But to her, it had always been a wonder. The sheernumberof things: hallways, bedrooms, candelabras, windows.So manywindows. It was a Gothic wonderland of overwrought Victorian delights, from the conservatory to the portrait gallery; from the medieval kitchen to the dining room with its table as long as a bowling alley. It was always full of busy scientists now, yes, but for the most part they stayed in the basements, leaving only a skeleton crew of security guards, housekeepers, and cooks in the main part of the house. If she pretended they weren’t wearing laminated ID badges, Annabel liked to imagine herself the lady of a lavish British household; one who traipsed across the Oriental carpets in her motorcycle boots.
She walked down the richly paneled hallway now, the heavy wood doors gleaming faintly in the light of the retrofitted sconces, steps soundless on the red hallway runner. They’d been given one of the nicest bedrooms, one with its own bath, and a door that locked. That part was all for show, she knew, frowning as she turned the knob and let herself in. The guards could kick their way in at any time if it was deemed necessary. But. It was a gesture; sometimes gestures were all you had.
Fulk lay across the width of the bed, head hanging off the edge, hair a shiny black waterfall that spilled onto the carpet below, earbuds in, iPod held loosely against his chest, expression caught somewhere between thoughtful and miserable.
Anna leaned back against the door after she shut it, smiling.
His eyebrows jumped – jumped down, since he was upside down at the moment.
She shook her head and went to stretch out beside him.
He pulled out the near earbud and held it out to her; she plucked it from his fingers and wedged into her own ear.
He was listening to Rush. “Tom Sawyer.”
“You’re in a mood,” she said.
“When am I not?”
“Even more of a mood,” she corrected with a chuckle, rolling her head to the side so she could see his profile. Maybe at some point in the future she’d stop marveling at his beauty, but she hoped that day never came.
“You’ve been paying a lot of visits to the dungeon,” he murmured, and the music shut off.
“I have.”
“Why?”
“At first it was curiosity.”
He made an unhappy sound in his throat, a low, wolfish whine.
She reached up to slide the backs of her fingers down his cheek, the cruel line of his jaw. “I know,” she murmured. Then pressed on: “But he’s lonely. He needs the company.”
“Fuck what he needs,” Fulk said coldly.
“Are you jealous, or just being an asshole?” she asked.
He turned his face away, jaw clenched so tight the tendons threw shadows down his neck. Both, then, but mostly jealous, she thought.
“I know that you have…complicated feelings…about vampires.”
He growled.
“I know, baby, I know.” She shifted onto her side so she could study him without craning her neck. “ButIfeel sorry for him at least. I don’t think he’s as horrible as everyone thinks.”
“That’s because he’s lying to you. Putting on a show to make you think he’s some poor, misunderstood wretch.”
“Don’t call me naïve” The first bit of heat crept into her voice. “I know you think I am, but I’ve got instincts too, you know. You’re not the lone genius in a world of idiots.”
“Darling, that’s not what I meant.”
“Hmph. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.”
“Alright.” His eyes slid toward her, curious but cautious.
“Now, if I tell you this, you have to keep it to yourself.”
He turned his head then, brows drawing together. “You doubt me.” A statement, not a question, delivered with the sort of characteristic mildness that meant she’d wounded him. Caused him to doubthimself– or at least her trust in him.
