“We’ll be just outside if you need us,” Saige said, pulling the door most of the way closed behind them.
“Want to sit down?” he asked.
Becka nodded and then plodded her way over to the divan.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“A glass of water would be nice,” Becka replied, settling herself down on the divan. Quinn ducked into her bathroom and returned, glass in hand. She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her gloves, laying them on the table next to her.
When he leaned over her and placed the glass on the same table, she caught his musky scent and was transported back to the night he’d crashed next to her and she’d been lulled to sleep by his steady, deep breathing.
Becka hadn’t seen Quinn since the weekend of Tesse’s funeral, when he’d left for Sirona Healing Springs to heal from his injuries during Woden’s attack. She shivered, extra aware of the weakness in her knees remembering how he’d been knocked out by the Shadow-Dweller’s concussive fireballs and pierced from the shrapnel of exploding trees. His stout House Oak constitution had no doubt contributed to his survival, but from what she’d heard from Chief Elowen, he’d been off work and healing for several weeks.
They’d been fortunate no one had died during the altercation. Would they be so lucky the next time a Shadow-Dweller attacked?
She and Quinn had spent her first week back at House Rowan constantly together. His abrupt absence after that long, tense week ending with Woden’s bloody attack had left her off-kilter. Associating Quinn’s presence with her return home had complicated Becka’s ability to adjust after he’d left.
They’d sent messages back and forth via phone, but being face-to-face with him again sent an electric thrill down her spine to the tips of her toes. It was even better to see him in person than she’d imagined. Despite the weeks apart, the comfort of his presence calmed her. Or perhaps she’d craved seeing him more because of the time apart.
Beyond the initial thrill of his return an unsure tension hung in the air between them. The reminder dulled her excitement over his return. Sure, he was here, but things weren’t the same, and might not ever be.
Becka took the glass and sipped. Immediately the soreness in her throat lessened and she felt a tad more focused. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t realize I was that thirsty.” She looked around the room but didn’t see a bottle of what she really wanted.
There was a glint in his amber eyes as he reached into his jacket and pulled out three bottles of her favorite hot sauce. “When I got my orders to come out here, I stopped and picked these up on the way.”
Becka sighed in anticipation, holding her hand out for a bottle. She’d missed his smile. “Please, Quinn, you have no idea how much my head hurts.”
He opened the bottle and handed it over. “I’d never even dream of depriving you.”
His ready smile faltered when she reached out. Becka snagged the bottle with her free hand and leaned back, alternating swigs between the hot sauce and the water. Quinn set the other bottles on her sofa table, grabbed a chair and pulled it near the divan, and took a seat.
“I’m surprised your house cook hasn’t whipped up a fae-based alternative to that sauce.”
“Oh, they keep trying! It’s like every day I get another option, and many work just fine managing my headaches, but I just adore this brand’s flavor.”
“Out of curiosity, I tried it. There’s no flavor, just heat,” he said.
“Not to me.” She smiled at the banter, but his expression was grim.
Quinn opened his notebook, studiously reviewing his notes for a moment. “As you can imagine, Vott’s shifter guards haven’t taken this attack well. Both of you have had constant surveillance since.”
Becka wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t been without a posted guard since she’d returned to House Rowan.
“After this, I’ll be lucky to use the bathroom without company,” she said.
Quinn sobered. “That’s a fine idea. I’ll recommend it to Brent.”
Becka rolled her eyes. “Kidding…”
Quinn’s gaze narrowed on her, his schooled expression and terse formality exaggerating the distance between them.
“I’m aware.”
There was a knock at the door. Quinn jumped to his feet and turned to the door. Was he concerned who might see them together?
“Who is it?” Becka called out, her voice faltering.
Brent opened the door and walked over. “Good evening, Becka. Enforcer Quinn.”
“Brent.” She nodded, continuing to alternate sips between water and hot sauce.
“Alain is in the hall, asking if you’re up for company.” Brent raised a brow, his gaze drifting to Quinn and then back to her.
At Becka’s request, her shifter guards had been giving excuses to Alain for weeks. She knew Brent understood she was avoiding Alain and so she attempted to come up with a fresh reason each time.
“I literally just got back,” Becka said. “And I’m too exhausted to deal with him.”
“And I’m here in an official capacity, I’m afraid.” Quinn frowned. “I need time to question Becka about the incident.”
“Uh huh.” Brent’s hands went to his hips as he looked back and forth between them. Finally, he shook his head. “At some point you just need to come to terms with the Alain situation,” he said to Becka. “Discomfort is meant to be faced head-on.”
“That’s a perfect shifter saying, Brent, but I’m not dealing with my situation right at this moment. Can you please tell Alain I’ll speak with him tomorrow?”
He shrugged, hands up in the air. “May I suggest instead of hiding, that you rise to meet the challenges of your life? Own it. Putting off action is perpetuating this never-ending drama.” He turned and strode out of the room, closing the door on his way out.
“Heck yeah, it’s mine. I’ll put off Alain for as long as it takes, thank you very much,” she said under her breath. Becka set her now empty glass on the table. “At least I’m never left wondering what he’s thinking.”
“Direct is the shifter way.” Quinn’s lip twitched and he took a deep breath, as if he was debating his word choice. “I hear you’re still engaged?”
Becka sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately I haven’t found my escape clause yet, but I will.”
Quinn’s single raised brow paired with tension in his lips. “Even if you were to find a way out of your engagement to Alain, don’t you think your mother would find another marriageable prospect befitting her heir?”
A heavy weight settled in her gut. “Yes, Maura definitely will. But I’d have the opportunity to try and talk some sense into her before she signed the next one.”
His eye twitched. “You’d school the duchess using your fine understanding of fae customs and then she’d just come around to your way of thinking?”
Becka groaned. “I may be Rowan’s heir, but my gift is too dangerous for most potential partners. Maura must see reason. Once she’s released from the current contract, of course.”
“Do you have a list of houses who are immune to your gift?”