Page 32 of Hupotasso

“Jag, I know you’re pissed…”

“I need to see her.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to see Angelina. There are a couple of things I need clarity on before I can come up with a plausible explanation for Caroline’s demise.”

“Clarity? I’ve told you what happened — Angelina poisoned her.”

“Yes, so you say,” he murmurs.

“You don’t believe me? Since when have you mistrusted my word?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a long minute before he sighs heavily.

“I won’t let on any of your diabolical plans, if that’s what you’re worried about. I simply need to question her.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

I run my hands through my hair in agitation and pace the room. It’s not that I mistrust him with my woman. I’d trust him with my life. It’s the subtext of his request.

“Am I to understand you’re telling me this because you want to see her, but you don’t want to see me?”

“Yes.”

I grit my teeth.

“Mi casa es su casa, brother,” I snarl before hanging up.

27

I smile as he enters the room with his long, lanky stride and shakes his head at me ruefully where I sit on the carpet playing solitaire.

It’s been months, and I’ve missed him. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend in this strange new world I find myself in.

“Jag.”

“Lady Dragonspur,” he bows.

“Oh, cut it out, I know you’re a Viscount, you don’t need to bow.”

“You’ve been researching me?” He puts on a mock ‘of course you have’ face.

“No,” I snort, “Caroline liked to name-drop and patter on aboutthe royals. You and Wolf just happened to be two of those names. Actually, she never shut up about you — if I didn’t know better, I’d say she had the hots for you or something.”

“Mmm, we’ll get to Caroline,” he shakes his head, “but as to your other assertion, you are the wife of Lord Falcon Dragonspur, Marquess of Badencrost. Therefore, you are a Marchioness, and that makes you higher on the royal ladder than I, and deserving of my bow.”

“And do you bow to Wolf? After all, I’m told he’s a count.”

“Technically yes, he is,” he chuckles, “but have you seen the way he dresses?”

“I can’t blame him for that,” I smirk. “We don’t all get to choose what we wear. It wasn’t long ago that I was smothering you with my ridiculous wedding dress as you contemplated ripping my throat out.”

“There is that.” He laughs, and I join in.

I haven’t laughed, really laughed, in ages, and I like this vampire, so easy in his manners compared to his brooding friend. Still, I can see this is more than just a friendly visit, and we both sober quickly.