Page 35 of Destined for Dreams
“Where did you two go for breakfast?” Tormod asked, arms crossed as he looked at them.
Zoe scowled. “None of your business, little abomination.”
“Mother!” Rebecca gave her an outraged look, then turned apologetically to Tormod. “We went to Kirov. They have a nice café there that makes the best pastries.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t suppose you brought any back for us?”
“Of course, I did. I heard how terrible the food is here.” She lifted a paper bag Bartol hadn’t noticed in her right hand. Now that he was paying attention, he could smell the freshly baked goods inside. It had been a long time since he’d eaten Russian pastries.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for it now and would have to see about acquiring his own some other time.
“Perhaps you could share your food with Tormod while the rest of us go talk,” he suggested
“Oh, sure.” She glanced at her mom. “We’ll be in my room when you’re done.”
Rebecca’s expression was lighter than last night, less tense and defensive. Bartol could only guess that things had gone reasonably well with her mother since he last saw her, especially if she appeared to look forward to seeing Zoe again.
“We shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,” the female nephilim replied, then looked down her nose at Tormod. “Don’t try anything with my daughter. She is far too good for the likes of you.”
“You know I’m in love with Derrick,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes, then took the male nerou’s arm and stormed off.
Bartol shook his head at Zoe. “You are your own worst enemy.”
“Says the man who has spent more time in Purgatory than any other nephilim in history.”
He refused to respond to that comment or show that it bothered him.
“Why don’t you lead us to your office?” Caius suggested.
“Of course.”
They followed Zoe toward the only well-built structure in the compound, directly in the middle of the grounds. It was large with dozens of windows and constructed of smooth, peach stone, standing two stories tall. Though it must have been new, it appeared somewhat aged in appearance and fit well with other Russian architecture Bartol had seen from previous visits to the country.
They entered the building and followed a brightly lit corridor toward the stairs. Zoe’s office was the first one to the right after they reached the second floor. It was professional yet feminine with pastel colors for the walls and furniture, other than her desk, which had a white marble top. No doubt she’d spent her own money furnishing this room.
“Please, have a seat.” She gestured at the wooden chairs across from her desk while taking a seat in the larger and more comfortable one behind it. “I hope you both rested well last night.”
Now she wanted to play hostess?
“The guest quarters here leave a little to be desired,” Bartol said.
“Not all of us have archangels bowing at our feet.”
He gave her a flat look. “What are you implying?”
She gave a delicate shrug. “I heard how remorseful they feel about punishing you too heavily. Now they will evenletyou make your mate immortal. Even that sensor, Melena, and Lucas had to pay a high price for the same privilege.”
“I would gladly have paid their price rather than a century in Purgatory with Kerbasi.”
Zoe glanced at the scarred side of his face and shuddered. “I suppose you have a point, but I’m still surprised they actually pretend to care.”
“How do you know any of this?” he asked. She hadn’t been in Alaska when Remiel admitted the mistake he and his brethren had made with Bartol, and the only minion of hers that was present already lay in ashes before the archangel arrived.
“It isn’t a spy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said, studying her nails.
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
She gave him a cryptic smile. “You should be friendlier with the nerou. It is amazing what abilities some of them have.”
