She glanced at him, but didn’t speak.
“Have you fed tonight?”
He looked so calm as he wrapped his needless scarf around his neck and prepared to go down to the lodge for Ben’s lessons.
“Call if you need anything.”
She shrugged and turned back to the fire. They hadn’t exchanged blood since she had killed the old man. Her logical brain understood why Giovanni had allowed her to do it, but the gaping void in her chest, the hollow that never seemed to be filled, was only growing deeper the longer she let her anger fester.
And she couldn’t see a way to bridge the gap that had opened between them.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door. She was so focused on the fire that she had failed to register the approaching energy. A storm system had moved into the valley, bringing thunder, lightening, and causing her senses to go haywire in the charged air.
Beatrice rose and went to the door, gasping when she recognized the smell of cardamom on the other side. She flung it open and Tenzin was there, silent and soaked from the rain. Her shorn hair hung in thick chunks around her face as she stood, waiting on the porch.
Simultaneous rage and love reared up in her chest. She raised her hand to strike, but Tenzin only reached out and caught her fist before it made contact. Beatrice shook, then crumbled to the ground, sobbing out her grief, anger, and heartbreak as her father’s mate knelt down and gathered her in an embrace. Tenzin kicked the door closed and tucked Beatrice’s head under her chin, rocking her back and forth as Beatrice clutched her dirty white robes.
“I’m here, my girl,” she whispered. “I’m back.”