In the Company of Vampires

Chapter 7

“The little kindness is five euros, the bigger one is ten, and the do-it-yourself love charm kit is twenty-five.”

“Oh, love charm is good, yes? We will take it,” one of the two young women who stood before me said in a charming German accent.

I handed over the box and took her money. “Forgive my ignorance, but who are you dressed as?”

The woman smoothed a hand down her floor-length black dress and matching belted waist cincher, pulling down from the top of her head a silver metal mask. “I am a death eater!”

“So you are. Er . . . isn’t that from Harry Potter? Not a Wagnerian opera?”

“Yes,” she said, pushing the mask up before waving to her friend. “Sabeine is Hermione.”

“And a very good Hermione you are,” I told her, handing over the change and admiring her Hogwarts robes. “Enjoy your love charms.”

The two women left, excitedly discussing whether to visit the wizard’s sanctum first or the aura photography booth. I eyed the table in front of me, mentally adding up the stock on it and the boxes of extras I’d found earlier. I had assumed that the items would last several days, but Peter hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the town’s opera competition was sending the Faire lots of customers—center aisle was a solid mass of bodies, and I had done a roaring trade in just the hour we’d been open. I’d kept so busy I hadn’t had time to do more than twitch whenever a man of Ben’s general build and color walked past.

“Fran!” A petite woman with long, curly blond hair and brilliant blue eyes darted around a small clutch of people and ran toward me. “It is you! I am so pleased to see you, but there is something I must tell you about Benedikt before you see him—”

“Too late.” I smiled when she froze just as she was about to hug me, the delicate lines of her face unmoving. “Hello, Imogen. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has,” she said absently, her gaze searching my face. “You have seen Benedikt?”

“Yes.” I set down the bottles of kindness, idly checking the lid on the tester my mother kept to show people how the potion worked. “I’ve seen him. And Naomi. Ben seemed surprised to see me. You didn’t tell him that I was coming?”

“No, I thought the surprise of seeing you might do him some good. Sort of a shock therapy, you know. Oh, Fran.” Remorse filled her eyes as she hugged me, waves of sympathy rolling off her. “I am so sorry. Benedikt is . . . I do not know what has happened to him. I have tried to talk to him about his decision. I have tried, you must believe me. But he will not listen to me. He will not speak with me. He avoids me, he will not even let me feed him anymore. It is as if he is bewitched by that . . . that . . .” She spat out a word I didn’t recognize, but assumed it wasn’t something I’d ever be saying. “But it is very hard to bespell a Dark One, and Naomi does not have that sort of power, so it cannot be that. My dearest Fran, I do not know what to say to you. I have let you down. I fear Benedikt is lost to us.”

She hugged me again, and I patted her back, smiling a little at the fact that she was the one who needed comforting. “It’s okay, Imogen. You don’t have to cry. If Ben is lost to us, it’s my fault, not yours.”

“That, I do not believe,” she said, pulling a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. Imogen was the only person I knew who liked nothing more than to spend a night clubbing, but who still used handkerchiefs. She’d told me once that she had seen a lot of things come and go over the more than three hundred years she had lived, but handkerchiefs were a constant in her life. “You are his Beloved! How he can spurn you this way is beyond my understanding. There has never been a Dark One who has done so. No, I tell a lie. There was one, a Frenchman, but that is an entirely different situation. He has a woman he took as his Beloved in the other’s place.”

“Just when you think your heart can’t break any more,” I said wryly, the pain that lanced through me at her words now a familiar sensation.

“Oh, Fran, no! I did not mean that!” She took my hands, her fingers tight on me, tight enough that I winced at the glass tester bottle I still held as it dug into my palm. “That Naomi, she is not the one for Benedikt. He could not have replaced you with her in his affections. He could not!”

It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of that more than me.

“It doesn’t really matter anymore,” I said, and would have bared my soul to her, but at that moment, the tattered remains of my heart clumped together just in order to fling itself around inside my chest. Imogen turned and swore under her breath as she looked with me to where a couple was strolling past the booth. My fingernails dug through my gloves into my palms. Naomi, catching sight of us, pulled Ben to a stop, and with deliberately slow motions reached up to first brush back a bit of hair off his forehead, then stroked her hand down his chest, wiggling her hips into his as she gazed up at him. “Benedikt, would you like something from the little witch’s booth? You don’t need a love potion, but perhaps something else? She looks like she could use the money.”

Ben’s eyes were black as midnight as he looked over the top of Naomi’s head to me. I forced my face to adopt a placid, unruffled expression that I prayed conveyed no interest whatsoever in the fact that Naomi practically had her hands down his pants right there in front of everyone. He shook his head.

“What’s that?” Naomi cooed. “You don’t want anything you see? Nothing whatsoever?”

“Oh!” Imogen said, outraged by the show Naomi was putting on. “Benedikt, I insist that you stop this! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Ben’s jaw flexed. He shook his head again.

Naomi laughed and tossed back her hair before she put both hands on his butt and licked his chin. “On the contrary, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Darling, you are sure there’s nothing the witch has to offer that you want?”

“No,” he answered, the word piercing me like an arrow. “There’s nothing there I want.”

“I thought not,” Naomi said with a smile at him as she stroked his chest.

“That . . . that . . . oh! I’m not going to stand for this!” Imogen said, starting forward, her hands fisted.

“Why bother?” I said loud enough that my voice carried over the drone of the people packed in the main aisle. I held Ben’s gaze, proud that I could speak without so much as a tremor in my voice. I was angry now, both at myself and at him. While I had been the one who had broken things off, I had never flaunted myself with another man in front of Ben. I’d never told him how much I was looking forward to dating other men. I’d never allowed another man to fondle me in front of him.

No, Inner Fran said bluntly. You just let the man believe you didn’t want him.

I closed my eyes for a moment against the guilt that swamped me, fighting it and the pain until I could speak. “Don’t bother, Imogen. People have the right to make their own choices. Ben has made his.”

Imogen spun around to stare openmouthed at me. “You’re not going to tell Benedikt what you think of this?”

“I believe I made myself quite clear the last time we spoke.” I kept my eyes on Ben despite the pain of it all. It was a suitable penance. “I hope he knows that I’m . . .” I couldn’t say the word. I just couldn’t. My fingernails dug even further into my palms. “. . . happy he’s found someone.”

Naomi turned a self-satisfied smirk on me as she rubbed her butt against Ben’s hip. “How very sweet. Come, lover. You can help me with the piercings tonight.”

By the stars that lit up the night, I was going to keep my expression from showing Ben just how devastated I was or I was going to die trying. As Naomi walked past, pulling Ben by his arm, my fingers tightened until the vial of happiness broke, sending hot little spikes of pain into my flesh.

“Son of a basket weaver,” I swore, opening my hand to find blood seeping through the gloves. Ben, almost beyond the booth, froze for a moment and glanced back at me, but Naomi jerked his arm, and with one last unreadable look, he followed.

“Did you cut yourself?” Imogen exclaimed, hurrying over to pick tiny little fragments of glass from my hand.

I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. The oddest emotions were swirling around inside of me—fury and pain in a tight little core, all coated with happiness from the introduction of the potion into my bloodstream. “Yes, I did. Isn’t it glorious? Look! I’m bleeding all over the place! Ben has broken my heart, left me for another woman, and destroyed my entire life. It’s all so wonderful, I could dance!”

And I did, severely hampering Imogen’s attempts to peel off my gloves in order to see how badly injured I was. It took a combination of her, Peter, and Kurt before they could get me to sit still long enough to clean up my hand. Three hours later I was still a bit giggly, although two pots of strong coffee and a measure of my own despair that would have dropped an elephant had helped work through most of the artificial happiness.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right by yourself?” Imogen asked as she hesitated in the door of my mother’s trailer. “I worry about you being alone. Perhaps you could stay with me. Günter would not mind, I’m sure.”

I had no doubt he’d mind very much, but I wasn’t about to say that. “I’ll be just fine here, thanks.”

Imogen frowned. “Speaking of him, I wonder where he is? I haven’t seen him since this morning. I shall go look for him. You get some sleep, dear Fran. And about Benedikt . . .”

Her expression said it all. I smiled wearily and waved her off before staggering to bed, where I lay tossing and turning for another couple of hours. I’d just fallen asleep when the weight of someone sitting on the edge of the bed had me grumbling, “Please, whichever one of you it is, not tonight. I’m really not up to randy Vikings.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. How about a randy Dark One?”

I rolled over and clicked on the light, my eyes already narrowed into a glare directed at the man who sat next to me, looking perfectly normal, perfectly ordinary, just as if he had a right to sit there and be so sexy, it made me want to rip off all his clothing and lick every inch of him. “You slimy, scummy strings of spit! How dare you come in here? How dare you sit there with your shirt open so I can see your chest? Get out! Go back to your precious Beloved.”

“I am with my precious Beloved,” he said calmly, trying to take my hand.

“Ow! Stop that, you’re hurting me,” I snapped, pulling my hand back. He shifted his grip to my wrist, slowly uncurling my fingers to reveal the bandages Imogen and Peter had applied.

“You did cut yourself. I thought so.”

“Take your hands off me, you slimy, scummy—”

“Strings of spit, yes, I know. Nice alliteration, by the way. Stop fighting me, Francesca. I wish to see your injury. I won’t hurt you.”

I stopped struggling with him at that, not because he had ordered me to do so, but because the sight of his head bent over my hand as he gently removed the bandages made a sob of misery catch painfully in my throat. “Why are you here?” I asked, my voice sounding thick with unshed tears.

His fingertips softly caressed the lacerations on my palm and fingers, causing no pain but generating a heat that seemed to spread up my arm. “I had to come. I couldn’t stand the look in your eyes.”

“Oh, you couldn’t? How thoughtful of you. I wonder that you didn’t think of that the second you jumped Naomi’s bones. How long was that after I broke things off, Ben? A month? A week? A couple of minutes?”

He looked at me with an unreadable expression. “Are you finished?”

“Yes. But only because . . .” My gaze dropped to where he was still holding my hand. A lump in my throat ached. “Only because I told you to go find someone else.”

“I don’t recall you ever saying that.”

“Not in so many words. But it’s usually what a breakup means.” Anguish caught on the lump in my throat, and I looked up at him, tears burning in my eyes. “I never so much as looked at another man.”

“I know.”

I stared at him in confusion as he brushed away one errant tear with his thumb. “How do you know?”

He was silent for the count of five. “You are my Beloved, Francesca. No, do not get your hackles up. I’m not going to debate the wisdom of that, or the fact that you are bound to me without your consent. I am simply saying that you are my Beloved, and as such, I am responsible for your welfare. I know that you have seen no other men because I was told so.”

The meaning of his words sank in. “You had someone watching me? Like a private detective?”

“I asked a friend to make sure you were in no danger,” he said carefully.

“And that friend just happened to report on my dating habits? Or lack thereof?” I couldn’t decide if I was furious at such a high-handed manner or touched. Both, I decided.

“Naturally, he was interested in the people in your life. That would include any romantic or sexual partners, had there been any.”

I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. My emotions had been through such extremes, I just didn’t think I could feel any more pain.

I was wrong. “I’m sure that suitably flattered your ego to know that no other man could live up to your standards. Just out of curiosity, how long have you and Naomi been together?”

His eyes darkened. “Six months.”

“Happy anniversary. Now get the bloody hand grenades out of my room.”

“Bloody hand grenades?” One corner of his mouth quirked up as he looked at me. “You still don’t swear.”

“No, I don’t, and give me back my hand.” I tried again to pull it back. His fingers held firmly to my wrist.

“Not until you touch me.”

I goggled at him. I outright goggled. “You think I’m going to give you a hand job? Are you delusional? Insane? Have such an inflated ego you think you can get away with any amount of crap?”

The other side of his mouth quirked up. I told my Inner Fran to stop noticing his mouth, and remember that it had only taken him six months to replace me. “I was going to suggest my chest, but if you wish to touch me elsewhere, I would not object. Francesca, I did not betray you. I realize you believe I did, but appearances are misleading. Touch me.”

“No.” I jerked my hand back, staring in surprise at my fingers. There were faint red marks on them, but the cuts from the glass vial had healed over. There was no pain, only a little sense of tightness when I wiggled my fingers. “You healed my hand.”

“Of course. You are my Beloved.”

“Stop staying that,” I snapped, glaring at him again.

“Touch me, Francesca.”

“Since when did you start calling me that instead of Fran?” I snarled, holding my hand tight against my chest when he reached for it again.

He brushed a strand of hair back from my temple. I wanted simultaneously to leap on him and strangle him. “It seemed fitting when I saw you standing like an avenging angel at the foot of Naomi’s bed. I realized then that you aren’t the Fran I remember. Now you’re a woman, one who I fervently desire to know better.”

“I was a woman when I met you!”

“No.” His hand dropped to my lips, his thumb brushing across my lower lip. “You were sixteen, just budding, but your petals were not yet unfurled.”

I batted away his hand. “You leave my petals and bud out of this!”

He laughed, the sound of it triggering memories so sweet it brought tears of purest pain to my eyes. “Ah, Francesca, what would I do without you?”

“Evidently fall in with the first blond hussy you can find,” I said, shoving him off the bed. “Go away, Ben. I gave you your freedom. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you in my life. Just go away and—”

He sighed even as I was talking, and before I could stop him, he sat on the edge of the bed again and took my bare hand, placing it between his shirt and chest, right over his heart. Ben had always been the only person other than my mother who I could touch without being swamped by thoughts and emotions. He had some sort of an ability to dampen them, to shield me so that I wasn’t overwhelmed. He shielded me now as my fingers lay against his skin, slowly merging his mind with mine. I didn’t want to see what was in there, didn’t want to feel his emotions for Naomi, but even as I tried to pull back, some horrible masochistic part of me had me looking deep into the darkness that raged within Ben.

My gaze met his. “You haven’t betrayed me.”

“No, I haven’t.”

I stared at him in incomprehension. “But . . . I broke things off. I told you I didn’t want to be with you any more.”

“That’s what you said. But what I heard was a plea for two things: time to finish finding out who you were, and romance.”

“Romance?”

“You said you wanted to fall in love, not be told you were in love. I realize now that what is perfectly natural to me—finding a Beloved and being bound to her—was overwhelming to you, and made you feel as if you had no choice in the matter.”

“I didn’t. You and Imogen and everyone said I had to save your soul—”

He stopped me with a touch of his finger across my lips. “We were wrong. We didn’t take into account the fact that you were so young, or, for that matter, your temperament. You never were one to take being led well.”

“No, I wasn’t. I still don’t like it.”

“When you railed at me, declaring that you would make your own life, that you would not allow fate to rule you, I knew that you needed both more time and for me to court you.”

I gave a grim, mirthless laugh. “That’s a very antiquated notion, Ben. People don’t court anymore. They meet at online dating places, and run background checks, and get married and divorced.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m concerned with you, not other people.”

“I’m confused. You didn’t betray what we had, but you’re with Naomi? Are you . . . are you in love with her and hiding that fact from me?”

“Do you think I am?”

“Of course I do. You told me in front of her that you didn’t want me. Why would you say that if it wasn’t true? Why were you with Naomi if you really want me?”

He leaned forward, his mouth brushing against mine. “I can’t tell you why.”

“What?” I jerked back. “What sort of an answer is that?”

“The secrets I keep from you are not mine, Francesca. I can’t tell them to you without first receiving permission to do so.”

I put my other hand on his chest, intending to push him away from me, but with both hands touching his skin, I could feel to the tiniest iota the depths of his emotions. I closed my eyes against the despair and anguish a thousand times more horrible than what I had felt at his betrayal. His pain was so deep it seared through his being, from which he had no escape. He was tormented and tortured, his heart empty, his future bleak, and all because the one woman who could save him had abandoned him, left him alone, refused him. . . .

“Not refused,” I said, opening my eyes, tears scalding my face as I bit back a sob. For the first time since I had met him, he had wholly opened his thoughts and emotions to me, and the experience left me reeling. He hadn’t moved on with his life. He was the one who was betrayed, the one who was left to live in perpetual torment while I blithely went off to find myself, believing he’d be just fine on his own.

“Oh, Ben,” I said on another sob, and he was there, surrounding me, warm and wonderful and everything I wanted in the world. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been wholly selfish. But no one seemed to understand how frustrating it was to be told I had to accept you, had to redeem your soul, had to spend the rest of my life bound to you without regard to anything I might want. Not even you understood.”

“No,” he agreed. “I didn’t until that last call. Then I knew that you truly felt trapped by our bond. So I gave you what you wanted—time by yourself, without restrictions. I knew that in your frame of mind, you would not hesitate to rush out and do everything you’d felt unable to do before. And you did—you changed your hair, you left school and moved out on your own. You got a job that was a far cry from your history degree. I expected you to start dating. You didn’t. In fact, it seemed to my friend that you almost had an aversion to other men, refusing even what must be commonplace associations with them. That surprised and pleased me. It led me to believe that the situation wasn’t as hopeless as I first thought.”

I looked up into the eyes that I knew so well, now a warm oak color, the tiny little flecks of black and gold making his eyes shine. Why, Ben, why?

He knew exactly what I was asking. I sensed his withdrawal, the secrets he kept from me. I can’t tell you. I wish I could.

You told me once you couldn’t lie to me, that by being your Beloved, I held some sort of amazing power over you. You said you’d let me kill you, if that’s what I truly wanted.

And so I would, but I have oaths I must honor, Fran. I don’t like it any more than you do, and I assumed that since you weren’t ready to talk to me, that I would have time to take care of this situation before I would begin broaching the subject of courting you. A tiny little frown appeared between his brows, and without thinking, I smoothed it away. Why did you return now?

“I thought Loki had kidnapped my mother, but Absinthe says she’s in love, and just off on a love spree. I don’t know what to think, but I’m going to find out just what’s going on,” I said, feeling as dull as my words sounded. “How can I trust you if you can’t be honest with me, Ben?”

“You know what is in my heart. You’ve felt it,” he pointed out. “Can you not trust me to do what I must?”

I pulled my hands from him, my own heart somewhat pieced back together, but aching and bruised still. “I think it’s possible for a man to want to be with more than one woman at a time.”

“A man, perhaps. But I am not a mortal man. There is only one woman for me, and you are that woman.”

Part of me wanted to hear that, but the other part wondered if it was his heart speaking, or the Dark One who simply recognized his salvation. “Ben—”

“I know. You’re not ready to hear that. I apologize. I just don’t want you thinking that I am indifferent to you.”

“And Naomi?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“The situation with Naomi is . . .” He bit off the words as if he’d said too much.

I watched his face for a moment, not needing to touch him to feel his regret. Idly, I looked down to my fingers, touching the now almost faded marks, trying to make sense of what he said, and of emotions so confused and tangled I wondered if I’d ever straighten them out. “You’re not going to leave her, are you?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, his face hard and angular.

Having my answer, I touched the hair that swept back from his forehead to the nape of his neck. Ben’s hair had always been gorgeous, and now, worn about four inches long, brushed back and curling slightly on the ends, it made me want to run my fingers through its silky lengths. “You cut your hair.”

His gaze went to my head, a little smile on his lips. “So have you.”

“I liked yours better the way it used to be, when it touched your shoulders. I’ve always thought long hair on men was sexy.”

He slid his fingers along the back of my neck, pulling me forward until his mouth brushed mine again. “I prefer yours longer, as well. Tell me you understand, Francesca.”

“Well . . . I don’t understand, Ben. I just don’t.” I hadn’t intended to kiss him. I really hadn’t. But I had wanted to for so long, the need just overwhelmed me. “I think I want to kiss you, though.”

Passion flared in his eyes. His hands slid around my waist as he leaned into me. “What word will you say this time?”

I nipped his lower lip, sucking it into my mouth to take away the sting. “Do I still need kissing lessons so badly that I have to say words like ‘Mississippi’ against your mouth?”

“Absolutely not,” he growled, his fingers digging into my hips. I tipped my head up, my fingers in his hair, whispering against his lips just before I kissed him, really kissed him, relishing the slightly spicy taste of his mouth with a pleasure I felt down to my bones.

Ben had a unique scent that never failed to make me tingle; it wasn’t the chemical smell of a cologne, but something that came from within him, a scent that reminded me of frankincense mingled with leather, touched with the sharp tang that I remembered from a trip into an alpine forest. He smelled wild and untamed and dangerous, and I knew down to the very last atom that made up my body I would never get enough of it. Of him.

“Did you mean it?” he murmured against my mouth when I let him have his tongue back.

“Oh, yes.” The lust-filled haze in my mind cleared slightly and I realized I had no idea what he was talking about. “Did I mean what?”

He chuckled, a sound that had its origins deep in his chest. I was seated sideways on his lap, my side pressed against his torso, allowing me to feel the rumble of it in my suddenly sensitized breast. “Did you really miss me?”

I pulled away from the lure of his mouth, noting absently that his eyes turned to burnished oak when I kissed him. “Yes. Every night since we broke up, I’ve wondered what you were doing, and whether you missed me.” I paused, watching the little gold bits in his eyes glitter. “About this courting . . . I don’t know that it’s going to be the answer. What if you woo me and it doesn’t work? What if we don’t fall madly in love? What if we’re just the way we were, a vampire and his Beloved, and nothing more?”

“Then we will deal with that. If you wish to be free of me, then you will,” he said simply, and I felt a little piece of the ice shard that had pierced my heart melt away.

“You can’t very well date me and Naomi at the same time. It goes without saying that I don’t share.”

He said nothing, but tilted up my chin and took possession of my mouth in a way that made the kiss I’d initiated seem tame by comparison. The taste of him triggered so many memories of the past, and so many fantasies that followed in the long years without him. His tongue was as hot and bossy as I remembered, and I reveled in the scent and feel and taste of him. For a few seconds, I let everything else fall aside, glorying simply in the sensation of having him in my arms.

A pulsing red hunger rose in him, urging him to take what he needed, to fulfill the most primal part of him. I sucked his lower lip for a moment, releasing it to turn my head slightly, saying, “You’re hungry.”

He moaned as his lips caressed my neck, burning me with both the touch and the desire that spilled over from him.

“Go ahead, Ben. I may not be sure of a future with you, but at least I can feed you.”

His fingers were tight on my arm as his kisses burned even hotter on my flesh until his mouth was pressed against a pulse point. My heart thumped so loud I swear everyone in the Faire would hear it.

Feed, Ben.

Teeth stung across my skin for a moment, and I braced myself for his bite. With a profane snarl, he shoved himself back from me, stalking to the door, leaning his forehead on it as his shoulders heaved.

I stared at him first in surprise, then mortification. He didn’t want to drink my blood?

“I want to,” he said, his voice rough and tight. “Dear god, Fran, how can you believe I want anything but to Join with you once and for all? That’s all that’s filled my mind for the last five years. But I can’t. Not now. Not while . . .”

Hurt and confusion twisted around my heart. I looked at Ben, his head down as he faced the door, his body language reading anger and frustration. “Imogen told me once that if you fed from me, you wouldn’t be able to take blood from her or anyone else, that all blood but mine would be poisonous to you. You don’t want to drink from me because then you wouldn’t be able to feed from Naomi. Is that it, Ben? You’d rather feed from her than from me?”

His shoulders slumped. “I can honestly say that now that I’ve seen you again, I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in all the centuries of my life.” He turned around, his face showing a little of the agony that leached into the room from within him. “But I can’t feed from you. Not yet. Please try to understand.”

I looked at him, this man who I hadn’t wanted, who bossed me around, and drove me insane with both desire and an almost overwhelming urge to walk away once again from the pain he’d caused me. He had crushed my heart. He said he wanted me, but didn’t want to be with me. He craved my blood and the bond it would bring, but refused it nonetheless.

I should have told him I couldn’t trust someone who kept secrets from me.

I should have told him to hit the road.

I should have thrown him out of my life once and for all.

“What do you want me to do?” was all I asked.

“Trust me.” He stood there watching me with eyes that were now the color of mahogany, so handsome it almost hurt, everything I ever wanted in a man, everything I had ever dreamed about, as dark as sin, and twice as dangerous.

He didn’t love me. I had asked him, and bound to tell me the truth as he was, he hadn’t said he did. Could I trust him, given that we might have no future together? What if we simply ended up together, my chemical makeup reacting to his, two people who were physically meant to be together, but lacking the emotional bond that I knew I could not live without?

He had given me time when I needed it; surely I could return the favor. Hadn’t I gained enough insight into myself in the last twenty-four hours to grant him what he asked? I pulled up the blankets. “Good night, Ben.”

He said nothing, just gave me a look that left me tingling to the tips of my toes, and left.

I lay awake in the darkness for a long time after that, thinking about what he said, half asleep, rousing only for a few minutes when the low rumble of masculine voices outside the door woke me. I kept still and silent as the door was opened just a smidgen, allowing a thin finger of light to spill across the edge of the bed.

“Is the goddess—” I heard Isleif ask.

“Still a virgin,” Eirik answered in a satisfied tone, carefully closing the door. “She has not been touched by the Dark One.”

Was that a prophecy, or merely wishful thinking?