Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Miss McKenna, you look charming tonight.”
“Better than when you last saw me. That’s for sure.”
“Not better, just different.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
Edgar opened the door, and though she had known what to expect, it didn’t prepare her for seeing the dining room in all its splendor. The table was a deep, rich mahogany fit for twelve, though only two seats had place settings: one at the head of the table, where a dark, smoldering Graves sat reading a brown leather book, and the other to his left. Candelabras encircled the table, illuminating the space, while gorgeous floral arrangements ran down the center. She had no idea where he’d found the intricate bouquets in the city at this time of year.
Edgar cleared his throat. “Sir, your guest has arrived.”
She steeled her nerves and stepped inside to meet her own dark captor from a fairy tale. The warlock who had led her off her path.
Chapter Fourteen
Graves’s eyes flickered up from his book as if he’d been so engrossed that he hadn’t heard anyone come in. Then those gray eyes found Kierse across the room. They darkened considerably as he took her in. Down the formfitting dress to her exposed legs and then back up to meet her gaze. She shivered at the attention. He remained unreadable, and yet she knew what it meant when someone looked at her as he just had. He found her attractive, too.
But “Ah” was all he said before returning to his book.
Edgar pulled out her chair, and she sank down, her back stiff against the delicate cushion.
She tried to ignore Graves seated next to her, but he had a certain presence, as if he filled the entire room. And though he was lethal, she couldn’t help but admire him in kind. He was dressed in an all-black suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. His stormy eyes moved swiftly across the words, turning the pages with a black-gloved finger. He’d exchanged his normal black leather for fine evening gloves. But still . . . gloves.
She cleared her throat. “Do you always wear those?”
Graves looked up briefly. “Hmm?”
“The gloves. Do you always wear them?”
But then his eyes dropped down to the necklace at her throat.
“Do you always wear that?” he countered.
She brushed her finger against the wren. “Yes.” He’d seemed surprised by the necklace on their first meeting. “It caught your attention before.”
He nodded and held his hand out. “May I see it?”
The last thing she wanted was to take the necklace off and let him touch it. “You’re dodging my question about the gloves.”
“I prefer gloves,” he answered, giving just a little. He made a beckoning gesture, and with a sigh, she took the necklace off and placed it reluctantly into his palm.
He studied the delicate artwork of the wren. The way her wingspan extended to the edges of the circle pendant. The faint filigree around the edges that led to the metal backing. It was her most prized possession, and just seeing it in his hands made her feel sick.
“Do you know the symbolism behind wrens, Miss McKenna?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“In some cultures, the wren is a symbol of spring and rebirth. To see a wren in the winter is a sign that spring is forthcoming, that winter will not last forever. It is a positive sign. The day after Christmas is called Wren Day. Wrens are hunted down and slain. They are put on pikes and carried through the town. It’s thought to help banish the winter god.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Wow. I’ve never heard of that before. So, you thought it meant something when I wore it?”
“I believed you to be a good omen in winter.” His eyes flicked up to hers. “Where did you say you got this?”
He removed one glove, and she caught a peek of that tattoo once more. Her eyes lingered on it, trying to make out what was hidden beneath that impeccable suit. More vines and a glimpse of thorns, but that was all she could manage in the dim light. Then her eyes were drawn away from the ink to Graves’s finger running over the face of the pendant. He dragged it down slowly and decisively. It was almost obscene.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“And where did she get it?”
Kierse turned her face away from him. She didn’t like talking about the mom she’d never known. “I never got the chance to ask her.”
Graves’s eyes flicked up to hers, abandoning the pendant at the harsh quality to her voice. “She passed?”
“She died in childbirth.”
Now there was interest in his look. “My apologies for your loss.”
Kierse shrugged.
“And you’ve always had the necklace?” She nodded. “Well, it might be a key to learning why you are immune to magic. Have you worn it every time we’ve been together?”
“I wear it everywhere.”