Hugo smiled at Elijah again, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’ll have to remind them of me when you can, my boy. I’m not sure just who you are, but I have no doubt that the Navarros do, and they won’t be happy to see you’re here to stay.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Ysabelle reminded them both rather tartly, but Elijah ignored the barb. There was nothing she could do about it now—he had kept his side of their bargain, and now she had to keep hers.

“Is that so?” Hugo asked. “Good thing the cellar is stocked. In times of trouble you’ll want to go looking there.” He winked at Elijah, who couldn’t stop himself from grinning back. Not even Ysabelle’s stormy glare could check his spirits.

Soon he’d be able to jam his siblings down behind the barrier and smash their stubborn heads together until they both fell back in line.

“I am satisfied, nonetheless,” Ysabelle admitted finally. “I am not entirely pleased with the direction this neighborhood has taken, but there’s no denying that the house is fairly Elijah’s. If there’s no more, we can let you return to your rest now.”

“I’ve earned it,” Hugo grunted, but Elijah felt sure he saw the ghost wink again. “Take care of the place,” he added. “The door to the smaller bedroom sticks when it rains, and there’s a stump in the back I think is starting to rot.”

“Thank you, Hugo Rey,” Elijah offered sincerely, feeling as if there was much more he wanted to add but nothing that would really make a difference. “This means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

REBEKAH WASN’T SURE if she felt like crying or killing as she stalked past the drab tents of the army encampment. She wouldn’t do either, having more self-control than Klaus gave her credit for. She had to handle this little problem diplomatically, or she was not the asset her family needed her be. Klaus might as well dagger her and be done with it.

So instead of giving in to her baser instincts and massacring the lot of them, Rebekah had decided to rededicate herself to the task at hand. She had fed in more than one alley last night, replenishing her strength and gathering her focus. It wasn’t safe to try and co-opt the army as she had once planned, but she couldn’t simply walk away.

Eric knew about vampires, and he’d accepted her presence too easily—he had to be searching for a deeper truth about her. His innocent questions and idle comments replayed themselves in her mind. He might have decided to keep her within arms’ reach while he studied her, probing for weaknesses. Perhaps staking the werewolf had been nothing but a test of her resolve. But she was now determined to steer him off of his path in order to keep her family safe.

The soldiers were still laboring night and day to rebuild the damage the werewolves had caused. None of them seemed to notice her slipping into her tent, where she should have been all along.

She barely had time to make herself at home when she heard the sound of a throat clearing outside the walls. Crossing the piled carpets, she pulled open the flaps of her tent to see who waited outside.

Eric started forward when he saw her, gesturing for his guard to hang back. A clean white bandage, much smaller than the last one, circled his head at a rakish angle. Now that he was out of danger, the reminder of his battle scar made him look tougher, more rugged. The change was attractive, she noticed in spite of herself.

“Madame,” he greeted her, as courteously as he could with his heart pounding so hard she could hear it. He was almost a foot taller than her, and he bent from his great height to kiss her hand. “Rebekah. I was becoming concerned about you. After your visit to the infirmary it was like you disappeared.” His heartbeat steadied, and she stepped backward invitingly, encouraging him to follow her inside. “I hope it was nothing I said....”

“I have been keeping to myself,” Rebekah improvised. The distance between them felt much more intimate within the low cloth walls, as if the shadows of the tent were pushing them together. “With so much going on, I did not want to be in the way.”

Eric’s lean face smiled in understanding. “I have heard that you were extremely brave during the rebels’ attack. It was also very selfless of you to visit with the wounded. But a battle is no minor thing, even for hardened soldiers. It shouldn’t have surprised me that you would need some time to recover.”

She couldn’t argue, no matter how ridiculous that sounded to her. She had killed more men on her own in a day than had died in that little skirmish. She certainly hadn’t huddled here, panicking like some weakling. “It took time to sink in,” she agreed, trying to sound numb rather than bored, “and I did not feel able to face anyone once it had.”

“I have just the thing to get it all off your mind,” Eric responded crisply. He leaned his torso through the flap and signaled to the two men outside. They passed him some kind of folded cloth and a basket, but the only thing she could focus on were the vervain flowers he held out to her. “These are for you,” he announced. “And I’d like to invite you for a ride out into the countryside to restore you to your former self. Our lunch is packed.”

This time it was the sound of her own heartbeat that pounded in her ears. Was he trying to test her? To see what the poisonous vervain would do to her? The purple spikes were mingled with other blooms, and a matching length of ribbon (where had he found purple ribbon out here?) tied them all together. He was holding out a bouquet and inviting her on an outing—what new, twisted plot was this?

She struggled to calm herself. Did he know some of the flowers would burn her? He might suspect so, or even hope. But if she was to outsmart him, the best thing she could do was to continue playing her part. Flowers and a picnic lunch in the countryside. Why not? If she refused them it would look terrible....Although if she touched them, the entire charade would be over.

Eric watched her curiously, but she couldn’t tell if it was with eagerness or concern. “I wanted to thank you,” he went on haltingly, as if her pause had made him nervous, “for your visit to my bedside. It must have been very difficult for you, but it was deeply moving to me.” His smile was absolutely winning. The easy flash of his teeth, the genuine happiness in his hazel eyes. In spite of herself, Rebekah was dazzled by this man all over again.

If she wanted to leave this camp without a slaughter, she would have to pull herself together. “I love the idea of a day away from this place,” she agreed, trying not to think about how appealing it sounded to spend the day with him. She was going along to avoid suspicion, after all. If she wanted to be alone with him, to see that smile meant only for her, to touch him...wouldn’t that only help to make her pretense more believable?

“These are lovely,” she smiled. “But when did an army captain have time to go flower-gathering?”

Eric had the grace to look a little abashed. “Fortunately, I have assistants who possess a wide variety of talents,” he explained, although whether he meant that one of his men had chosen the vicious weeds or run the camp for him while he performed the task she couldn’t be sure.

“How considerate.” She improvised, leaning forward carefully and pretending to smell the bouquet he still held. She caressed his arm through the rough sleeve of his uniform, hoping he would not notice that she only touched him and not the flowers. She knew that if their positions were reversed, she would not have noticed anything but the stroke of his fingers. “Would you put them in the pitcher there for me until we return? I cannot carry them while we ride.”

She could hear the unsteadiness of his breath. She thought she saw his eyes flicker briefly to the flowers before returning to hers, but she could not be sure. “Of course.” He recovered his composure and set the bouquet gently in the empty earthenware pitcher she had indicated. “Safe until our return.”