And the only reason, I reflected, although I didn’t want to acknowledge such a self-pitying thought. “I thought we were here because we were hungry,” I quipped lamely, and he shook his head.
“Yes, there’s that, too.”
The waitress showed up then with our salads and their accompanying bread, asked us if we needed anything else, and then departed when we said we were fine. Although some of my pleasant mood from earlier had evaporated, my stomach still wanted something to satisfy it. I lifted a forkful of salad and chewed, and then realized this was just what I wanted. Some people might say salads couldn’t really be comfort food, but I’d argue that they just hadn’t tried the salad Dianne with its nutty-sweet Asian dressing and slivers of almonds and chunks of chicken. It was divine.
“This is very good,” Silas said, after he’d taken a few bites.
“Isn’t it? They’ve been serving it for more than thirty years. My parents used to come here on dates. Or rather, the original location, the one on Green Street.”
“Ah.”
And that was all he said. I realized it probably hadn’t been very politic to mention the subject of dates. We weren’t on one, of course not, but I had asked him out to lunch. Some people would consider that only a friendly gesture, while others might look at it as something more. Judging by the way Silas was acting, I guessed he was in the “friendly gesture” camp, if even that.
More eating in silence. One of the couples who’d also been sitting in the outdoor dining area got up and walked past us. They looked to be a little older than I, probably in their early thirties. I noticed the way the woman’s gaze flicked toward Silas and paused there for a second before she kept moving. Nothing major, most likely just someone taking extra note of a person they found attractive, but it still made my hackles go up.
Which was a ridiculous reaction. I had absolutely no claim on Silas, except perhaps to expect him to keep me alive. He’d been doing a pretty good job of that so far.
Because I could feel my neck tensing up, I cast about desperately for something to restart the conversation. “So…how do you know the people around us aren’t semivives?”
“They aren’t.”
“But how do you know?”
“They’re not attacking us.”
Point taken. I set down my fork and reached for my iced tea. “They’re that aggressive?”
“Not always.” Silas also put down his fork, but in his case, it was so he could break off a piece of the zucchini bread that had come with our salads and take a bite. “Actually, they’re quite passive when they’re not acting on orders from their masters. But if any were in the vicinity, they would be there in an attempt to capture you. Which is why I said they would be attacking.”
“The vam — ” I broke off then and cast a furtive glance toward the one couple that remained on the patio with us. They were chatting animatedly and didn’t appear to be paying any attention to what Silas and I were saying, but that didn’t mean I still shouldn’t be careful. “The ones who control them don’t use them as spies?”
“No, because they’re not very good at processing information. A good spy reports on what he sees and offers analysis to go along with it. The semivives are mainly muscle.”
Well, that was something. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about thralls of the undead hanging out in unlikely places, trying to catch me in a compromising position. Not that I was ever in a place to be in a compromising position, so to speak, unless that included trying on bras at Victoria’s Secret or something. I couldn’t feel much relieved, though, because Silas went on, “The vampires do their own spying. Their ability to become invisible stands them in good stead when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Invisible?” The word came out as almost a squeak. This time the couple on the other side of the patio did pause to shoot a curious glance in our direction. I quickly reached for my iced tea and sipped at it, trying to appear as if I didn’t have a care in the world.
“Well, invisible to mortal eyes. It’s more that they can move so very quickly that they might as well be invisible.”
“This just keeps getting better and better.”
Silas shook his head. “It’s not as bad as it seems. Because you are safe in your own home, and when you’re not, you’re with me. They won’t try anything.”
“How do you know that for sure? If they’re as fast as you say — ”
“They operate in stealth, Serena. Even if Lucius — or, more likely, one of his counterparts — were to slip in here one night and grab you and steal you away, do you realize what that would look like? One moment a woman would be sitting at a patio table at a restaurant, and the next she would be gone. It would cause far too much of a disturbance. Yes, the…person…who took you wouldn’t have been seen. But he would have to reappear somewhere — and somewhere close by, because their kind can’t travel nearly as far while burdened with the weight of a human. It isn’t worth the risk.”
That made some sense. I was glad to hear that, for all their supernatural abilities, vampires had their own limitations. They were still scary as hell to me, just maybe not quite as scary.
Even so, I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder before I returned to my salad. Silly, I knew, because even if any vampires had been lurking in the vicinity, I wouldn’t have been able to see them. And then I realized I was being doubly silly, because of course it was bright blazing daylight on a clear day as February was just about to bleed into March, and if I couldn’t be safe sitting out here in the sun with Silas across from me, then I couldn’t be safe anywhere.
After I’d taken a bite of my zucchini bread, I said, driven by a sudden impulse, “Let’s go to the Huntington.”
“‘The Huntington’?” Silas repeated, brows lifting.
“You know, the Huntington Library. It’s only about fifteen minutes from here.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be inside.”
“I don’t. I want to walk in the gardens. Just for an hour or so, before we go back to the condo.”
He hesitated, then gave the briefest of shrugs. “If that’s what you wish.”
“I do.”
The waitress came by and asked if we were done, and I said yes, even though I’d eaten only about half my salad. She offered to box it up for me, and since I knew this particular salad traveled much better than most, I said yes.
When she came back with the check, I grabbed it before Silas could even attempt to reach for the little leatherette case that held the bill. “This was my idea,” I said sternly.
“If it makes you happy,” he replied, settling back in his chair.
“It does.” I put a couple of twenties inside the case, then closed my wallet and stuffed it into my purse. As I stood, Silas got up as well. We were both quiet as we headed toward his truck. Once I was inside and fastening my seatbelt, though, I asked, “Do you know how to get to the Huntington?”
“Refresh my memory.”
So I gave him directions, and he pointed us south on Lake Avenue before jogging to the east on California. We passed Caltech, as tall trees closed in overhead and large Craftsman homes built during the boom of the teens and early twenties filled the streets on either side.
Since it was a weekday afternoon, the parking lot at the Huntington wasn’t very full. When Silas and I got to the entrance, I flashed my platinum membership card, and the gal on duty there waved us in. We were descending the steps that led from the building which housed the gift shop and museum offices when Silas asked, “How long have you been a member here?”
“Forever,” I replied. I veered to the right, following the path that would take us to the Japanese gardens. It was still too early for the world-famous wisteria to be in bloom, but I thought the tranquility of that section of the property was just what I needed right then. The sun glinted down from overhead, bright and warm, reassuring me that as long as it rode in the heavens, I didn’t have to worry about Lucius Montfort or any of his vampires popp
ing up in the vicinity.
“Your family took you here?”
“All the time. We all have lifetime memberships. My great-grandfather was buddies with Henry Huntington.”
That revelation made Silas tilt his head down toward me. “He was?”
“Oh, yeah. Great-grandfather Jonas Quinn was a railroad man, too. Not quite as big a deal as Mr. Huntington, but still enough that he did very well for himself, and then expanded his fortune when he came to California and started buying up property wherever he could. He knew it would be worth a ton one day.”
“I had no idea.”
I paused on the path and looked up at him. Because of the bright sun beating down on us, I wore my sunglasses, but Silas didn’t seem to be in need of such protection. “They didn’t fill you in on the Quinn family’s wealth when you were briefed about me?”
He sent me a wry glance. “Not all the details. The extent of the Quinn fortune wasn’t of that much concern.”
His reply made me chuckle. “Well, you’re the first person to have that point of view about it. The Quinn fortune is certainly important to a whole lot of other people.”
“So what is your family worth?”
From anyone else, such a question would have been cause for immediate indignation. You simply didn’t ask how much money someone had, just like you weren’t supposed to ask a woman how old she was or how much she weighed. In Silas’ case, though, I was almost positive he’d done so out of pure curiosity, not because he was attempting to think of a way to leverage the information.
“Around a billion, give or take,” I said carelessly. Somehow it sounded so much more awful when I uttered that figure aloud.
“Ah.” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes not meeting mine, but apparently fixed on some point in the distance. “That sort of fortune confers a great deal of responsibility.”
Once again he’d surprised me. Most people would be thinking of what they could do with that kind of money, instead of contemplating the burden that came with so much wealth. I offered him a smile, then said, “You and my father think alike, then. His foundation does a lot of charity work, offers grants and scholarships. That kind of thing. He’s not really into consumption.”
“Is that why your brother went into politics?”
“Maybe. Jackson always did want to do something more than sit around and count his money. Of course, having that money made him much more able to do whatever he wanted. He never had to worry about whether the profession he chose would buy a decent house or put food on the table for his family.”
“I can understand that, but still, it sounds as if he wants to serve because of his duty to this country, and not because of what a position of power might do for him.”
“True.” My brother always was very patriotic — not the rah-rah kind who thought patriotism ended and began with wearing a flag pin on his lapel or something, but someone who truly believed in the institutions of this country. “And he’s kind of unbribe-able because of it. Some people found that out the hard way when he first was elected. But the voters love that about him.”
“As they should.”
We began walking again, following a path that meandered its way into the Japanese garden. It was very quiet here, the only sound the rustling of the leaves and the quiet murmur of the stream that flowed under an enormous arched wooden bridge. Silas and I came to a fork in the pathway, but instead of heading up the hill toward the tea house, I took the other branch, one I knew would dead-end near a pond. Most people went to the tea house — not that I’d seen many visitors out and about on the grounds so far — and so I thought Silas and I would be undisturbed here.
He didn’t say anything as we walked down the path. At the spot where it ended stood a stone bench, and I sat there, glad for a chance to rest. The pin in my left leg — another artifact from my accident — had begun to ache somewhat, which told me that more weather was probably headed our way, despite how clear the skies might be right now.
“You’re tired?” Silas asked, his expression almost surprised. I suppose it might have seemed sort of strange that I’d need to rest so soon, when I’d walked a lot farther with him that day he’d rescued me from the semivive.
“Not exactly tired,” I replied. “But I’ve got a pin in my leg, and sometimes it gives me a little trouble.”
Concern entered his eyes, and he nodded. “I didn’t know that. From your accident?”
“Yes. Compound fracture.” I didn’t bother to go into any details other than that. He should be able to fill in the blanks.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s really not a problem. Most of the time I don’t even notice it.”
Those words didn’t seem to convince him, however. A small frown tugged at his brows, and I couldn’t help noticing the way his gaze shifted to where my legs were covered by the long skirt I wore.
“Wondering where the scar went last night?”
He looked almost ashamed, as if he hadn’t thought I would figure out that he must be recalling the way my legs had looked in the short cocktail dress I’d worn at the reception the evening before.
“Dermablend,” I explained, then went on, “thick makeup for covering up scars, birthmarks, that sort of thing. Vanessa’s makeup artist put some on my leg while she was prepping me for the fashion show, and also on the scars on my left arm. That one was just a regular break, but it left me with some road rash that’s never going away.”
A nod. “Do you mind if I sit?”
Of course I didn’t. Or rather, part of me wanted him sitting next to me, even though I knew such proximity was fraught with issues. “Go ahead.”
He settled himself on the stone bench beside me. Not super close, but there was only so much distance he could put between the two of us before it became patently obvious that was what he was trying to do. Even so, I was acutely aware of everything about him — the faded areas on the knees of his jeans, the old, pale scar in the tanned skin on the back of his right hand…the way the breeze caught at his overlong hair, the wayward strands around his face somehow calling into sharper relief the fine bones of cheek and chin.
“Usually I don’t wear dresses that short,” I went on. “It’s easier to stay covered up than to keep trying to explain my scars. Vanessa hates these skirts, though — whenever she sees me wearing one, she always goes out of her way to remind me that the sixties were a long time ago.”
“What does that have to do with your skirt?” Silas asked, looking confused.
“I guess she thinks skirts like this one look like something a hippie would wear. I don’t know. I just think it’s comfortable.”
A little pause, and he said, “I like it. I like the way the wind catches it as you’re walking.”
It was an innocent enough remark, and yet my cheeks flushed. Maybe because it was just flirting with the edges of being a compliment. “Thank you.”
He went quiet then, as if he’d just realized that he’d said something a little too intimate. His gaze moved toward the path we’d just traversed to get to this spot, but it was still empty. A couple of jays scolded one another in a nearby tree, but otherwise, that was the only sound I could hear. We might have been all alone in the world.
Then, so carefully that he might have been touching porcelain instead of human flesh, he reached over and laid his hand on top of mine where it rested on the bench. My breath caught. Then I turned my head to look over at him. Those dark eyes, in their ring of long lashes, looked so deep that I was sure I could drown in them.
And in the next moment, he was bending toward me, his lips touching mine. A thrill moved through my body, followed by a rush of warmth, the kind of heat I hadn’t experienced for far too long. Our mouths opened, and then we were tasting one another, even as he reached over to pull me closer to him so he could put his arms around me, his fingers tangling in my loose hair.
The only sound in the world was the thudding of my heart, the heavy pulse of my blood echoing in my ears. I’
d hoped for this moment, but I truly hadn’t thought it would ever actually come to pass. What had brought Silas to this point, I had no idea. I didn’t want to question his motivations, though. I just wanted to thrill in the sensation of his lips on mine, those strong arms around me. From somewhere, I caught a drift of jasmine.
Eventually, though, he did pull away. Desire seemed to struggle with shame in his expression, although I didn’t know why he should feel ashamed. It wasn’t as if he’d had to force me. I wanted this. Oh, I’d wanted it badly, and had only realized how badly in these last few precious minutes.
“I am sorry,” he said, his voice pitched so low that it was hardly more than a murmur.
“Sorry for what?” I asked. “Did you think I didn’t want you to do that?”
A long silence. Then he adjusted his position on the stone bench so he wasn’t sitting quite so close to me. “I believe you did. That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
“The problem is that we should not have this sort of a relationship. I’ve been assigned to protect you, not….” The words trailed off there, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words.
“You are protecting me,” I told him. “I don’t see how kissing me gets in the way of that. All right, maybe you were a little distracted, but what is there to protect against here? It’s broad daylight, and even a semivive would think twice about attacking us at the Huntington Library. There are actually a lot of security guards at this facility, even if they’re not immediately obvious.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s….” Again he stopped himself.
“What, have you taken a vow of celibacy or something?”
Despite the serious expression he wore, he chuckled. “No, not exactly. But — ”
Falling Dark Page 15
