"Ma'am, he is waiting for you." The servant’s whisper barely registered. I didn’t slow my stride, my heels clicking like a blade being unsheathed against marble as I swept toward the study.
The door was already open—an invitation, or perhaps a test.
I stepped inside, the air shifting as if the room itself recognized the predator in its midst. The man—my man—stood with his back to me, shoulders rigid beneath his casual clothes.
"Report," I commanded.
He turned, his face carefully blank, but his pulse betrayed him. A flicker beneath his skin, a tell I’d long since memorized.
"Nothing new to report, ma’am."
A slow, icy smile curled my lips. "Nothing?"
I love it when they think they can lie to me. They don't realize I've been alive for centuries, and I know every trick that exists.
H
