He didn't think she would tell him her thoughts. And as much as he found himself curious, he didn't think it his place to ask. Instead he sat in silence as she closed her eyes and swayed with the music coming from the stage. Above the din of voices and serving clatter, he heard Corinne humming softly along with the singer's sorrow-filled words. After a long moment, her lids lifted and she found him looking at her. "This is an old Bessie Smith song," she said, regarding him expectantly, as though he should know the name.
"It's one of her best."
He listened, trying to understand what Corinne enjoyed about it. The sound was pleasant enough, a lazy stroll of a song, but the lyrics seemed mundane, almost nonsensical. He shrugged.
"Humans write songs about strange things. This singer seems overly affectionate toward her new kitchen appliance."
Corinne had her glass to her lips, in the midst of finishing the last swallow of her drink. She stared at him for a long moment before a smile broke over her lips. "She's not singing about a kitchen appliance."
"She is," he countered, certain he hadn't misheard the lines. He studied the singer now, then gave Corinne an affirming nod when the lyric came around again. "Right there. She says after her man left her, she went out and bought the best coffee grinder she could find. She says it more than once, in fact." He scowled, unable to find logic in any of the words. "Now she's moved on to some apparent affection for a deep-sea diver."
Corinne's smile widened, then she laughed out loud. "I know what the lyrics say, but that's not what they mean. Not at all." Her eyes still dancing with amusement, she cocked her head at him in question. Studying him now. "What kind of music do you like, Hunter?"
He wasn't sure how to answer. He'd heard some of the stuff the other warriors played at the compound, but he had no particular affinity toward any of it. He'd never thought about music one way or the other, never paused to consider if any of it appealed to him. What would be the point in that?
Now he looked at lovely Corinne Bishop, sitting just an arm's length across from him, bathed in candlelight and holding him in her beautiful, smiling gaze. He swallowed hard, struck by just how exquisite she truly was.
"I like ... this," he replied, unable to drag his gaze away from her. She was the first to break eye contact, looking down as she took the crisp white napkin from her lap and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "It's been so long since I've had a wonderful meal like this. And blues music, of course. I used to listen to this kind of music all the time ... before."
"Before you were taken," he said, seeing her expression grow reflective, haunted. He knew she'd been very young when Dragos had abducted her. He'd heard she had been full of life, always laughing and ready for adventure. He could see traces of that in her now, as she unconsciously swayed with the more lively tune that was coming from the stage, her foot tapping out a quiet beat beneath the table. "Brock has mentioned to me that he used to accompany you out to dance clubs when he knew you in Detroit."
"Accompany me?" When Corinne's head came up, she wore a wry half-smile. "If that's what he told you, he was just being polite. I was an insufferable pest when Brock bodyguarded for me. I used to drag him out to every jazz club in a fifty-mile radius of the city. He didn't approve, but I think he knew that if he refused to take me, I'd find a way to go on my own. I'm sure there were many times he must have hated having to watch over me."
Hunter shook his head. "He cared for you. He still does."
Her answering smile was soft, reassured. "I was very glad to see that he is happy. I'm glad he's found a mate in Jenna. Brock deserves all the good in life."
She went quiet as the waitress came by to clear the dishes and remove the empty cocktail glass. "Bring ya 'nother vodka gimlet, shugah?"
Corinne gave a dismissing wave of her hand. "I'd better not. This one already seems to be going straight to my head."
Hunter declined as well, his glass of beer sitting untouched, ordered only for appearances'
sake when they'd first arrived. After the server left them alone, Corinne glanced across at him in the wobbling glow of the candlelight. Her pupils were dark pools, mesmerizing and endless. When she spoke, her voice was husky and soft, tentative somehow. "What about you, Hunter?
What were you like growing up? Somehow, I don't think you were the wild, impulsive type."
"I was neither of those things," he agreed, recalling his grim beginnings. He was serious and disciplined for as long as he could remember. He had to be; failure in any area of his upbringing would have meant his death.
She was still looking at him, still trying to puzzle him out. "I know you said you don't have family, but have you always lived in Boston?"
"No," he replied. "I came there when I joined the Order this past summer."
"Oh." She appeared surprised by that, and not entirely pleased. "You've only been with them for a short while." She glanced back down at the table and brushed at some errant bread crumbs. "How long were you in service to Dragos?"
Now he was the one caught by surprise.
"That first night, at Claire and Andreas's Darkhaven," she explained. "Someone heard them talking about you. About the fact that you used to be allied with Dragos." She watched him closely, carefully. "Is it true?"
"Yes." Simple. Honest. A fact she apparently already knew. So, why did he feel the sudden want to bite the word back? Why did he have the impulse to reassure her that though he might have served Dragos, he posed no threat to her?