Savannah smiled. "I'll be back shortly, then we'll see about making up a guest room for you."
"Thanks," Gabrielle replied, in no rush at all to be taken out of this unexpected haven.
As the other woman stepped away, Gabrielle didn't know what to look at first: the treasure trove of literature, or the medieval work of art starring Lucan Thorne, circa what appeared to be the fourteenth century.
Both, she decided, plucking a gorgeous - and, presumably, first edition - volume of French poetry from the shelf and carrying it over to a leather reading chair arranged beneath the tapestry. She set the book down on a delicate antique table, and for a minute, all she could do was stare up at Lucan's likeness, woven so expertly in silk threads. She reached out, but didn't dare touch the museum-quality piece.
My God, she thought, awed, as the incredible reality of this strange other world sank in fully.
All this time, they had existed alongside the human world.
Incredible.
And how small her own world felt in light of this new knowledge. Everything she thought she knew about life had been eclipsed in a matter of hours by the long history of Lucan and the rest of his kind.
A sudden stirring of the air around her sent a clamor of alarm through Gabrielle's limbs. She whirled away from the tapestry, startled to find the real, flesh-and-bone Lucan standing behind her at the room's threshold, one massive shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. His hair was shorter than the knight's, his eyes perhaps a bit more haunted now, not as mercilessly eager as they had been rendered by the artist's needle.
Lucan was far more handsome in person, radiating an innate power even in stillness. Even scowling at her in broody silence, as he was now.
Gabrielle's heart accelerated with a mix of anticipation and fear as he moved away from the door frame and walked into the room. She looked at him, really looked at him, for what he was: ageless strength, wild beauty, unfathomable power.
A dark enigma, both seductive and dangerous.
"What are you doing in here?" There was a note of accusation in his tone.
"Nothing," she replied quickly. "Well, to be honest, I couldn't help admiring some of these beautiful things. Savannah's been showing me around the compound."
He grunted, his scowl still in place as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"We had some tea together, and talked a bit," Gabrielle added. "Eva joined us, too. They're both very nice. And this place is really impressive. How long have you and the other warriors lived here?"
She could tell he had little interest in conversation, but he answered, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Gideon and I established this location in 1898 as a headquarters for hunting Rogues who had moved into the region. From there, we recruited a team of the best warriors to fight alongside us. Dante and Conlan were the first. Nikolai and Rio joined us later. And Tegan."
This last name was completely unfamiliar to Gabrielle. "Tegan?" she said. "Savannah didn't mention him. He wasn't there when you introduced me to the others, either."
"No, he wasn't."
When he didn't elaborate, curiosity got the best of her. "Is he one you've lost, like Conlan?"
"No. Not like that." Lucan's voice was clipped when he spoke of this last member of his cadre, as if the topic was a sore one that he preferred not to open.
He was still staring intently at her, still standing close enough that she could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the bands of hard muscle expanding beneath his fitted black shirt, the warmth of his body radiating toward her in waves.
Behind him on the wall, his needleworked likeness stared out from the tapestry with fervent purpose, the young knight grimly determined, sure to conquer whatever prize lay in his path. Gabrielle saw a darker shade of that determination in Lucan now, as his gaze slowly took her in from head to toe.
"This weaving is amazing."
"It's very old," he said, staring at her as he came nearer. "But I guess you know that, now."
"It's beautiful. And you look so fierce, like you were ready to take on the world."
"I was." He glanced at the wall hanging, scoffing lightly. "I had the piece made a few months after the death of my parents. That castle burning in the background belonged to my father. I razed it to ash after I took his head for killing my mother in a fit of Bloodlust."
Gabrielle gasped. She hadn't been expecting anything like that. "My God. Lucan..."
"I found her lying in a pool of gore in our great hall, her throat savaged. He didn't even try to fight me. He knew what he'd done. He'd loved her, as much as one of his kind could, but his thirst was stronger. He couldn't deny his nature." Lucan shrugged. "I did him a favor by ending his existence."
Gabrielle looked at his cool expression, feeling as stricken by what she'd just heard as she was by the blasé tone in which he relayed it. Any romantic appeal she had imagined in the tapestry just a minute ago dimmed under the weight of the tragedy it truly depicted.
"Why would you want to have a beautiful reminder of such a terrible thing?"
"Terrible?" He shook his head. "My life began that night. I never had much of a purpose until I stood up to my ankles in my family's blood and realized I had to change things - for myself, and for the rest of my race. That night, I declared war on the last remaining Ancients of my father's alien kind, and on all the members of the Breed who had served them as Rogues."
"That's a long time to be fighting."
"I should have started a lot sooner." He pierced her with a steely stare. Gave her a chilling smile. "I'll never stop. It's what I live for - dealing death."