Falcon (Kindred, #5)

NINE

NINE

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A clock would be Devon’s first request if she ever got the chance. Bess had told her that Zave may come to her tonight, and she had waited for him. Having her art supplies allowed the time to pass much more quickly. She got swept into what she was doing, and for the first time in a long time, Devon actually relaxed and enjoyed herself and forgot about all the horrific things that had happened to her.

But every time she paused and took her pencil from the paper, she thought about him, about his voice in the shadow, about the way he retreated from her, and how being close to him had felt profound.

And his kiss. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips on hers. Throughout the day, she absently grazed her fingertips over the spot he’d stimulated, and as enticing as the experience had been, she speculated on why he had withdrawn so quickly and so completely.

He hadn’t just stopped their kiss, he’d separated their bodies. Various reasons flitted through her mind for why this might be, and she wasn’t sure she would have the courage to ask him for the truth, even if the opportunity to query it rose in conversation.

Devon had never had much luck with men. She’d avoided them more than she’d embraced them. She’d never feared them, but she’d never understood them either. She never understood what it was they wanted her to be. Every man was different, every date meant a change of the rules, and she felt so off-balance each time she met a new man. Some wanted happy and bubbly, others wanted serious and demure.

A few years ago, she’d given up trying to mold herself into what they wanted her to be. Self-respect had been a struggle for her growing up and that carried forward into her dating life. It took a lot for her to assert her own personality and to stop prioritizing the wants of her potential mate in favor of heeding her own. When she was herself, they lost interest quickly.

Herself was calm and thoughtful. She didn’t need to engage in small talk and she wasn’t great at flirting and she was worse at innuendo. So, the men invariably found a woman who would entice them instead of one who would rather debate the true meaning of life or discuss current events.

She liked to talk about things that mattered, knew nothing about sports, barely drank alcohol, and hated crowded parties. In short, she was the worst date ever.

Her thoughts returned to a timepiece because it was dark outside. Devon had opened the window to allow the crash of the waves to sound through her bedroom, and she loved the scent of the sea air. Something about it invigorated her and it made her want to go outside to run that same route she’d seen Zave on. Not that she’d ever been particularly athletic, but it seemed wild out there and it made her want to be wild too.

She couldn’t tell if it was five PM or five AM. She knew it hadn’t been dark for long, but her internal chronometer wasn’t accurate any longer, not that it ever had been. Devon didn’t know if she should prepare for bed or if she should wait and hope that perhaps Zave did want to see her tonight. Bess hadn’t come to feed her, but she had spent most of the day in the hallways.

She hadn’t ventured far from this room, because whenever she tried to, Devon got herself lost. Most of the rooms off the hallway were fingerprint locked. She didn’t press her fingerprint to any because Devon knew she wouldn’t be authorized anywhere, but that didn’t prevent her from rattling a few doorknobs, in hope of getting a different view of the ocean.

After sitting on the stairs in the grand entryway sketching for probably a few hours, she’d come to her room, stood at the open window, and using her pastel she’d crafted an image of the view. But it was awkward without an easel or a chair, and the angle limited the scope of what she could draw.

But she wouldn’t complain, and she kept trying, even if it didn’t end up being her best work. It was liberating to be once again consumed by her passion, when she once considered she would never get this chance again.

Putting away her pastels and pencils after the light faded and the ocean disappeared, Devon was fascinated by the sound of the water and could close her eyes to conjure the nighttime views. But she wished she could see the moonlight. From where she was in the house, she couldn’t see the moon. She imagined it a brilliant white, reflecting a navy streak on the dark gray seas that would crash and thrash in white, foamy waves as the winds picked up carrying that salty scent through all of her senses.

Closing the window, despite her desire not to, she didn’t want the room to get cold. The towering ceiling meant the heat would be captured far above, and Devon figured the temperature would drop in here quite fast.

Just as she fastened the latch, the door opened, and she whirled around, holding her breath, hoping to see Zave. But it was Bess who stood there.

“Are you hungry?” Bess asked. “You must be. You haven’t eaten anything all day. I came to find you earlier, but you weren’t here.”

“I was drawing,” she said. It was also a possibility that she’d been lost in one of the many hallways at the time. “I’m sorry, I suppose I lost track of time. I didn’t feel hungry when I had my pencils in my hand.”

“But you do now?” Bess asked, remaining in the doorway. “Come downstairs and eat.”

Devon didn’t know if that meant eating with Bess, in a group, or alone with Zave, but being invited downstairs was a step up from being relegated to her room at meal time. So she followed Bess out, along the mezzanine corridor and down the stairs to the left, onto the landing, and down again to get to the grand foyer on the lower floor.

“I can show you where the kitchen is,” Bess said, over her shoulder. “That way you’ll be able to help yourself. You can eat anything you want in there. There’s a cellar and a cold store beneath it, so we’re stocked up with enough supplies to see us through months. Just means you never have to worry about eating the last of something, there’s always more.”

“I suppose you’d have to be,” Devon said, walking with Bess as she went through one of the pointed arches that held up the mezzanine above, where her bedroom was located.

Trying to leave mental breadcrumbs, Devon wasn’t sure of their destination but wanted to try and remember how they got here in case she had to come back. Her sense of direction sucked, but she had to start trying to map the place if she was going to be staying here for a while.

Bess took her into the dining room. Devon recognized it as the same one she’d been in before, though the light was lower making the environment more sinister. The familiar room with its window on the opposite wall had a single door to the left, and another to the right.

The central table was dwarfed in the vast space, and she wondered why they didn’t have a larger one when the space would accommodate it. If they were a small band of people, maybe they were happy with what they needed rather than the maximum they could have.

“There’s plenty to eat,” Bess said, pulling out a chair to the right of the head of the table.

Devon took the invitation to sit in it, and she appreciated being allowed to face the window. Although like hers upstairs, it was dark. Each different, textured pane showed the same ink of night beyond.

“Thank you,” Devon said as Bess poured her water from a jug.

“Now, what would you like to eat? We have soup. I have a pot roast. There’s pasta...” Bess went around to stand behind the chair opposite hers. “What are you in the mood for?”

“You made pot roast?” she asked. “Why would you make so many different things?”

Bess c****d a hip and a brow. “Because my boys are fussy. Because I never know when they’ll want to eat or what they’ll want to eat. Wren is in the kitchen trying to catch up with his patients’ notes. So of course, he starts to eat and then he gets distracted. I tell you, it’s like high school homework all over again. He gets distracted, and I point him back to what he’s supposed to be doing. He starts talking, going off on tangents, I have to direct him back. It’s a wonder he ever got through med school.”

The affection in her voice was alien to Devon, as she’d never had that kind of maternal figure in her life. “Raven and Swallow, are they still here?” Devon asked, sipping her water.

“Yes, yes, but they’re downstairs. When they’re not in the gym, Zara’s on the phone, and Brodie’s playing with his hardware. All this space in their beautiful houses, and the lot of them are so predictable, they go to their same little rooms, their same niches, and use only a fraction of the space. They could own one house between the pair of them and never see each other, there’s so much room.”

Bess was in a chatty mood, which could mean Devon had the chance to fill in some of her blanks. “Who’s Swift?” she asked.

Bess grew suspicious. “Where did you hear that name? Zave told us you overheard our conversation, but we weren’t talking about Swift.”

Torn between being impressed and being intimidated, she had to know how she was being monitored. “How could he know that?”

From how he’d reacted in the hallway, from the things he’d said, she knew he was aware of her eavesdropping, she just didn’t know how he’d figured it out.

“There are motion and sound detectors throughout the house,” Bess said, waving her hands. “I don’t know where they’re all located. But they record and the boys can tell where people were in a room and what sound was picked up in certain spots. I suppose he knew you were near the door and that our voices carried. I’m sorry if we said anything that upset you.”

Gobsmacked, Devon sank back in her chair. “You have technology like that?”

Bess laughed. “Oh, my dear, we have technology for everything. That’s all Zave does, potter around, building different things. You can ask him for anything, anything at all. Tell him you’ve got a problem and he’ll build a device that will fix it.”

That was interesting. “You have these in my bedroom too?”

Bess nodded. “Yes, they don’t record what’s said and there’s no camera giving anyone a visual.” She wiggled her finger up and down. “It’s just a little line that moves and spikes. They have different codes for different places and frequencies, I don’t try to figure it out. Zave understands it, he can explain it... But, like I said, we weren’t talking about Swift yesterday.”

“No,” she said. “Rig knows him.”

“Ah, yes. How is our friend Rigor?”

“Better now that he knows I’m safe,” she said. “He said that he knew Raven and Swift best but didn’t elaborate.”

“Swift is another Kindred member. He hasn’t been here in a while. He’s running things from Rave’s manor with his girl.”

Zave had said all Kindred men had women issues. “He has a girl too?”

“She’s wonderful,” Bess said. “The sweetest, most delightful person you’ll ever meet in your life.” That was unlikely. That Devon would meet the woman, not that she was a charming person. “So what would you like to eat? Pot roast?”

“No,” Devon said. “It’s sounds wonderful, but...” She put one hand on the table and the other on her stomach. “I want to take things easy. I’ll need to build myself back up.”

“It’s good to hear you say that,” Bess said. “You seem to be getting over your illness.”

“I feel stronger today,” Devon said. “I’m happier and more determined.”

“All good things in this house,” Bess said as she moved away toward the door she’d used the previous day. “I’ll bring your food back in a minute.”

And she did. She brought in pasta, salad, and garlic bread laden with cheese. Bess had agreed with Devon when she’d said she should take it easy and then produced all of this food.

Devon could tell that Bess was a woman who would go above and beyond for anyone. She had the best, kindest heart. Maybe it was what Devon had overheard the previous day, but she couldn’t be wary of Bess. The woman had never made her feel unwelcome or like a burden.

Rig hadn’t mentioned Bess at all and if she stayed here and was protected by the men, Devon’s brother might not even know that Bess existed. Bess had been so good to her that Devon promised in that moment of fussing to never reveal the woman’s identity to anyone no matter how her dealings with the Kindred turned out.

Bess was leaning on the chair back of the seat opposite hers, telling her about the food, as Devon twirled the tagliatelle around her fork. The sauce was thick and creamy, maybe more than she could handle. But it could be that her taste-buds had been on pause for so long that they would have to reacquaint themselves with what she liked and didn’t like.

Bess didn’t sit down and Devon wished she would, it would make her feel less like a burdensome guest. The woman could be eating with her instead of foregoing her own meal to make sure that Devon ate hers.

Assuming this was meal time for her alone, she didn’t expect the door to her left to open, the same one that Brodie and Zara had emerged from the previous day. Except it wasn’t the couple who came through it this time. It was the man whose company she’d craved all day, and she swallowed away her gasp.