CAGED (#3, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 40

Graysen's eyes—my eyes, flecked with honey and charcoal within light-gray irises, blazed down at me. Possessiveness flowed across his tight features, along with some other feeling—darker and more wrathful, tempered by hurt. I placed my hands on his broad, long fingers, which were curled tightly around my hips, and pried them off my body. "Didn't you want to ask me about Silas Boon? If you do, you'd better do it soon before I change my mind and retire for the night." And I mocked a yawn.

Graysen straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck to ease tense muscles. All the while I held the unblinking gaze of a lethal predator, as I slowly slid along the stone railing, moving carefully like a small rainforest animal hoping the stealthy jaguar wouldn't notice it. I stopped a safe distance away and blinked innocently, waiting for him to ask his questions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly closed his eyes, and breathed out a low, annoyed sigh. When his thick eyelashes parted, his hand fell away, and the gray irises set in his golden complexion slowly melted away to black, and the gold flecks emerged, glittering like the stars awakening at nightfall. The tamer might have left, yet I had the distinct impression with the way his jaw ticked and the flash of annoyance in his gaze, that he wanted to toss me over his lap and spank me.

A sudden rumbling of engines and tires rolling on cobblestones jarred both of us from our silent stand-off. The engines died, and a moment later the sound of doors opening and shutting, feet clattering, and voices ringing came from below and around the other side of the tower.

Curious, I spun around and quickly hurried along the curving balcony, my hand skimming across the weather-worn railing until I returned to the entrance of Graysen's rooms. Sage had already come out to inspect who had arrived. My wraith-wolf poked his head out between the gaps in the balustrades, letting out a huff, while I leaned over the railing to watch the goings on in the inner courtyard below.

My drying hair swayed in a light breeze as I peered downward at the limousine that had entered the Keep through one of the gateways, along with several SUVs. The drivers, guards, and servants had disembarked and were assisting an older woman dressed in white from the limousine. I didn't get a good look at her, as she had her back to me, and all I could make out was bobbed black hair that had a textured feathered look to the ends of the locks. She strode ahead of a collection of men and women in House uniforms, navy business suits, and the usual black uniforms of soldiers. A few stayed behind and unloaded suitcases—a great deal many suitcases.

"Quite the entourage," I murmured.

One of them glanced over his shoulder and up at the tower. I caught only the broad brushstrokes of an attractive male face, brown hair, and a short-cropped beard, a twitch of a smile. Just before our gazes met, one of his companions said something and he turned away to answer, his gaze returning to the procession ahead of him.

The sound of Graysen's footfall distracted me. He sidled up, leaning an arm against the railing beside mine, and stared at the woman at the head of the entourage before she disappeared inside the Keep. The men and women followed behind, and only the hushed murmuring from the drivers, and the clank of luggage on stone, could be heard below.