One Crossroads Later

Chapter Fourteen

Walking back into the coven estate felt odd, as if Robin had infiltrated the enemy lines rather than return to the place that he'd called home for thirty years. The same group of vampires greeted him with their typical way of saying hello, but the entire time he felt like a man wearing the obvious painted on his forehead. It came as a mercy when nobody prevented him from retiring in his room.

Especially when none of the vampires he passed were Sabrina.

He slept through the day in fits and rose slightly later than normal. As he showered, he thought about the kiss he'd stolen with Martin, and let the pleasant feeling he'd inspired carry him the rest of the way through preparing for the night. Yes, he thought while dressing; the werewolf had worn down his defenses, but life had been chaos otherwise. Why shouldn't something be pleasant for him for a change?

A day's worth of sleep had settled his nerves at least a little, despite it being restless. And it had helped his guilt over letting his mind, and other parts of him, wander despite what had happened to Demetrius. The week had made him keenly aware of how quickly things could change, even after decades of life remaining mostly the same.

He hadn't gotten this far without a keen mind for adapting.

Robin reminded himself of this as his thoughts shifted to the mission in front of him.

"She's going to wonder about him," he said to his reflection while tying back his hair. "Even if she accepts that he's still at work tonight, that's going to shift rapidly. If you have any hope of uncovering something, tonight will be the best night for it." Deftly, he secured the tie, and smoothed out his suit jacket, giving himself a final appraisal. He looked the same as always. Robin told himself to hold on to that as he left his room for the night.

Nobody appeared to be alarmed. Nothing filtered through the rumor mill bearing any sign that Sabrina had become irritable or that Flynn's absence had struck a chord. Robin lingered in the common areas of the estate, walking the grounds and reading in the parlor while waiting for some sign of his maker to surface. It took only another hour for her to descend the stairs, with Rose and Timothy in tow.

He felt them looking in his direction, but pretended to be engrossed in his book.

Rose whispered something he couldn't hear, but Sabrina spoke slightly louder. "No, he's not a good measure for it," she said. "Regardless of how often they fuck."

"Well, he doesn't seem bothered either way," Timothy added.

"No. Considering I'd be more disturbed if he looked troubled, I'd say our boy's simply doing what we told him to do."

He partly felt offended for his sake, and partly for Flynn's. The derision with which she'd said the word 'fuck' lingered in the air long after she'd left, but when she exited the coven estate, she brought her cronies with her, at least. Robin forced himself to finish the chapter of the book he'd not been reading. And when he finished, he placed it back on the shelf as nonchalantly as possible. As he ascended the stairs, he motioned toward his room, ensuring first that nobody could see him.

When none of the others appeared on the second floor, Robin retreated to the stairs. Then, as quietly as possible, he finished ascending the stairs to the penthouse on the third level.

Sabrina had locked her door; he didn't need to test the knob to know this. She always secured her private room, which meant dealing with the door would be an exercise in futility. Instead, Robin approached the door, considering it from the outside to see what he could find.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. And though he realized he might waste time, his long-standing love for Sherlock Holmes told him to examine everything in case the smallest item could tell the loudest story. When nothing stood out to him, he ran his fingers along the wood frame and felt around it for something distinct.