Reap the Wind (Cassandra Palmer 7)

So no, I wasn’t mad at him for trying.

But if it wasn’t about the question, what was I so livid about? Because I was. I so very, very was.

And I didn’t really know what to do with that.

Fear, I knew, and panic—we were practically best buddies. And annoyance and irritation and happiness and relief and a lot of other emotions, because all of those were ones I’d been allowed to have growing up. Encouraged to have in the case of the first, to keep me in line.

But at Tony’s, only one person had been allowed to be angry, and it hadn’t been me.

Anger was an emotion for the guy in charge. Anger was something masters felt, a vivid, red-hot emotion they used like a lash to keep their households in line. At least, they did if they were Tony. I knew all about anger from being on the receiving end of it often enough, but the reverse . . .

I used to think it must be wonderful to be able to carry on like that. To just let go of all those bottled-up emotions and yell and stomp around like he did, to slash at the air and throw things and . . . and just get it all out. I used to think, when I had to stand there in court, blank faced and careful, with everything tightly bottled up inside, how wonderful it would be, just once, to get angry.

But it wasn’t feeling so wonderful now.

Now it was making me nauseous and shaky and faintly ill.

I didn’t like being angry at Mircea.

I liked being held by Mircea.

And I really had missed him this last week. I hadn’t realized how much until I saw him again. And even that first glance, when I’d been seriously annoyed, had been so nice . . .

Until he had to go and spoil it.

And finally, light dawned.

I wasn’t mad at Mircea as much for what he said but for when he said it. Because we had a deal. A deal he had come up with, so that what we did as Pythia and senator stayed away from what we did as Cassie and Mircea, and didn’t trash our personal life. Work was work and personal was personal, and they were supposed to stay nice and separate.

It was a nice theory.

I’d liked the theory.

I’d even thought it might work.

But not if he kept doing stuff like this. Because tonight hadn’t been a date, hadn’t been a Hey, I’ve missed you; let’s hang out, or even an I haven’t seen you for a while, so how about we get together and explore the hornier possibilities of this new power of yours? No. If it had, then he should have left it at that and said, Good night, Cassie, at the end. But instead, where had I ended up? In Jules’ room, getting propositioned in a whole new way that wasn’t nearly as much fun, and—

And damn it! I’d forgotten about Jules. And the Tears, which were a little more pressing right now, because Jules wasn’t about to die. But no way was Mircea going to give them to me, assuming he had any. He might trade me, oh yes, that he might damned well do. But give? When I had something the vamps wanted and I wasn’t giving in return?

Uh-uh.

Horse trading in the vamp world didn’t work like that.

And especially not when the item in question was something like this.

Mircea hadn’t put a crap ton of vamp bodyguards on me because he wanted me running around. Mircea wanted me to stay put in my nice penthouse. Mircea wanted me to get my hair and nails done and maybe see a show once in a while—heavily guarded, of course. Mircea wanted me to act like those other women he’d had, the ones I kept hearing hints about but that no one would give me specifics on, women who were beautiful and elegant and stayed where they were damned well put.

Like that woman in the painting.

I bet she never gave him any trouble, I thought enviously. I bet she never slouched home looking like a war victim. I bet she was perfect and beautiful and sweet and gentle and—

I realized I was scrubbing until I was about to take skin off. I put the remaining loofah down, nice and slow. And started rinsing instead.

So, no, bringing up the Tears with Mircea wasn’t going to go well. I knew that without even asking. I’d have a better chance getting some out of the Circle, although Jonas would probably also want an explanation, and I doubted I’d get any until I told him something he’d like.

And that was maddening. It was my potion. It was brewed specifically for the Pythia, to use when needed. Since when did he get to tell her when that was?

Since the Pythia was me, apparently.