Page 70 of Roguefinder

It was the only good thing. Nothing else had gone in our favor since we landed in Rome. We were no closer to Ulfrik, his scent trails kept cutting off, and every werewolf in Italy had apparently vanished. The Council wasn’t concerned about the last part, which meant they were either naive, stalling, or privy to knowledge they didn’t feel like sharing.

And the elders weren’t naive. That left two options, neither of them good. Worse, what if Caleb was right about a werewolf being responsible for Ulfrik’s return from the dead? Stefanos had claimed he’d look into it. What if he already had, and now the Council was scrambling to find the traitor? What if the Council itself was behind everything? I’d followed orders for a century, and I had no reason to think the Council was compromised. But I couldn’t allow myself to be naive, either. Blind faith could put Caleb in danger, and I wouldn’t accept that.

I’d kept my doubts locked firmly behind the mate bond, and I could only hope nothing had leaked across. Caleb didn’t need more reasons to mistrust the Council.

Even so, guilt tugged at me. Was omission really that much better than an outright lie? He’d already chafed at me protecting him. What would he say if he discovered I was skeptical about the Council brushing aside the disappearance of Italy’s werewolves?

“Hey,” he said now. “You okay?”

I crossed the bathroom and picked up the orange juice. “Drink all of it,” I said, holding it out.

Exasperation flitted through his eyes. But he took the glass and drained it, throat working in a couple of impressive gulps. He dragged his forearm over his mouth. “Happy?”

“No.” My memory spun me back to France, where he’d climbed into my bed and studied me with blue eyes brimming with hurt. I’d lied to him for weeks about being a wolfseeker sent to track him down and kill him.

Don’t lie to me again, he’d said.

And I’d held his stare and answered: I won’t.

I’d promised. And now I was breaking it.

I had to tell him the truth.

His gaze went to the door behind me. “I really want to see you in that suit.”

“What if you have another vision at the opera house?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He shrugged, bare shoulders shifting in a way that put me in danger of forgetting what we were talking about. “I won’t touch anything.”

“That’s not practical.”

His smile was pure wickedness. “Then I guess you’ll have to carry me.” Gaze locked with mine, he adjusted the knot on his towel with the practiced tug of an athlete who’d done it a thousand times. “I’ll sit on your lap.”

Fuck. I rubbed my mouth as my eyes wandered to his plump pecs against my will. “I should put you over it,” I muttered.

“Promise?”

I grunted.

He stepped close, bringing the scent of my shampoo with him. “You’ll be with me the whole time. If a vision hits, we can dip.” He hesitated. “That means⁠—”

“I know what it means, you little shit.”

He laughed softly. Then he spread his palms over my chest, and a hint of vulnerability flickered in his eyes. “The Council was ready to kill me before. Now they need me.”

My heart tore down the middle. He’d felt unwanted his whole life. Finally, he had something important. A rare gift. And I was about to walk him into Carlo Gesualdo’s opera house on the order of a Council I didn’t fully trust. But telling him now would rattle him at exactly the wrong moment.

And Caleb would absolutely insist on going. If I shared my skepticism, he’d go in angry and second-guessing every elder. The prickly jock from New York was always just under the surface.

After. I’d tell him after, when we were home and had time to talk without a clock hanging over our heads.

Caleb smiled. “Take me to the opera, Jesse. We’re in Rome to investigate. So we should investigate, right?”

“Right,” I heard myself say.

He kissed my jaw, then turned and went to the sink. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“I want you to eat something before we go.”