Chapter Twenty-Two Samuel

Chapter Twenty-Two

Samuel

S everal days after his meeting with Isaac, Samuel was summoned to meet with Shan. The footman showed Samuel in, directing him to an area of the LeClaire townhouse that he had not yet explored. It was ridiculous, really, how many rooms these houses had—far more than any family would need. But at least Shan had her brother, so it couldn't be as lonely as the sterile place he now called home, just him and the servants who didn't know how to treat him, tiptoeing around him like his kindness was just a mask and his true nature—his Aberforth nature—would soon rear its ugly head.

There were only a handful of people in this new life who treated him like a person, and one of them appeared before him. Shan took him by the hand, throwing a coy smile over her shoulder as she led him on. They could have been lovers heading for a secret tryst, or two friends preparing for a twisted scheme. For the briefest second, Samuel let himself believe that was true. That Shan was interested in him for who he was, not simply the blood in his veins.

It was a sweet lie, but Samuel was too cruel to allow it more than a breath to flourish. He shoved it all aside to focus on the reason he was here—to discuss the task the Eternal King had given them: murder and mystery and bloodshed.

But Shan didn't lead him to a study or a library, as expected, but to her own Blood Working laboratory. He recognized the same instruments the Eternal King had in his, though he didn't know their names, strange and shining along the walls. But there was more than that—everywhere he looked he found signs of Shan. They were in the books and journals scattered around the room, notes jammed in between the pages. There were diagrams of the human body that stripped away the skin to reveal the veins beneath, with annotations scribbled in an ever more familiar hand, and Samuel stepped forward to read Shan's theories of magic.

She didn't stop him, though it didn't matter. He couldn't decipher her secrets anyway.

"Why are we here, Shan?"

She smiled, leaning casually against the door as she slid the lock in. "It is the safest place in my entire home. Every Blood Worker guards their laboratory—and I worked hard to make this one mine."

"It's rather…" Samuel searched for a word, one that wasn't intimidating or gruesome . He couldn't find one that was also true.

"It's a lot," she admitted. "Especially if you haven't studied Blood Working. But there is nothing here that you wouldn't find in any classroom in the Academy. Or, I'm sure, in the Eternal King's own sanctuary."

He heard the unspoken question there, and he turned slowly, taking in all the details before he spoke again. "He has a sink in his."

"Of course he does." Shan shook her head. "I'd love to make that addition, but finances being what they are… Anyway, I know you've been having meetings with Sir de la Cruz about your magic. What has he had to say?"

"Keeping yourself informed, I see," he muttered, his hand automatically going to the place where Isaac had drawn his blood just days ago. He swore he could still feel the echoes of his touch, and he wondered if he was going mad.

"It is my job," Shan reminded him. "And I want to help you as well. I'm sure you realize the King has ulterior motives for your training."

"I'm not an idiot." Samuel pulled his hand through his hair, absolutely destroying the proper queue his valet had spent so long on. Oh well. "I know what he wants of me. It's mostly been… practice." He still couldn't keep the distaste from his voice—yes, Isaac had been right. Control was getting easier.

But he still didn't like using it.

Shan, though, was always so attentive. "Mostly? What else have they done?"

He turned away from her, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes when he told her. It was bad enough when he was breaking the rules left by his dead mother—he suspected that Shan would somehow be worse than her spectre. "Not them. It's just been Isaac."

"Just Isaac , " Shan repeated. "And what did just Isaac do?"

"He wanted some of my blood," Samuel said. "For study."

Shan exhaled sharply. "You did not."

"I did." He turned around before she could even begin. "Shan, he thinks he might be able to fix it."

Her anger melted away, replaced by something softer and somehow harder to bear. "Oh, Samuel."

"You don't think it's possible?"

She didn't answer right away. "I… honestly don't know. But if you like, perhaps we can try."

He could barely breathe. "You'd do that?"

"Naturally. I've always been fascinated by the Aberforth Gift, and—" she hesitated, that pitying look back on her face "—it's clear it makes you terribly unhappy. Besides, such a talent is just as much a liability as it is a boon."

"A liability?" He was surprised. "I doubt the King would agree."

"Trust is valuable in politics, Samuel," Shan explained, "and if the truth about you ever got out that trust would be lost. Forever. So while it certainly has its uses for the life you want, you'd be better off without it." She stepped over to a metal table, gesturing for him to follow. "Now, take off your clothes from the waist up."

Samuel flushed, crossing his arms in front of himself. He must have misheard her. "Wait, what?"

"Your clothes," Shan said again. "Off."

So much for that. He had to clear his throat to get the next word out. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to get blood all over them," Shan said, as if he were a complete simpleton. "Because then we'd have to burn them, like we do with all bloodied materials. And unless you're hiding a second outfit somewhere, you'd have to head home half-naked." She ran a hand down her dress—a simple dark cotton affair with no frills or baubles. "Why do you think I am wearing this?"

His cheeks were burning even more now, but he couldn't stop himself from following the movement of her hand. Even in such a plain outfit, she was still a beautiful woman—and he knew that she knew it, too. The simple dress hugged her curves, drawing his attention to the fullness of her breasts, tapering down to a thin waist he ached to feel under his hands. She was beautiful in the most exquisite of dresses, she would be beautiful in rags, she would be beautiful in nothing at all.

Turning away, he stopped that line of thought cold as he shrugged his jacket off. "Isaac didn't make me do this."

Shan laughed, and he heard her step closer. "And here I thought Isaac was a clever man. What's the matter, Samuel? Are you shy?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Samuel muttered, throwing his cravat over his carefully folded jacket. "I'm fine."

"If it helps, this is all for purely academic purposes," Shan said. "Nothing untoward at all."

Samuel stopped himself from calling bullshit on that. She was clearly drawing some amusement from it. But he would not let his nervousness show any more than it already was. "I'm fine, Shan," he repeated, with far more confidence than he felt, and he quickly pulled his shirt over his head and added it to the pile.

When he turned back around, Shan stood staring at him, her hand at the base of her throat as her eyes roamed. Samuel didn't say a thing as she took him in, the weight of her gaze as heavy as a physical touch, the silence thick and impenetrable between them.

At last she forced her eyes back up to his, her mask in place as if nothing had happened. "Please, have a seat over here." She drummed her fingers on a table that was just a slab of metal, cold and unyielding, and Samuel slid into one of the sterile metal chairs that surrounded it.

"I hope you don't mind sharing a little more blood," she began, and he made a face that had her laughing. "Don't worry. I have a safe." She pointed towards one of the bookshelves. "Hidden back there, behind a series of wards keyed to my bloodline. Only Anton and I can access it. It's not foolproof, but it's pretty damned good. If you don't want to, I'll only take what I need for immediate tests, while you're still here, and burn the remainders. But… you gave Isaac your blood, correct?"

He could already tell where her argument was going, and his resolve was crumbling like a wall of sand. "Yeah."

"Then let's make it so I can be truly helpful, don't you think?" Shan looked at him, and he nodded. "Also it's easier this way. Now we don't need to keep coming up with excuses for you to visit me."

"Ah, my company isn't wanted, then?" Samuel pouted, and Shan smiled slightly.

"You know that's not true. But we both have reputations to think of."

Samuel rubbed the back of his neck, annoyance rising. "I'm getting pretty tired of hearing that advice. I can make my own decisions."

"Yes, you can," Shan admitted. "But you still need to be careful. People will start to think we're lovers."

"Won't that help you?" Samuel asked, then felt heat rise through him. He cursed his pale skin—he knew without seeing it the sight it must have painted—but continued digging himself deeper. "Your reputation, I mean. Not that I'm some great—it's just that I'm an Aberforth—" She watched him sputter on with a smile, until he eventually shut up and buried his face in his hands with a groan.

"You're not wrong," she admitted, "but it could hurt other opportunities—especially yours. As you said, you're an Aberforth. And an Aberforth can do so much better than a LeClaire." She lined up a row of vials in front of him. "Ready when you are."

He didn't know what to say—that despite the fact that he barely knew her, really, he'd still take her over any of those other Blood Workers. When she looked at him, she didn't see only a title, or a power, to be used, but the man behind them. And damn it all if that little thing didn't make all the difference. Besides, he didn't care if he could do better , whatever that meant, because she was already better than all the others combined.

He just held out his arm to her. "Take as much as you need, but you're not getting rid of me that easily."

Shan's smile was so brilliant that he felt as dazzled as if he had looked directly into the sun. "I wouldn't dream of it." Reaching up, she pulled the white ribbon from her hair, the dark waves falling down past her shoulders, making her look strangely soft and ethereal.

He kept his focus on her as she went to work instead of the needle and the blood. He concentrated on the soft way she touched him, so different than Isaac, but just as burning. Her touches were feather-light, almost teasing, guiding where Isaac's were grounding, and she worked in a quiet way that soothed him as the blood flowed.

As the second vial filled, she looked up at him. "Not too bad, right?"

"Not really," Samuel admitted. "Just… strange."

Shan glanced aside. "Sometimes I forget how different it must be, growing up without Blood Working. How strange and macabre it must seem."

"Seem?" Samuel laughed. "Shan, this is the very definition of macabre. You take blood and use it to control and twist a person to your will."

"Is it any different from what you can do?"

Frowning, Samuel replied, "No, but I wouldn't call my ability comforting, either."

Shan only shrugged. "Not all Blood Working is so dangerous. We can heal, reunite families, create the strongest protective wards. There is a lot of good in my power."

Samuel hummed in response, remembering the details of what Isaac had shared with him, what Blood Working had allowed him to achieve. And yet, there was still so much harm being done. "But at what cost?" he asked, even if he didn't know the answer himself.

"Is it better to be weak?" Shan countered. "To have no power, no control, nothing to offer?"

"Shan." He moved his free arm, reaching to brush her hair away from her face, and she leaned ever so slightly into his touch. Her skin was so delicate, and he found himself wishing he could explore it further, find all the other places where she was soft and warm. "I refuse to believe you are just your magic. You are brilliant and cunning and even without all this, you have gathered enough power to threaten a kingdom." His smile widened. "And you did find me."

"Perhaps." She straightened her back, moving away as she focused on filling the vials. His hand fell limply to the table—he didn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't touching her. "But I don't know if I could have become that woman if I didn't have Blood Working to guide me."

"Maybe," Samuel said. "Maybe not. It doesn't really matter, though. Whatever you might have been, you are still a remarkable woman."

Shan laughed—a real, sudden laugh that left him breathless. "Blood and steel, Samuel. I see I don't have to worry about you. Soon you'll be charming all of Dameral."

"I'm not trying to be charming," Samuel stammered. "I really mean it."

"I know you do." Shan refused to look at his face, instead focusing on pulling the needle from his arm. She swept away the needle and tube, and while she was distracted he carefully swiped the ribbon she had left on the table. He palmed it and slipped it into his pocket.

"What now?"

"Put stoppers on four of the vials," she instructed. "Leave the last open. We'll need it."

He did as she instructed, carefully sealing away most of the blood she had drawn. The last was left sitting open in front of him, and he stared into the pool of his own blood until Shan returned to his side.

"Drink it," she ordered, and he looked up at her in surprise. "It's how we access the power. In consuming the blood, we can gain access to the very life it holds."

"This is pointless," he said. "I tried the tests as a child. I never could do it."

"Maybe," Shan said with a shrug. "Maybe not. But whatever the case, I need to know if you can access it at all. Blood Working is difficult to explain to someone who doesn't have the power, but if you can get even a sense of it, that will help. Even the barest bit of power from the barest bit of blood. Indulge me."

"All of it?" he asked, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yes." She smiled at him. "Or can you not? It's something that children do in the Academy all the time. You cannot be afraid."

"Disgusted, more like." He snatched the vial and tossed it back, the taste of his own blood heavy on his tongue. It had only been out of his body for a few moments, but it was already viscous, sliding down his throat and making him shudder.

Shan watched him the whole time, her eyes never leaving his lips. "What do you feel?"

"Nauseated?" She smacked his arm, and he bit back a laugh. "All right, all right." He closed his eyes, waiting for something—anything—that felt like magic. He could still taste the blood on his lips, copper and salt, but he felt none of the power that Shan had promised him. Something was stirring inside him, though, something like his gift, but it was faint. It was a treacherous, fragile thing that kept slipping through his fingers whenever he tried to grasp it. "It's like—there's almost something? Am I doing it wrong?"

Shan reached out, her thumb tracing its way across his mouth, spreading the blood that still lingered there. "This might seem weird," she said, "but I swear it's for the magic." She gently pulled him towards her and sucked his lower lip between her teeth, her tongue lapping across it and wiping away every last drop.

It was the most exquisite torture.

"Hells, Shan," Samuel said, pulling back from her as his head spun and lust shot through him, an insistent thrum in his veins. "Warn me next time."

But Shan wasn't paying attention to him, her eyes were wide and unfocused. "That is odd." Grabbing the same needle she had used on him, she pricked her own finger and held it out to him. "Here."

Samuel's vision narrowed to the small bead of red on her fingertip. "You can't mean—"

"Come on," she said, exasperated. "Let me help you build the bridge. It works better when we both imbibe." She leaned across the table and pressed her thumb to his mouth, pushing past his lips. His teeth caught it, and he could taste her skin and blood on his tongue.

Forcing himself to meet her eyes, he worried the wound and forced even more blood out.

"Good," she whispered, then pulled back.

The whine that followed had nothing to do with magic.

"There," Shan said, settling back in her seat. "Do you feel me?"

"I… uh," Samuel spluttered, "hells." He dug his nails into his thighs, trying valiantly to ignore the way his cock hardened. But with Shan sitting there, so alluring, the thrum of magic electric in the air, he could barely concentrate on her words. What sort of nonsense question was that? Of course he felt her. She was all he could focus on when they were this close.

Even when he shouldn't—when he should be keeping her at arm's length, not dancing dangerously closer to her in this game of desire.

"The bridge, Samuel."

"Oh, right." He closed his eyes again, ignoring the call of his own body and focusing on the tremulous connection between them. She was right—he could feel her. He ran his tongue over his teeth, focusing on the fading taste of her. It was different from his own blood—there was a headiness to it, a burn to it, like the cleanse of a strong liquor. It was rich and overpowering, just like her, threatening to overwhelm his senses and pull him under.

"There you are."

"Good." Her hand found his, clenching tightly. "Reach for me, Samuel."

He did, clawing his way through the power of the blood within to draw her closer. She was reaching back towards him as well, the connection between them growing stronger and more real with each passing second.

He could feel her heart, stepping ever closer in sync with his. The slow, steady beat of it guiding him, pulling him towards a well of power he never realized he had. It was there, hidden below the darkness that had grown within him, untapped and untouched. "This is…"

"Blood Working," Shan confirmed, wrapping her hands even tighter around his. "This is what we call the bridge. It connects two—or more—living sources of power. You can feel my magic, right?"

"Yes, you're here with me." He could feel her, a gentle touch across his veins, stirring his blood and his heart and his body in a way he had never known before. He breathed and she was there. His heart skipped a beat, and hers skipped with him. The power in his blood stirred in response to the power in hers, and they were somehow one.

Shan was sliding closer to him, falling off her chair and pulling him down with her. They tangled together on the floor, Shan perched on his lap, skin against skin as they pressed together. She slotted over his hips, fitting against him like she was made to be there, and Samuel had to lean back and press his hands into the floor, forcing himself to remain still when it would have been so easy for her to hold him down and grind against his aching hardness.

Wrapping her hand around his throat, Shan pressed her thumb against his pulse as the bridge between them grew stronger—a blazing path of blood that seemed as real as anything. As real as the pressure of her hand closing around his neck. If he leaned forward just a bit, Shan would cut off his breath, leaving him entirely at her mercy.

He had never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He could feel her inside him, running her fingers along the dark well of power that stirred in his chest. It woke under her touch, coming to life with the all-consuming anger and viciousness that he normally tamped down, fighting her invasion tooth and nail.

"Blood and steel," she swore, pulling back from his embrace and his soul. "You live with this?"

"Always."

"And is it usually this… hungry?" Her hands roved over his chest, settling over his heart, warm against bare flesh.

Samuel swallowed hard, her very touch inflaming him. His hands settled over her waist, and though she was small, he could still feel the strength in her, and he prayed she wouldn't break, no matter what he did. "Yes, it is. I've been learning to fight it, to keep it in its place, but it's underlying everything, begging to be unleashed."

Shan trembled. "You could break anyone to your will, force them to follow you, to do whatever you asked." She looked up at him but there was no fear in her eyes, just a hunger that had nothing to do with power. "You want to be rid of this, but you could be a god."

"I don't want to be a god," he whispered, though the darkness in him stirred with possibilities. It would be so easy to let go, to unleash it. To force Shan to bend and break. To take her, make her his—utterly and completely and in every imaginable way.

Hells, that was too appealing an image, as it would be so easy to make it true. She probably wouldn't even resist him. She probably wanted it, too, with the way she leaned against him, sharing the same breath, her hands roaming his body, like it was her due.

All he had to do was take.

He shoved her off him, leaping to his feet as he tore at his skin. He wished it was gone, that he could reach inside and grab this monstrosity and tear it out by the roots. But it wasn't that simple.

It was as much a part of him as the very blood in his veins.

Shan caught his hands before he could break skin, stilling him with a touch. "Don't, Samuel."

"Do you see now why I need it gone?" he asked, the question spilling from his lips, and the pitying look she gave him tore him deep. "What it's making me?"

"It's not making you anything," she said. "But I'll keep my promise. I'll share everything I know with Isaac."

"Can it be removed?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's part of your Blood Working—it is your Blood Working. It's completely taken it over and that's why you can't grasp it."

Samuel huffed out a broken laugh. "So it's hopeless."

She shook her head roughly, her hair falling around her face. "No, don't. Even if we don't have an answer yet, we've only begun. And you've learned a bit about Blood Working."

"And you've learned what kind of monster I am."

Shan frowned. "Stop it." Her fingers twined with his. "This power, it's part of you, but it isn't you. That you've resisted its call for so long is what makes you a good person. But me? I'm not one." Her voice was soft, and she looked so terribly unsure. "I have no illusions about that."

"Neither do I," Samuel said, "but you're wrong."

"I've killed, Samuel." She looked up at him, not with tears in her eyes, but with a fierce, desperate pride. "I've lied and cheated and blackmailed. And if I had to, I'd do it all again."

"So?" Samuel said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "We all do what we must to survive."

"And you're a damned fool," she snarled, reaching up and pulling him into a kiss.

It wasn't anything like he expected a kiss to be—it was rough and vicious, more teeth and biting than anything else. He tasted blood—his or hers, he couldn't tell—and she moaned against him. But with her mouth on his, any logic—any reason he was holding onto—to keep her away, vanished. There was only this moment.

And it felt right.

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as she tangled her hands in his hair, holding him captive in her embrace. It was a battle and a promise and everything he had never known, and he wanted to kiss her until the world came crashing down around them.

Shan pressed her mouth against his jaw, his neck, biting and nipping her way across his flesh as he lifted her up. She was so light in his arms, and he slammed her down on the table, the bottles rolling and sliding as he crawled over her, sliding himself into the waiting gap between her legs, her skirts rucked up around her hips. He pinned her down with his weight, and she didn't resist him, only rose her hips up to meet his, as her hands wound in his hair, pulling him where she wanted him. Shan bared her neck to him in an open invitation, and Samuel pressed his mouth against her skin.

It was so easy to bite into the soft dip of her throat, flesh catching between his teeth as he sucked hard. Shan gasped, pressing even closer to him, and that familiar darkness rose within, crawling up his throat as a single word tore past his lips—guttural and harsh and not at all him. " Mine ."

Shan locked up in his arms, her dark eyes wide and afraid, and he saw a second too late what had happened. The power he had tried so hard to deny had crept up when he wasn't looking, when his control had slipped, and Shan slumped against the table, her eyes wide and vacant as she lay there, unresisting, unresponsive, unknowing.

For him to take a warm body with no soul, to find pleasure that was only his.

"No," he gasped out as reality crashed back in, his lust fading against the horror of what he had done. "I didn't mean it!" He grabbed every bit of his power, bending it to his will, and threw it at her. A command to counteract a command, fighting his own magic. "Shan, don't!"

She shuddered again, her body and mind struggling between the contradicting commands, then went slack all at once. Silence filled the room, broken only by the harsh sound of their breathing. Eventually, she pushed herself up on her elbows, and he couldn't bear to face her.

But she was fine. It was over.

Sliding himself off the table, Samuel turned away as tremors ran through him. He was such a fool, a damned fool for not seeing this coming. He thought it was bad before, he thought he understood the depths to which he could fall.

A stolen kiss seemed childish in comparison to this.

"We can't do this," he whispered, barely audible.

"Oh, Samuel," she began. "It was an accident."

But he just spun around, silencing her with a soft, gentle kiss to the forehead. "I cannot risk, I cannot… becoming him," he explained, and her mask cracked. He didn't even need to say his father's name, to utter the crime that had led to his own creation.

He would have her when he knew she was entirely willing, entirely of her own choice, or not at all.

"All right." Her hand came up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into the softness of her touch. "If that is what you want, I'll respect it. But we will figure this out, one way or another."

"Thank you."

She nodded, then slipped off the table, putting a deliberate amount of space between them. "I still have much to study."

"That you do."

"You'd better put your shirt back on," Shan said, heading towards a bookshelf and grabbing a thick tome. Her tone was brisk, professional, though her cheeks were still flushed and her hair askew.

Samuel was sure he looked no better, but he grabbed his clothes from the chair where he had left them, determined to act as normal as she was. "And can I help?"

"Naturally." Shan's smile was quick, there and gone, and Samuel breathed out hard.

She was going to be the death of him.

"Lord Aberforth," Jacobs said, bowing as Samuel entered his townhouse. "You have a visitor."

"I… do?" Samuel rubbed his temples. He was tired and confused and energy still thrummed relentlessly through his veins, aching for something he could never have. He wanted nothing more than a cold bath to kill the fire in his blood, then his soft bed, but he was a Lord now. And appearances must be kept. "Who is it?"

Jacobs looked uncertain, only the slightest hesitation in his words. "Antonin LeClaire the Second."

"Anton?" Samuel blinked in confusion. Why would he be here ? Samuel had just been at the LeClaires; wouldn't it have been easier to meet there?

"He's in the parlor, my lord. He would not be dissuaded," Jacobs said, and the thinness of his lips showed how he felt about that. Arriving here without an invitation, without even a title or the power of Blood Working to lean on, and then insisting on waiting. It was the height of impropriety.

Samuel smiled, slightly, at Jacobs' loyalty and devotion to order. It had only been a few weeks since he had begun living there, but already Jacobs had started to feel like a staple in his life, there in the background, always ready to help. They were starting to get a feel for each other, and even a grudging kind of respect.

"It's all right, I'll see him."

"As you say, my lord." Jacobs bowed again. "Should I send for anything?"

Samuel glanced at the clock—it was already well past dinner, and he didn't have a damned clue what the appropriate thing to offer was. "Uh, what do you recommend?"

Jacobs chuckled, a little surprised, but if he was judging him he did a good job hiding it. "At this time? Brandy, whisky, the hard liquors."

"Right. That would be great."

"There are some in the parlor," Jacobs offered, kindly. Then he stepped forward, adjusting Samuel's cravat and smoothing down his jacket. He shot an exasperated look at the state of Samuel's hair, but there was nothing to be done about that. "There, you're ready."

Samuel nodded. "Thank you, Jacobs." Jacobs patted him kindly on the shoulder, and Samuel pressed past him towards the parlor.

Anton was facing away from him when he entered, already searching through the previously untouched cabinet of alcohol that had come with the townhouse. Well, at least that made this easier—he didn't have to pretend he knew which liquor was which.

"Close the door," Anton said, without looking at him. He was very focused on pouring his drink. "I don't want us overheard."

Samuel considered rebelling just for the hell of it. Anton did barge in on him, after all, and he'd had a very long day. But his better judgement won out. If he was here on Shan's orders, privacy would not just be wise, but necessary. He closed the door and locked it for good measure.

"I was just at your townhouse, you know."

"And I said I don't want to be overheard," Anton said, turning around. "All of the servants are in Shan's pocket. It's not safe there."

Samuel couldn't help staring. There was so much of his sister in him. From the fall of his hair to the tone of his skin. Their eyes, their cheekbones, the curve of his smile. Even the way he carried himself. It was a strange reflection of Shan, and Samuel couldn't look away.

"Easy there," Anton said, at last breaking the silence. "I'm spoken for."

He flushed. It wasn't that Anton was unattractive—his attractiveness was an objective fact—but this was Shan's brother . "I didn't—it wasn't like that."

"Ah, I see." Anton gestured to his face. "You see her in me, don't you? Funny how that works, being twins and all."

"You do share some similarities," Samuel admitted.

Anton snorted. "Trust me, it's all in the looks. Aside from that, my sister and I are like night and day." There was bitterness in his voice, and he downed his drink in one gulp. Turning back to the liquor cabinet, he said, "You have a great collection."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. But why are you here?"

"Well, I'm hoping you can give me some answers, Aberforth." Anton sipped his drink this time, his dark eyes watching him closely. "About some of the schemes my sister is planning."

Samuel tensed. "Why would I have that kind of information?"

"I might not know all that my sister does," Anton said coolly. "And I might be privy to more of her mind than most, but I know that she still conceals as much as she can from me for my own protection." He clenched his glass so tightly that Samuel feared it was going to shatter in his hand. "But don't you think me a fool, Samuel Aberforth," he whispered, stalking closer, and Samuel felt suddenly like prey.

Perhaps he wasn't as different from his sister as he thought.

"I don't know why you would think I would know any more," Samuel repeated. "I am just one of her many pawns."

"Are you playing with me?" Anton snapped. "Or are you that foolish? I know the two of you are involved."

Samuel could feel the burn of blood in his cheeks, and he knew that his skin was stained red. "We are not!"

Anton studied him closely. "I didn't mean it like that, though clearly you'd like to be. Interesting."

Turning away, Samuel suddenly understood the desire for a drink. He couldn't, obviously, but something about Antonin LeClaire made him wish he could indulge. "We are associates, nothing more."

Anton's laugh was surprisingly sharp. "Oh, Aberforth. You are fucked."

"I'm not looking for romance," Samuel said simply, because it was true. He couldn't risk it, and he learned that lesson well.

"What's that saying?" Anton snapped his fingers. "Right, those who have sworn off romance are bound to find it. But anyway, fascinating as this is, I'm not here to speculate on Shan's love life. Or realistically, lack thereof."

"I was telling you the truth, Sir LeClaire."

"Oh, no," Anton grimaced. "None of that."

"Fine," Samuel snapped. "I'm sorry I couldn't help more, Anton ."

"I really didn't expect you to," Anton admitted, setting his empty glass down. "I don't know why I even bothered coming."

Samuel couldn't help the way he bristled. He knew, logically, that it wasn't personal. That Shan clearly thrived on secrets, that she had plans within plans, and she used people as needed, confiding in no one. She had admitted as much this very night. And if even her twin didn't know the full extent of her plans, then who would?

It was understandable and disappointing all at once.

This was like the worst game of poker. They both had their cards, but they couldn't compare them without betraying Shan. And Samuel knew that neither of them would. It was an exercise in futility. "Then why did you?"

"Curiosity," Anton replied. "And misplaced hope."

Samuel shrugged. "And how did that work out for you?"

"Not well." But he looked up with a grin. "If you think that means I'm giving up, you're wrong. I don't give up. If we're going to be working together, you'd best learn that."

"We're going to be working together, then?"

Anton's grin turned sharp. "Haven't you learned anything yet? We all work for Shan. She's seen to that." Samuel sucked in a harsh breath, and Anton's facade cracked. "I'm not being cruel, Samuel. My sister is… challenging. She has her plans, but she doesn't trust easily. Or at all."

Samuel bit his lip. Anton was right about that much. She was like ice, slow to melt, and Samuel feared that the very act of thawing would destroy something fundamental about her. It didn't stop him from wanting to try, though. "So now what?"

"Nothing," Anton said, without hesitation.

Samuel could only blink in confusion. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Anton confirmed. "I learned what I needed to know."

"And what is that?"

"That it is too late," Anton replied. "You are already thoroughly her creature. She has that effect on people."

"You don't know anything about me," Samuel said, but Anton's words were true. He was her creature and he didn't know precisely when that had happened. But there was only a small part of him that feared what would happen when she realized it, too.

Anton chuckled. "It's funny. I wouldn't have expected the heir to the most dangerous family in Aeravin to be so innocent." His smile was all teeth, and he looked so much like his sister that Samuel's breath caught. "I can read you like a book, Lord Aberforth. I don't know her plans with you, or what she's going to do to you, but I can tell you care about her."

"I'm her ally, Anton."

"For now," Anton said, leaning back against the wall. He pulled off such a pose of elegant disdain that Samuel almost rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to help your sister in her plans," Samuel said, keeping deliberately vague. "To make Aeravin better. But I will not go behind her back. If she needs my help, I'll offer it directly."

Anton studied him for a long moment. "You really don't belong here, Aberforth."

Samuel met his gaze head on. "I really don't."

"Fine, then." Anton pushed away from the wall. He inclined his head—a mocking little bow—and swept out of the room with a dramatic air.

Samuel just stared after him, chilled to the bone. There was something off about this whole LeClaire family, even if he hadn't figured out the particulars yet. And he was entirely too caught up in their schemes.

But, strangely, he felt no desire to get out.