Her humor faded. “He’s Nathaniel. I don’t—” An uncertain pause. “Levi gave me…prejudices.
They’re not comfortable, now. But he’s still Nathaniel, and that’s all I care about.” Most people had similar beliefs and prejudices, if only because they’d never actually seen a vampire.
Never spoken to one. “I think, if it were as simple as that, he might not be the Nathaniel you knew. But he’s part hound too.”
“Then we’ll hide him.” She curled her arms around her body. “What about you? Us? I thought the Guild didn’t encourage hounds to take mates. And they’re not likely to consider me a qualified weapons inventor. If they tell you that you have to leave me—”
“They won’t,” he assured her. “And if they try, they can go to hell. They need me more than I need them.”
“And I need you most of all.” One arm uncurled and looped around his neck, and she leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his cheek. “I need you.”
He might have to fight for her, leave his life behind and forge a new one. Instead of terrifying him, the thought made him feel light. Free. “I need you too.”
“The Guild representative has kept Wilder in Levi’s old study all day today.” Satira rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes and sighed. “Nathaniel’s been hiding in his lab for three days. Wilder thinks he should pose as his own nephew. He looks so much younger that it might work.” Ophelia lifted her tea cup and took a sip before answering. “It might avert questions later, especially from those who have known Nathaniel for some time. Secrecy about one’s family is commonplace, but an unrelated man who could double for a dead Guild inventor? Not as likely.” Which was what Wilder had said, in fewer, blunter words. After the past weeks, Ophelia’s gentle refinement was almost soothing. Satira dropped her hands to her lap and gave her friend a helpless look.
“So much has changed.”
The blonde woman’s cup rattled against her saucer, belying her outward calm, but she met Satira’s look evenly. “What happens is beyond your control, remember that. All that is within your grasp is how you handle those changes.”
A truth anyone who wanted to live along the border must keep close in their hearts. “Are you all right, Ophelia? Did something happen while we were away?”
Her serious look broke with a smile. “You worry too much about others. You were the one who went marching into a vampire lord’s lair.”
It wasn’t quite an answer, which only served to increase her unease. Ophelia had achieved independence and success enough to command a steep price for her favors, but it didn’t make life as a whore any less dangerous. If Wilder got his way, maybe they could offer Ophelia a different choice. At least her friend knew something of managing households… The estate had fallen into an embarrassing state of disrepair under Satira’s guidance.
Until the Bloodhound Guild handed down their verdict, Satira couldn’t give her friend promises.
Instead she offered a smile and reached out to catch Ophelia’s hand. “I missed you.”
“Oh, I missed you too.” Ophelia’s smile softened. “Things simply aren’t the same around here when you’re off having adventures.”
“I liked the adventure.” It felt like a confession. “Not at first. At first I hardly knew what to do with myself. I felt helpless. And then…” The new moon had changed everything. He’d needed her, and she’d been enough. Such a tiny thing to give her confidence, but it had been the first time in her life she hadn’t been the one in need.
“I’m so glad it worked out for you.” Her friend squeezed her hand. “He’s a character, to be sure, but you glow when you look at him, Satira.”
“I know.” And she proved it a few moments later when Wilder walked in, his hat in his hand.
He halted near the door, an apology on his lips. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had company.” Satira came to her feet in a rustle of skirts that still felt awkward after so many days of trousers.
“Wilder, you remember Ophelia?”
“I do. Ma’am.” He nodded and bowed slightly.
She rose. “I should be going, Satira. Mr. Harding, it was lovely to see you.” Without waiting for their goodbyes, she smiled again and left the room.
Her unease returned, stronger this time as Wilder closed the door. “I’m so worried that something happened to her while I was away.”
“Don’t.” He gathered her into his arms. “I’m sure she’s fine.” Fine, perhaps…but alone. It made Satira feel more than a little guilty about her own happiness.
Assuming she was about to have happiness. “Tell me what the Guild representative said.” His jaw tightened. “Basically? They want nothing to do with Archer or Hunter, so they’re my responsibility now. Archer’s to train Hunter, as is proper, but I supervise them both.” It was a reprieve for Archer, who could have been handed a death sentence for his part in assisting Lowe. For Hunter, it was a slight. Cut off from the support of the Guild, from any comfort they might have been able to offer him in a life he hadn’t chosen. “That’s a great deal of responsibility for you.”
“I have no choice but to accept it.” His arms squeezed tight. “This whole area is mine. Ours. The manor, all of it.”
Relief hit her so hard her knees wobbled. She tightened her grip on Wilder’s shoulders as a laugh bubbled up. “Ours.”
“Ours,” he said again. “They wanted to send some student inventor from back east, but I told them you’d studied under Nate for years, and it was you or nothing. No me, no nothing.” He’d blackmailed the Bloodhound Guild. For her. “And?”
He smiled. “And they kindly extended you an invitation to join the Guild as an associate inventor.” Validation. A stipend. She’d be paid for the work she’d been doing all along and could use that money to build a better life. Perhaps not just for herself. “Then we’ll need someone to manage the household. I was never very good at it.”
“Does it matter? We’ll muddle through.”
“It matters if it means I can offer Ophelia a way to earn a living and be safe doing it. She could be protected here.”
Wilder pulled back and looked down at her, his expression thoughtful. “You think she wants to?”
“I think she’d consider it.” Satira rocked up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “And I think I’d feel better about the work we have ahead of us knowing the people I care about are well.” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “You know her situation is different than your mother’s, right? The fact that she has sex with men for money doesn’t mean she’s unwell or miserable.”
“It doesn’t mean she’s happy, either.” Satira settled onto her heels again and tilted her head back.
“I’ve known whores who loved their work and far too many who barely survived it. If she prefers her current work…I’ll still feel better. Because she’ll have a choice.” He nodded, satisfied. “Then ask her. It’s certainly a burden you won’t have time to shoulder.” No, she wouldn’t. She had a thousand tasks ahead of her. Perfecting the weapon Nathaniel had designed, not to mention researching a way to synthesize blood for him. Training, because she had every intention of following Wilder into battle, like a Guild inventor should.
She had Wilder. Perhaps not a peaceful life with him, but she’d give up the quiet when it came with such a reward. “No time at all. I’m determined to change our little bit of the world, so you’d best be prepared to keep up.”