Karen Chance: Death's Mistress

“You were afraid I’d kill her?”

“That, yes. But there was also your reaction. I knew you would be shocked, disgusted, horrified—everything I saw on your face in the tunnels. I did not want you to think less of me and I knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That there was no chance for us!” His face was serious, passionate. It made me want to thump him.

“Why? Because Marlowe disapproves and the Senate won’t like it? Personally I think that’s kind of a bonus.”’

He looked at me in disbelief. “I stole from you. I lied to you about Christine. I left you with a madwoman—”

“Twice.”

“You have every right to wish to never see me again!”

“Yes. But then, you also helped me fight off a bunch of crazy fey, ran out on your murder trial because you thought I might need help and, from what I hear, pried me out of a wall.”

I yawned, and when I looked up again, Louis-Cesare had that same mix of hope, uncertainty and fear on his face that I’d seen once before. “What are you saying?” he asked carefully.

“I’m saying…” I paused. What was I saying? Was I actually thinking about this? Was I actually doing this? Because out of a lifetime of crazy things, this had to take the prize. Dhampirs didn’t have relationships—not long-term ones, at least. And certainly not with the creatures we were supposed to be hunting. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, and this was probably going to end in disaster. Everyone knew, there was no such thing as happy endings, and princes didn’t end up with the family pariah.

But now it seems that I am a pariah, too, drifted through my head.

“Stop it,” I said, leaning back against him. His arms were tight around me, but his hands were gentle. I could hear a heartbeat in my ear, and it sounded natural, soothing. “What are you saying? That I can’t corrupt you?”

He brushed his lips over mine, the faintest of touches, his breath warm against my skin. “I intend to give you every opportunity to try.”

I smiled as I drifted back to sleep. Okay. That could work.