Page 24 of Up In Flames
“A pack?” Rath jumped on the clue. Maybe because it was the only tidbit I'd given them about my letters.
“Yeah, but he called it asort-ofpack.”
“Must be a Ladrin,” Xae said. “But not a wolf.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Wolves aren't that subtle.”
“Neither are Tytra,” Taroc said.
“I don't think you can speak for all wolves and dragons,” Rath said. “There are always exceptions.”
Xae grunted. Taroc said nothing.
This only confirmed Rath's statement for me. Xaedren and Taroc may not be subtle, but they were men of action more than words. Not stupid, but not outspoken. Taroc especially didn't speak unless he had something important to say. I had been drawing more conversation out of him these days, but initially, he barely said anything. Breakfast had been a particularly silent time for him. Taroc liked to have some quiet time before he started his day.
So why would I think that men like them might write love letters? Because it might be easier for them to write their words than speak them to me. But I didn't share my theory. This wasn't something I wanted to argue about with them. I shouldn't have even brought it up. It was for me to figure out who my admirer was.
With that in mind, I took another look around the hall and my stare snagged on Jathalion.
Oh, fuck.
Could it be? Jath was at a table with his usual group of friends. He'd been listening to one of them speak but looked up as if he could feel my gaze upon him. When our staresmet, his huge, black wings lifted slightly and glinted with green highlights. He smiled at me. My breath caught. We had sex once, but it was back when he still blamed me for the deaths of the recruits he trained. The sex had been phenomenal but angry, and he had left me immediately afterward. Now, he looked as if he wanted to give it another go.
I jerked my attention away from him. I was good with Jath now, but did I want to rekindle our romance? I mean, could I even call what we once had a romance? Even though I had forgiven him and liked him as a friend, it didn't mean I had forgotten his treatment of me. I wasn't sure if I could move past it.
Damn. If he was my secret admirer, I would be greatly disappointed.
“It would explain why he's remained anonymous,” I muttered.
“What was that, Ember?” Rath asked.
“Nothing,” I said, glancing at Jathalion. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter Twelve
The letters kept coming, and each one drew me deeper and deeper under my admirer's spell. I had employed Death in my quest to discover the writer, but he had yet to be successful—a fact that had me suspicious. How could he not know who was leaving letters at my door? The first one, fine. But now that I had asked him to be alert, he should have seen something. Yet my admirer eluded him.
And me.
It could be because he left them so early, often while I was on the roof, training with Death.
Another one, Death said as I reached my suite.
Sure enough, another letter waited, propped against my door with my name written across the outside fold. I snatched it up and sat down to lean against the wall.
I suppose you want to be alone.
“Please. And thank you,” I said as I opened it.
Fine, Death muttered and left.
As soon as he was gone, I started reading:
Ember,
I find myself longing for the heat of home. Winter is both hard and enchanting for me. It's so beautiful, but also strange. So fucking cold.
