Defiance

carefully. And he was tense, his shoulders stiffening.

“And I’ll bet you helped her get right over that, didn’t you. You’re so helpful.” Yes. I was being a total bitch, okay? I just couldn’t stop myself.

He’d gone just as still as Ash. “I did what duty required.”

“Is that what you’re doing here, too? What duty requires?”

He actually sighed at me. “No. Right now I’m understanding your anger and loneliness as best I can, as I overlook your daytime games.”

My chin set stubbornly. “You don’t know what it’s like to be cooped up in here all the time.”

“Which is why I let you go during the day, and only follow at a distance. For your safety.”

“Let me go. Like I’m a prisoner.”

“Why don’t we address what is truly troubling you, kochana?”

Oh, there was no way I wanted to do that. “Sometimes,” I addressed the wall opposite me, not looking at either of them, “I could really hate you, Christophe.”

“You act out with me because it’s safe.”

Oh, goddammit. What do you do when someone says something like that? I snuck another glance at him, and all the tension had gone out of his shoulders. The aspect had left, too. He just stood there, as if I wasn’t holding on to a pile of kickass werwulf, as if we were alone in this narrow cell. His hands dangled, loose and empty, and he was staring right at me.

At my face. Where every little thing I was feeling was probably written in neon capitals. And underlined.

“Of all the words I could pick to describe you . . .” I was about to say, safe isn’t one of them. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it. He wasn’t the kind of safe I felt when Graves was sleeping in the same room, where I knew I would wake up and things would be all right.

No, Christophe was the kind of safe that had teeth. Where you know that the bad things are outside the door, but none of them are as bad as the thing inside standing guard over you. He was like a roller-coaster ride, or a twister. Not comforting at all.

Except it is kind of comforting when the twister’s on your side.

“Which one would you choose?” He was still staring.

I patted Ash’s head. “I guess obnoxious would be a good one. Move it, kid.”

The Broken werwulf obediently stepped aside. He edged back, trying to slip between me and Christophe without being too obvious about it. I reached out, snagged his ruff, and pulled gently. “Over here. Don’t think I don’t see that.”

He was stiff and resistant, but I finally got him on my other side. I spread the blanket out on the shelf bed. “I’ll be back. Have a good night, okay? And don’t worry. You’re showing more skin than ever. You’ll change back. I know you will.”

Yeah. Right. But Christophe didn’t say anything, and Ash gave me one long extraordinary look. Like he understood, and he believed me. And like he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. His jaw crackled as he opened his mouth, showing all his teeth in a yawn. A sound came out from the bottom of the well of his throat, and I could swear to God, again, that he was trying to say my name.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Council were all standing when I came in the door. They usually did that.

I got the urge to glance behind myself every time, to see what they were looking at. Christophe, who had opened the door, glanced in, and told me it was safe with a short nod, stepped in after me. That was enough to get me moving. It was either that or be herded.

The chair at the head of the table didn’t get any more comfortable. When I dropped down, they still remained standing.

I guess Anna had trained them well. “Well, let’s get this over with.” I tried not to sound tired and bad- tempered.

As usual, the first to sit was Bruce. He lowered himself down in the seat to my left, his sharp dark face set. That was the signal for the rest of them. Slim blond Ezra had his usual cigar, but it was unlit. Mostly because I wrinkled my nose every time he fired the damn things up. He was in his usual jeans, starched-white dress shirt, and black suit jacket. It should have looked Miami Vice corny, but it didn’t. The fact that he’d hit the drift late and looked about twenty-five helped.

Alton’s dreadlocks moved like a live thing as he sat, slowly. He wore a cheery red and yellow rugby shirt, and his usual smile, shocking white against his ebony skin, was missing. I was so used to Alton’s sunny good temper, it was kind of a nasty surprise. Of all of them, I suppose he was the most cheerful.

Right next to him, Augustine’s chair scraped as he dropped down. He didn’t look too happy, either.

Kir and Marcus were off the Council because they’d helped Anna play her little games. Marcus hadn’t done it knowingly, but he still refused to come back and be a part of the meetings. Christophe was okay with that; I wasn’t so sure. Kir, on the other hand, had been packed off to teach in a satellite Schola.

Probably a reform one, too. Like the one he’d helped send me to.

That left two spots open. One was Christophe’s, of course. They’d asked him, and he made a big deal out of asking my permission and generally driving home that they’d accused him of being a traitor before all that. I guess he was bitter about the whole thing. It wasn’t like I blamed him, but if he kept rubbing it in, we were going to have more shouting matches in this windowless room.

Big fun.

For the other seat, I’d suggested Augustine, and been surprised when he showed up at the next meeting, scrubbed and looking miserable as a kid on School Picture Day. He was Dad’s friend and fellow hunter, from the old days. Blond hair slicked back, his uniform of white tank top and red flannel clean as if I’d washed it myself that month I spent in his Brooklyn apartment, waiting for Dad to come back.

On my left-hand side, there was an empty chair. Christophe rarely sat down. Sometimes he prowled the Council room as if looking for an exit, sometimes he stood beside and slightly behind my seat. Tonight it was behind-the-chair. He hadn’t said a word since I’d closed Ash’s door.

Three chairs down—because he wouldn’t even sit next to Christophe—Hiro perched, ramrod straight. His coppery fingers rested on the glossy tabletop, and his mouth was a straight line. In front of him was an expensive- looking, cream-colored envelope.

My mouth dried up. I stared at it.

Since you have taken my Broken, I shall break another. But Christophe had said this was about Anna, hadn’t he?

Hiro, of course, knew exactly what I was thinking. “It is a communication from the traitor.”

He wouldn’t even call her Anna. It was always “the traitor” or the sarcastic Milady, and the gleam in his dark eyes when he said it made me want to back up a couple steps. I was always glad he never looked at me like that.

I waited, but nobody said anything else. “And?” The single word fell like a rock into a quiet pond.

Hiro shifted, as if uncomfortable. “It is . . . addressed to you, Milady.”

“Okay.” I leaned forward, held my hand out. But it was Christophe who took two steps down the table, leaned across Hiro, and scooped the envelope up. He actually sniffed it, too, bringing it just under his patrician nose and inhaling deeply.

“No trace of nosferat.” But his face was set, his jaw an iron line. That expression was the one that made my heart do a little scared leap inside my chest.

If he ever looked at me like that, I’d find a wall to put my back to. Pronto. “Well, hand it over. I’m sure pretty much everyone here has read it except for me.” But I was wrong about that. Christophe laid it gently in my outstretched palm, and it was still sealed. Dru Anderson was written on the front in block letters, curiously childlike printing in fountain pen, the edges of the letters bleeding faint blue.

“How was this delivered?” Christophe wanted to know.

Ezra shifted in his chair, toying with the cigar. He looked like he really wanted to