A little smile touched his lips and he nodded. “Yes.”
“And you’re not like ninety years old or anything, right?”
“Hate to disappoint but I really am twenty-five.”
He suddenly turned to look down at her. His eyes were once more warm, and although the smile on his face didn’t fully reach his eyes, he no longer looked as…defeated.
Drew looked away. The warmth in his eyes was lending him a type of vulnerability she’d never seen before. It was…unnerving.
She heard him sigh and looked up in time to see him run long fingers through his hair.
“You know, we don’t choose our parents,” she said softly, lifting her eyes slowly to his hazel ones. They were currently a vivid shade of green but she could still see the flecks of gold-brown inside. “We just choose the types of lives we live. From what you’ve done today, what you’ve been doing since you found out about Vivienne, you chose a different path from your father.” She swallowed when his eyes grew darker, from moss to leaf green in the span of milliseconds. “I think that’s pretty admirable.” She smiled and pulled her gaze away from his, blinking as she tried to focus on anything in the gradually darkening back yard.
No words were spoken for minutes as they stood there, and then Max turned to face her.
Feeling slightly self-conscious, especially as she was still wearing one of the old thigh-length T-shirts that served as her sleepwear, and no bra, she crossed her arms over her breasts before turning to face him.
There was no smile on his face, no teasing grin. His eyes were sincere.
“Thank you.” Before she could blink, he leaned down and placed a kiss to her forehead.
She cleared her throat and stared at him in confusion. Except for the crowding in the bathroom when she’d had her client over, and him tying her to his bed—she still remembered that look in his eyes as he’d untied her—they’d never been this close.
When he stepped back, Drew blinked, uncertain of what she was to do next. She spun toward the window, reminding herself that Max might be one extremely good-looking guy, but he was still Max. He’d teased her to the point of tears, and he was a huge slut—she shouldn’t forget that—and the big whammy, he was not human! For crying out loud, it was Max. It was Max and she was feeling butterflies in her stomach from that peck that shouldn’t even be called a kiss.
Max took his time turning back to the window. When he did, his voice was light and almost teasing. “I know you’ve got a million and one questions swirling through that big brain of yours.” He paused, lifted a brow as if daring her to contradict him, and then grinned down at her. “Go ahead. Ask me anything. My life’s an open book.”
***
Conall checked on Vivienne, who was tucked under her covers, sleeping deeply, before making his way downstairs in search of Evelyn. After his conversation with Sloan, he had questions he needed answered. He found her in the kitchen, placing a large baking dish into the oven.
Without turning to face him, she asked in a voice laced with amusement, “You have more questions already, Conall Athelwulf?”
She straightened, took her baking gloves off, and turned around. A small smile appeared on her lips.
“What’s your relationship to Cronin?”
The smile faded and her eyes hardened. “Relationship?” she asked in a calm, quiet voice. “The only relationship I have to Maximilian Cronin is the grudge I hold against him for murdering my parents and threatening my family.”
“Were you a part of his covenant?”
Evelyn scoffed at that. “Never. If I were, one of us would be dead.” She paused and moved back over the stove, where the cover of a pot was bouncing as the contents began to boil. She tilted the lid ever so slightly before turning to face him once more. “What’s your interest in our relationship?”
Conall leaned against the island. He wasn’t certain, but he’d learned centuries ago to trust where his instincts led.
“Someone called a Council Meeting for Saturday. It might be one of the witches.”
Evelyn’s nostrils flared. “Cronin? Over my daughters?”
He nodded. From what Sloan had told him, he was almost certain that one of the witches had called the meeting, and with the events that had taken place, instinct was telling him this meeting was somehow related. His mind swirled with the range of possible things that Cronin could claim in an attempt to get Vivienne. One thing stood out above all others. Kinship. It was one of the laws that every race agreed to abide by.
“So you were never in his covenant?”