question, aware that she had taken too long to answer already. “Actually, it’s Croatian. Morana was the goddess of death and winter. My father found my name more and more ironic, later on, as the war set in.” She sighed. “I was too young to understand it fully, but I think he saw me as a curse, in the end. An evil hex on the family and the city. I brought the war on them by my talent and by my name.”

Sebastian blew out a heavy breath.

Winter looked directly at Nial. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

He lifted a brow.

“You changed the subject by asking about my name, Nial. What are you hiding?”

Sebastian glanced at him and grinned. “You married her. That’s the price you pay. No more secrets.”

Nial stood up. He wasn’t smiling. “If that’s the price, I’ll happily pay it. But you may not like it right now, Winter.”

“I’m already not liking it. I haven’t been happy since I walked in the door. You two have been treating me like a witch at the inquisition.”

“There isn’t a thumbscrew or a rack in sight,” Sebastian said. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Not much,” Winter shot back. “I came to you both as my husbands, expecting support and empathy. Instead, I get the third degree and professional criticism.”

“You deserve it,” Nial replied.

“Nial,” Sebastian chided.

“No, Bastian. I won’t spare her.” Nial didn’t even turn to look at Sebastian as he spoke. He kept his gaze steady upon her face.