Page 64 of Blood of a Huntsman

Then, she said, "That was…strangely enlightening. I should chat with you more often."

Bash laughed. "Yeah, you should.” He didn’t want her to go, so out of curiosity, he added, "What about your parents?"

For some reason, he expected her face to turn somber, but instead, she smiled again.

"They're irrelevant. When it comes to fighting and sides and wars, anyway. My mom was always a free spirit. A vampire hippie, if you would."

Bash tried to imagine that. A Catherine with flowers in her hair, dancing barefoot. He laughed his ass off. "I would love to meet her."

"No, you would not," she replied firmly. "Anyway, she was always a great disappointment to the part of my family who's after power—Aunt Drusilla, her own parents, basically everyone. Fortunately, she was the youngest of five children, all four more useful than she, so they mostly left her alone. Josephine—that's her name—is incredibly beautiful. The prettiest among us, I'd say. Drusilla made her have a fling with a male scion once. Seth's father. Then, when that ended, Aunt Drusilla brought Seth to Stormhall and left her alone. She has a palazzo in Venice, away from Stormhall. My mom travels the world and has as much fun as she can muster. She had a bodyguard following her around, of course. And thirty years ago, she married him. They still travel all the time."

Bash wasn't sure he liked Josephine anymore. "What about you and Claudia?"

"We were also sent to Stormhall when we were old enough."

"How old?" There was an edge to his tone.

"Five. That's when our training starts."

His jaw was set. Huntsman training didn't start much later, but they weren't plucked from their parents' house.

"Don't pity me. It was all right."

But it wasn't. He could see in her eyes that it wasn't. Things had happened to her during her training. Things that explained why she was so closed off, so guarded. He could tell, just as he could tell she wouldn't discuss it with him.

“All right. I won’t pity you. But I may just kiss you, though.”

He wasn’t a saint, for heaven’s sake.

As no protest crossed her lips, Bash drew close to her and dropped his mouth to hers, tasting her sweetness again.

There it was. The peace, the fire, the desire he’d missed for two fucking weeks. He felt like he was breathing again after drowning. He felt alive.

He was just about to let go, not wanting to freak her out again, when Catherine pulled away and got to her feet. She turned around slowly and looked over her shoulder.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked, before leading the way to her room.

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