Page 34 of Eternal Devotion

“No. Everything’s grand.”

As he straightened his clothes, I reluctantly asked, “Should I take you home?”

He offered a subtle nod and faced forward, no longer seeming able to meet my gaze.

Disappointment reigned.

The drive passed swiftly, neither of us commenting on the fiery exchange. I had no idea what had happened or why he’d stopped so abruptly.

I parked by the fountain and stared at Mordecai, who stared at the sleeping mansion, his thoughts seemingly a million miles away.

“It’s an awfully big place for one person,” I said into the silence, hoping to kickstart a conversation or at least bring us back to neutral ground.

“Yes. Cristofer chose it. He has an extravagant nature, like the others. He also thinks he’s funny. He’s not. I’d have been happy with something more… modest.”

“Believe me. There’s nothing affluent about this money pit.”

Mordecai smiled, but it seemed sad.

“Are you… settled?” It seemed unlikely, considering the state of the place and the timeframe, but I was scrambling.

Mordecai’s attention shifted to me. My eyes had nearly adjusted to the dark, so when he freely and openly roamed my body, it was like a physical caress. I tingled from head to toe.

“Would you like to come in, Mr. Elowen?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“More than anything.”

8

Mordecai

I’d gone a week without feeding. I should not have invited him inside. I knew better, but the words were out before I could stop them. Impulse. Desire. It was a horrible idea. Dangerous. My precarious self-control when it came to Ensley Elowen risked ruining everything. I might have had a mission and over four hundred years of practice when it came to controlling my libido, but one kiss, one godforsaken kiss, and I’d nearly ruined everything.

Ensley was a temptation unlike any I’d experienced in centuries.

No, he didn’t have the answers I needed, but he would be a huge asset when it came to finding Iulian. My plan, in all its feebleness, was working. I didn’t have another to fall back on. Alone, it might take far longer to complete my task. The quicker I could get home, the sooner I could return to my morbidly isolated life, drifting on the outskirts of humanity where I belonged. Unlike the newer generation, immersion was not my forte.

Dinner had turned into a catastrophe. Ensley wasn’t stupid, and my veiled attempt to appear as though I was eating had failed. I was not sly. I was cocky and failing.

And now, I’d invited him into my domain with no prepared explanation for all the questions that would surely surface, and an insatiable hunger driving me out of my mind. My desire for Ensley was a greedy thing, and I couldn’t afford to fog his mind or muddle his memories. I needed him present. Aware.

I couldn’t risk him discovering the truth.

We entered the mansion, and I searched for a light switch, remembering he required illumination and that forgetting these human necessities would only trigger his suspicions.

In the Jeep, Ensley asked if I was settled. My effort, however minimal, should prove satisfactory, considering I’d only been in residence seven days. I didn’t see the point in decorating, and I didn’t want to settle. My hope was to be in and out of the country as swiftly as possible. I was here out of obligation, nothing more.

Cristofer and Seamus held different opinions and suggested my arrival in Owen Sound might come under the scrutiny of hunters. I didn’t usually heed others’ advice—they held no authority over me—but this time, I thought it wise to play along. Therefore, I’d spent the past week tidying and furnishing a handful of rooms to make the miserable mansion more livable.

We entered the parlor, where I found another light switch. It illuminated an enormous brass chandelier that I’d found in a storage area and hung. The bulbs mimicked candles, casting a soft yellow glow over the room.

Ensley’s brows rose as he spun in place, his gaze skipping over the fresh layout. The furniture that had once been piled against a wall was clean and arranged to the best of my floundering abilities.

“I’m not finished. Obviously. There’s a lot to tidy.”

I’d eliminated the dust and insect carcasses, polished wooden surfaces, washed the fabric covers on the settee and chairs, arranged the books on the shelves, and hung a few of the paintings we’d discovered in the upstairs bedroom. The Branson family portraits had cleaned up nicely.

The portrait I favored, the one of possibly gay Caspian’s lover, earned the spot over the stone fireplace. It seemed fitting. The replica of plate armor gleamed on its stand, displayed in a place of honor next to the piano.