Page 42 of Immortal Sentry

Every bit of tiredness faded from Eron’s expression, and his words implied so much more than they said outright. “Can’t you stay a while longer?”

How could anyone resist those soulful eyes? But no. Anything more was out of the question. Why would this gorgeous man want Kerric, anyway? A diversion? Trying to win an ally? He didn’t have to try. Kerric was already his. Sadly, he must be the voice of reason. “Go. Ready yourself for bed. I’ll see you settled before I leave.” Or so Kerric hoped. But the moment Eron entered the next room, agony seared through Kerric’s veins. He doubled over, clutching his gut, and stifled a scream. How could anything hurt so badly and not kill him?

Eron returned, half-dressed. “Kerric, are you all ri—”

Eron, the room, everything, faded to nothingness. Kerric stood on the ramparts once more, staring off into the pinkish haze of dawn.

A hideous gargoyle once more.

Chapter Seventeen

Eron lay on his bed, staring out the window as dawn broke. All night he’d stared at masculine perfection. Surely Captain Kerric knew the invitation meant sharing a bed.

Not so much as a kiss. Eron’s exhausted mind conjured images of a smiling Kerric slipping out of his clothing and into Eron. Eron’s shaft hardened until a drop of fluid leaked from the tip. He ran his hands over his length, giving a few conciliatory strokes.

Why hadn’t Kerric stayed? Also, how had he vanished? Was he a mage?

The possibility he didn’t want Eron was enough to make the hardest cock flaccid. Eron had never worried overly much about one potential conquest, though. And now wasn’t the time to start with more critical matters to see to.

If sleep and release were both going to be denied him, he should turn his mind to the pressing problem. He sat up in bed,blinking hard to adjust his eyes to the low light. Who were those men who’d tried to kill him last night?

Not that they even came close to skilled assassins. This was hardly the first time someone tried to kill Eron, for reasons ranging from money to his choice of bed partner. None came close to succeeding, though Kene had scolded him about blood on the floor more than once, her harsh words belying the concern in her eyes.

The assassins would simply have to try harder next time. Well, notthem, because they were dead. If they’d been sent, particularly by Crau, more would come. Had the attempt on Eron’s life simply been a test to ensure he’d be up to the task?

Maybe. Eron would stay on his guard.

Would he see Lessa today? Would his time now be divided between defending himself and defending her and her sons?

He didn’t even know their names. Nephews. He had two nephews. What were they like? Had Lessa managed to keep them from being replicas of their father? Who should he pray to? Well, Lessa and her sons were noble, so…

“Gertia, protect my sister and nephews from harm.” Assassins. Bah!

But wait, Kerric showed up last night when Eron needed him. He hadn’t been involved with the plot, had he? No, Kerric had taken out one of the murderers. What had Miisov done with the bodies? Dissolved them with magic?

So many questions and answers wouldn’t be found in this room. Though tired, Eron needed to find those answers, and soon. But he’d been exhausted. Befuddled enough to think he saw Kerric evaporate before his eyes. No one, not even a mage, could possibly have such power.

He rose and freshened up with chilled water in a basin, then started to don his usual clothing. Oh, right. Changed circumstances. The trunk at the end of the bed yielded breeches,tunics, and undergarments richly embroidered in the style of Estia.

The light blue tunic with darker breeches worked for day wear, and the boots were of a finer quality than even Kene normally afforded. They were going with Eron when he left this place, which should be soon. At least whoever bought his clothing knew the styles of Estia—and Eron’s sizes.

He checked his appearance in the mirror, not that he expected many people to see him as he truly was.

Kerric would. Eron’s insides clenched. Kerric. He’d dressed to please Kerric this day, but why, when Captain Kerric didn’t stay last night?

No matter. Eron loved a challenge. Today, however, he’d go exploring. He added a few hidden knives on his person—knives he’d discreetly removed from the dead guards. His light fingers once more proved handy. It was never good to prowl enemy territory unarmed.

He left his bedchamber for the sitting room, snatching a knife into his hand in the blink of an eye.

“If you throw that at me, it won’t reach its mark,” Miisov stated calmly, as though men threw knives at him regularly.

From what little Eron knew of the man, he couldn’t blame anyone for hurling sharp blades. He’d thought of it himself a few times. “What are you doing in my rooms?”

Miisov currently sat at a small table, helping himself to what must have been Eron’s breakfast. “Isn’t that obvious? I’m waiting for you.” He took a bite of bread.

Eron rubbed at his eyes, making them feel even grittier. “Is there tea?”

“There is.” Miisov waved a hand at a pot on the table but didn’t offer to pour, thus confirming Eron’s original assessment of Miisov being an ass who didn’t give thought to the needs of others. Then again, at least he wasn’t fawning over Eron. If Eronbecame king, he’d have to deal with a lot of fawning. Not his favorite thing. Not his least favorite, either, but definitely not topping the list.

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