Page 59 of The Secrets of Roan Island

I hear Noah’s soft growl of irritation at the attention his brother receives, but I don’t bother looking at him. Let him be upset about it.

He deserves it. And it gives me an odd sort of thrill knowing he’s jealous of my attention.

“I brought some lunch,” Shemaiah says, producing a small basket of goods.“I think Mrs. Darning might suspect something.”

“Why?” Noah asks.

“Can’t exactly request lunch for the two of you, now can I? I’ve had to get creative with what, and how much, I ask for.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t brought food down herself,” Noah says.

Against my better judgment, I glance at him. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes dart to me before he frowns, looking down at the floor. Ignoring the longing I feel for a man who doesn’t deserve it, I take the basket from Shemaiah and walk back into the library.

“I’ve waylaid Mrs. Darning, for now,” Shemaiah says. “But if you don’t show up for dinner, you’re likely to get a visit from Father. Maybe best if you make an appearance.” He takes a seat at the table, leaning back with his typical relaxed posture. He always appears as if nothing fazes him, but over the past few days, I’ve started to suspect that’s just a facade he projects. All the brothers hide behind something. Shemaiah, his quiet calm. Jafeth, his humor. Noah, his research.

“Thank you, Shemaiah. You’ve been taking great care of us. However difficult it might be.” I lay the contents of the basket out on the table.

“We’re running out of time,” Noah says.

“Think Father cares?” Shemaiah’s eyebrows lift in question.

We all know the answer. I’ve come to learn Hammish humors Noah’s research but personally believes it’s a matter of quantity—try to transform enough people, and eventually it’ll work on someone.

“I’ll keep looking. You can go to dinner,” I say to Noah, taking the seat I’ve come to think of as my own and moving the books to make room for the food.

Noah pushes away from the door and stands at the other end of the table. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

I know he means unprotected.

“Might not have a choice,” Shemaiah says. “Either show up, or expect an unwanted visitor.”

Noah takes an apple, something that will allow him to eat and work simultaneously, then turns to leave.

“Sit,” I tell him.

He stops, turning back toward me. “I have to–”

“I know,” I interrupt. “So do I, but if you don’t eat, you’re going to drop. And what if it’s Hammish who shows up next time? How will you fare against him?”

“Food isn’t all I need.” Noah’s eyes burn into mine, and I can’t keep my body from tightening.

“If you think I’m going to let you feed from me, Noah Roan, think again.” The anger in my voice is feigned, and I think he knows it. The way I respond to him, the sway he still has on me, is infuriating. No matter how hard I try, I can’t purge myself of him. I can’t stop dreaming of what it felt like to have his teeth in me.

Shemaiah chuckles softly.

Noah grunts, grabs a sandwich, and marches back into his laboratory.

“You’re good for him,” Shemaiah says, then picks up one of the finger sandwiches.

“No, I’m not—We’re not—” I sputter, but when Shemaiah gives me a knowing look, I sigh and lean back in my chair. “Why do I have such horrible taste in men?”

“Noah’s a good man.” Shemaiah says it like a statement of fact, not like he’s just trying to defend his brother.

“Ha! Good men don’t kill helpless women.”

“A good Mavarri might.” He scratches his chin with a clawed finger, his gaze avoiding mine. “I’ve done it.” The corner of his lip dips in a subtle frown. “He’s trying his hardest, and he’s done more than any of us to stop all this.”

I can’t argue with that. I’ve seen Noah’s dedication over the past few days. I’ve also seen the way he looks at the women in the coolers when he needs to take more samples. His guilt and anguish is palpable. He doesn’t enjoy hurting people the way David did. Noah’s a scientist, not a killer.

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