Chapter Eleven
E LEVE N
I exit the room gracefully, head held high, but once the door closes behind us, I break into a trot, eager to get as far from that room—and Bishop—as I can. He keeps pace at my side, and when I pass a side corridor, he blocks my path.
“We’re going outside,” he says.
“No, I’m going to my room. Where I’ll be alone. If you need to guard me, you can stay in the adjoining room.”
“We’re going outside,” he repeats, as if I didn’t speak.
My blood boils hot enough that my fingers itch to launch a fireball.
Find the line.
Walk that line.
“As you wish, my lord,” I say coldly, and veer down the hall he indicates.
He leads me to a door and opens it into a side yard. Once out, he looks both ways, as if considering, and then takes me through.
A blast of fresh air hits, and I slow to breathe it in, forcing myself to focus on that, to let the scent calm my pounding heart. Sweet early-evening air, rich with the smell of trees. There aren’t any gardens here, only lawn that quickly gives way to forest, already dimming as the sun sets.
Bishop steers me to a path that will take us deeper into the woods. He continues down the rough trail until he must decide we’re far enough from the house. “I didn’t know what your father had planned.”
“Liar.”
He blanches at the venom of that word.
“I saw your face,” I say. “You think you’ve mastered the art of concealing your thoughts, but you haven’t. You knew.”
“I suspected. I didn’t know.”
I meet his gaze. “You called me unreasonable for not going with you yesterday, but you knew I wasn’t being unreasonable at all.
I was being smart and cautious, and that was inconvenient so you made me feel like a foolish girl.
I didn’t go with you right away, so you had to rescue me, and that was my fault because I wasn’t clever enough to understand what was best for me, when the truth was that I behaved rationally.
A stranger told me I was in danger and had to go with him, and I demanded an explanation.
The foolish girl is the one who’d have gone with you. ”
“I—”
“After what happened at the town house, when my father said I needed to come here, I didn’t feel right questioning him. Because of you. Because you made me feel as if I were being silly and naive when I balked. You set the trap, and I walked into it.”
“You give me too much credit, Cordelia.”
“No, I don’t think I do.”
I resume walking. He falls in beside me again.
“There will be no wedding, Cordelia. You say you can see through my lies?” He steps in front of me, turning to meet my gaze. “There will be no wedding. I swear it to you.”
“Because my father will skip the ceremony and just declare us mated?”
“You won’t be mated to me or married to me or any such thing. Look at me.” He locks my gaze. “You have my word. I’m going to fix this another way. You don’t want to be mated against your will? Neither do I.”
That sets me back on my heels.
I’m furious at being treated like an object, wed to a stranger, forced to produce strong werewolf babies. But isn’t my father doing the same to Bishop?
I thought earlier that Bishop didn’t seem grateful for his prize.
Because he’s not. My father said we’re equally strong-willed. We both know what we want. And we want to set our own path, not accept the life someone else foists on us.
I look up at him. “Say it again.”
He keeps his gaze firmly on mine. “I have no intention of being wed to an unwilling bride. That…” He chews over his words.
“It goes against everything I believe in. I did suspect your father had this in mind, but I needed to go along with it, and that might not have been in your best interests, but it was in mine. My best interests, and the Pack’s best interests. ”
Again, that sets me back. It’s blunt honesty, and I can rail against it, but would I have preferred he lied and pretended he did what was best for me, a stranger? At least he gave me credit for having the intelligence to know better.
“You’ve been brought into it,” he continues, “and I brought you in, and that makes you my responsibility. I will look after you. I am looking after you, even if you don’t realize it or want it.
” His gaze bores into mine. “Let me handle this, and you’ll be back with your aunt in no time.
I have no intention of keeping you against your will. I swear it.”
I want to laugh at that. Empty promises to a foolish girl, who will believe whatever lies she’s told. But I look into his eyes and his face, and I don’t see the lie there.
Does that mean I trust him?
Of course not. He’s already told me where his priorities lie, and I would expect no less. He might fully believe he intends to treat me well, but that can change if I interfere with his ambitions.
For now, though?
Yes, for now, I see that line I need to walk, and it’s right here. Beside Bishop Daniels, for as long as it’s in my best interests.
“What do you need me to do?” I say.
He blinks, and then his eyes narrow, as if he expects a trick.
“We’re both facing the same fate,” I say with some irritation. “Being wed to someone we didn’t choose. No matter what incentives my father offers—status and power—I won’t trade them for my independence. And, as you implied, you’ll want to choose your own mate.”
“No one,” he says. “In that regard, witches and werewolves are alike. We take lovers. We don’t mate. The Alpha in particular can’t afford such a responsibility. And I do intend to be Alpha.”
“But you question my sincerity when I ask what you need me to do? We have the same goal. Tell me how to help you achieve it.”
His shoulders loosen as we resume walking, his stride easy now as he relaxes. “You won’t like my answer.”
“Go on.”
“I need you to do nothing.” He glances over, something almost like amusement sparking in his eyes. “Do you think you can manage that?”
I bristle. “Don’t insult me.”
“It’s no insult, Cordelia. You’re not in any position to help me. Whatever your father pretends, you’re a prisoner here. I need you to continue doing what you’ve been doing.”
“Which is?”
“Watch. Listen. Learn. But stay on guard. Assess the situation without reacting. I don’t expect you to meekly go along with what he wants. But don’t fight him on it. Be patient and be watchful.” He slants a look my way. “That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?”
I grumble under my breath.
“Maybe I can read you as well as you claim you can read me,” he says, a little too smugly. “You asked what I needed you to do. That’s my answer. Be vigilant and be careful.”
“And what do I tell my father?”
“Exactly what you told him before you left. You understand this could be a solution. You’re not thrilled at the prospect, but you’ll consider it and accept his counsel. Give him one fewer thing to worry about.”
“And give you one fewer thing to worry about.”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says.
I roll my eyes, and I want to grumble again, but he’s right. The threat against me is a werewolf problem, and I can’t help Bishop resolve it. To free us from an unwanted union, Bishop needs to free me from that threat… and I need to free him from the need to fight me every step of the way.
“Now,” he says, “I hear you have questions about werewolves. Ask me.”
His lips quirk in a smile that warms his eyes, and I should be charmed. I should recognize that Bishop Daniels isn’t a man who smiles easily, and he’s bestowing a genuine one on me. I know it’s not a trick. But it still feels…
I swallow, and I’m back at that table, seeing my father looking at me in the same way. The smile one gives an obedient child. A treat, to reward me for doing what he wants.
“No thank you,” I say softly.
Maybe it’s the softness of my response that strikes him. He stops short and peers down at me, his brow furrowing.
“But you have questions,” he says.
“And you’re offering to answer. That’s very kind of you.”
There’s no sarcasm in my tone, but he must still hear sarcasm because he stiffens. “I said I’m not your enemy, Cordelia. I’m trying to prove it.”
“By tossing me a bone.”
His lips firm, but an abashed look crosses behind his eyes before we continue walking. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“I’m not trying to fight you, Bishop. If you really want to give me something, I’d ask you to return what you took.”
He frowns my way.
“My knife,” I say.
A long pause, then he murmurs, “I can’t do that,” and actually sounds as if he regrets it.
“I understand, and I’m not trying to be difficult, but I’m tired. I’d like to return to my room.”
He nods, a little too abruptly, and then turns to lead me back.
The next morning, I wake to a knock at my door, and I rise, yawning and stretching.
“Come in,” I call, the smell of breakfast telling me it’s Marjorie.
The door opens, and instead Bishop walks in. He stops short on seeing me and then stares long enough for me to glance down, sure my nightgown has somehow torn and my breasts are hanging out. No, the gown is as decorous as ever.
So why is he staring? Oh, right. Because this isn’t how he’s used to seeing me.
I snarl a yawn and run a hand through my hair. “Yes, I look terrible. That’s what you get for waking me.”
His gaze follows my fingers as I rake them through my hair, as if I’m doing something positively bewitching. I check my gown again. Still fully covered.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t think you’d still be in bed. Tabi brought your tray, and I needed her to run another errand, so I said I’d deliver it.”
“My fault for oversleeping.” I snarl another yawn. “If there’s a group breakfast, please have someone wake me up earlier.”