Frowning, Ferro helped her to her feet. It was very clear he wasn’t happy at the intrusion, and that gave her some satisfaction. Telling the resident healer “sun scorch you” was considered very bad diplomacy, although apparently Ferro had never been considered diplomatic. Nevertheless, trepidation crept in. If they left the safety of their home, she would once again be exposed in a way she didn’t want to be.
Ferro waved his hand to clothe both of them. He chose a modern dress for her, but again, one that fell to her ankles. This was also formfitting, a teal color he particularly liked. He had certain colors that appealed to him. She knew he chose the more formfitting dresses because he wanted her to get used to the idea that her figure was pleasing to him. He thought she was beautiful. He wanted her to feel beautiful and to move with confidence among the other women.
It gave her a secret little thrill that he was looking out for her, so much so that he would put her needs before his brethren. She hugged that knowledge to herself, even though she had the sinking feeling that they would have to go. Knowing he didn’t want to made it easier.
She knew from being in his mind that Ferro hoped to introduce her to Emeline, Dragomir’s lifemate, this rising. Once he did, he wanted her to be able to sit with all three of the women without him, even if just for a few minutes, and see if she could do so without summoning Sergey. She didn’t want him to leave her, even for a few moments, and take the chance of endangering the other women, no matter that he had assured her that even with her summoning Sergey, the vampire could no longer send his worm from the netherworld.
He was asking it of Elisabeta, but Ferro wasn’t going to point out to the ancient healer what he already knew.
“I am sorry,
Elisabeta wrapped her arm around his waist and nodded, uncertain what to think. No matter what, if Ferro asked it of her, or commanded it—which to her was the same—she would go.
What went wrong this time?” Ferro asked Gary. “Surely Dragomir didn’t throw a tantrum the way Sandu did.” “I do not throw tantrums,” Sandu denied with great dignity. “Dragomir, however, has long been jealous that down through the ages no one has sung his praises over the campfires. He most likely was bemoaning the fact, and young Josef could no longer listen. I believe it was the young Carpathian who flung the tablet at him.”
Ferro turned his attention to Dragomir. “Is this true?”
Dragomir gave his blackest scowl to Sandu. “Of course, it isn’t true. Why would I care whether songs are sung over the campfires of my exploits? Ancient hunters do not expect songs of their legendary battles. Only those vain carry on about them.”
“I was referring to young Josef throwing a tablet at you,” Ferro said, striving for patience.
“Yes, well. That part might be true. He muttered something along the lines of ‘dim-witted blockheads’ and flung the tablet at my head. Fortunately, I am very fast and caught it before it could fall to the ground. The little upstart thought he might go toe-to-toe with me.”
Ferro ignored the taunting amusement in Dragomir’s voice. He could see that Tariq, Maksim and Traian found the young Carpathian’s behavior laughable, but he found himself uneasy. He had known Dragomir for centuries and never once had the ancient had that particular mocking, almost snide tone when he was referring to the young tech. Ferro tried to change the sound in his mind but it always came out slightly sneering. The others around him didn’t seem to hear it, or at least if they did, no one reacted.
