Page 7 of Veiled Yearning

He looms over me, as intimidating as I remember. Not just big, but enormous—almost a foot taller than my five-foot-seven and his chest twice as wide as mine. He might be handsome if he didn’t look so somber; his features stony, all hard lines and shadowy angles. As his gaze moves over me, his eyes darken to a stormy gray, as if he can see inside me to know what I’m thinking.

“Chiara,” he says. “Thanks for agreeing to speak with me.”

I scowl at him, trying to ignore the quivers of anxiety filling my belly. “I don’t want to. I only agreed because Frederick asked me. But I’m not helping you any more than I am already. And I’m not leaving. So tell me whatever it is you came here to share, and then you can leave.”

A ripple of surprise moves across Gavril’s face, and I’m actually a little surprised at myself. I’m not typically a rude person, but I’m already on edge, and there’s just something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel even more unbalanced.

“Fine.” He dips his head. “If I could come in? It’s damn cold out here.”

3

Good Intentions

GAVRIL

Well, she let me inside the house, at least.

For a moment, as she stood in the doorway glaring at me, I thought she might change her mind. That she’d tell me to turn around and go. That I wasn’t welcome.

If she had slammed the door in my face, I wouldn’t have left. Not right away, at least. I’d have come back a few more times, hoping my persistence would sway her decision.

I wouldn’t force my way in; I want Chiara to work with us, but not under that kind of duress. No matter how much I think she could help our cause. I’ve done a lot of bad things in my lifetime, but ignoring her wishes? Breaking into her home?

No. Even my mission isn’t that important.

I used to think it was. Until my single-minded determination ended up hurting Cait. Until I almost lost my closest friend—the man I consider my brother—because of it.

So, no, I won’t force Chiara to help us. But if I can persuade her? That’s something different.

I’m not sure how easily she’ll be convinced, though. Judging from how she’s looking at me—chin stubbornly jutting, lips pressed into a thin line, brows pulled down in a V—it’s clear she’s unhappy I’m here.

Not just unhappy, but nervous. As she perches on the arm of the couch, her legs are jumping. Slim fingers clutch at the dark blue fabric, knuckles white with strain. And her gaze keeps skittering around the living room, lingering on the windows, the doors, all the possible methods of exit.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Leaning back in the armchair I’d claimed, thinking I’d look less threatening sitting down than standing, I force my lips up into something approximating a smile.

Chiara jolts, her gaze flashing over to me. She puffs out a breath and says, “I know. I just don’t like company.” Her bronze eyes darken to a deep russet, a frown tightening her features. “I’m not usually rude like this. But I didn’t invite you here. And I made it clear to Frederick I’ll make the shielding talismans for him, but that’s all. So anything else you want, it’s a waste of time.”

“Why don’t I give you the information, and then we can decide?”

“It’s not going to matter, Gavril.”

“Maybe it won’t. Or maybe it will.”

She stands and walks over to the fireplace, facing it, and straightens the dozen or so small items lined along the mantle. Then she turns toward me. “So, what is it? This thing you came all the way to tell me.”

No preface; now that she’s listening, I jump right into it. “The Custodians are expanding their reach. They’re becoming bolder. More aggressive. We believe Nicolas is behind all of it. And that the Veil is growing even faster than before.”

Chiara flinches as if she’s been struck. But she sets her jaw and stares at me with an unreadable expression. “This isn’t news. I knew about it months ago. Back when I—” She cuts herself off. “Anyway. I’ve been making those shielding talismans whenever Frederick asks. Surely they’re helping.”

“They are.” I lean forward in the chair, still holding her gaze. “But it’s not enough. Not considering how quickly this is all escalating.”

She shrinks into herself. “And what of me? What more do you want?”

“Weapons. Those healing tokens you make. If each of our allies has a stockpile of those, they’re better protected. And we’re more prepared each time we head into battle.”

Her shoulders sag, relief washing across her face. “I can make those. Frederick can come—”

“That’s not going to work.”

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