Page 35 of Maksym

“Millie.”

“Yes.”

“And Taras?”

“If you wish.”

I almost snorted. “He looks like he alphabetizes knives.”

This time, Maksym’s mouth definitely curved.

“He does. Swords also.”

The brief humor flickered and died. His eyes held mine again, and the room went very still.

“You are no longer alone, Grace.”

The sentence entered a place in me that had been empty so long I had no concept of what it could mean.

No longer alone.

Chapter 6

Maksym

Dawn approached.

It did not enter Grace’s chamber so much as gather behind the blackout curtains, a pale pressure at the seams of velvet, turning the black edges gray. The room looked like it had been prepared for a visiting dignitary, not a woman dragged half-dead from slavery into immortality, and that mismatch had begun to offend me more with every passing minute.

A low fire smoldered in the black stone hearth despite the desert heat beyond the wards, not for warmth but because Millie believed fire made a room less lonely. Along the far wall, two tall wardrobes stood open enough to reveal the work of my staff: folded nightclothes, soft robes, shoes in several sizes, everything chosen by people trying very hard not to imagine the woman who might need them.

On the table between us, the decanter of blood wine stood half-empty.

Her plate was empty. Mine remained untouched.

Grace sat in the chair opposite me with the robe gathered around her body in both hands. Her hair had dried in loose, dark waves around her shoulders, the color a rich cherry-brunette. Her navy eyes kept finding mine, then moving away with visible discipline, as though even looking at me for too long might concede something she was not ready to name.

They were growing heavy.

“You said dusk,” she murmured.

“Yes,” I said. “Dusk.”

“That’s when I wake?”

“Most likely.”

“Most likely,” she repeated, because uncertain answers offended her.

I inclined my head. “Your body is still adjusting. You may wake earlier. You may sleep past sunset. There is no danger in either.”

She looked toward the curtains. “And sunrise?”

“Sleep will pull harder once the sun climbs. Made vampires are more bound to that rhythm than born vampires. My blood may change some of that for you, but tonight we will not test boundaries.”

Her eyes returned to me. “You keep saying tonight.”

“For us, this is still night.”