Her grandfather and Jaxon's father, Ferrin, joined them halfway through lunch. Out of habit, Bryn braced for an attack.

Neither her grandfather nor Ferrin paid the slightest bit of attention to her or her grandmother. They continued discussing something about security issues while they ate.

"Is it always like this?" Bryn nodded toward her grandfather.

"Like what?" her grandmother asked.

Seriously? "Does he"-she pointed to her grandfather-"bring Directorate members in for lunch and ignore you and everyone else in the room?"

"Mostly."

"Then why eat in the same room?" It didn't make sense.

"Because this is where Abigail serves lunch."

Okay, then. What to talk about now? Her brain went back to their previous conversation. "You never answered me before. Was Nola questioned about the blueprints?"

"She likes to plan her sets based on real blueprints to make them more realistic."

Bryn snorted. All three adults in the room shot her disapproving looks.

"What? I've painted those sets. If Nola uses blueprints as inspiration, then something is lost in the translation."

"What are you going on about?" Ferrin asked.

"How did Alec know the layout of the estate well enough to attack us that night? Nola was the last to check out the blueprints. Alec was her brother."

"Do you think the Directorate is ignorant of those facts?" Ferrin asked.

"Before you continue talking to me like I'm an idiot, you should know your son was the one who suggested this line of investigation." That shut the jerk up.

Her grandfather gave her a sideways glance. Was he mad at her? Too bad. She would wear uncomfortable shoes and do her best to act like the young lady her grandparents wanted her to be, but when Ferrin came into the equation, all bets were off.

"You'll have to forgive Bryn. She's distraught over the death of her parents." Her grandfather's tone was flat and even. He observed Ferrin like he was waiting for a reaction. Did he suspect Ferrin of killing her parents? When her mom had jilted Ferrin and run away with her dad-a middle-cla.s.s Red dragon-Ferrin had been furious. Would he seek revenge in this manner, knowing it would be blamed on the brewing civil war? Maybe.

"My condolences." Ferrin's tone was tight, like the words strangled him.

She nodded in response. Her throat grew tight and her eyes burned. And she'd be d.a.m.ned if she'd cry in front of him. Setting her fork down, she pushed away from the table. "May I be excused?"

"Of course," her grandmother said. "I'll send Abigail to check on you in a while."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Bryn paced back and forth at the foot of her bed. It felt like a crater the size of the Grand Canyon had been ripped open in her chest. She'd cried on and off for the last half hour.

Her mind screamed that her parents couldn't just be...gone. Maybe they'd escaped the explosion. They were smart. Maybe they realized the package was a bomb and flew away before it exploded. There had to be at least a 1 percent chance they had escaped.

Pound. Pound. Pound. It felt like someone was. .h.i.tting her in the head with a hammer. Scratch that. It felt like someone was inside her skull trying to break out. Maybe a hot shower and comfortable clothes would help.

Half an hour later, she wore a pair of her favorite comfy jeans and Valmont's sweatshirt, which she'd never returned. If anyone could comfort her right now, it was Valmont. In fact, he would consider it his duty as her knight.

She grabbed the phone on her nightstand. No dial tone. c.r.a.p. She wanted to call Fonzoli's and at least speak to Valmont, if she couldn't see him.

Maybe the phone was unplugged. She followed the cord to the wall. Nope, it was plugged in. She picked up the phone and pressed zero, just to see what would happen. Nothing. Her grandparents had more money than Fort Knox; it's not like someone cut off their phone service because they hadn't paid the bill on time.

Ring. Ring.

Bryn jumped from the unexpected noise. She picked up the phone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Did you require something?" a feminine voice asked.

"I was trying to make a phone call."

"My name is Rindy. I'm the operator for Sinclair Estates. I can place a call for you."

That wasn't weird at all. "I can call myself, if you tell me how to make the phone work."

"It's no trouble," Rindy chirped.

This wasn't worth the argument right now. "I was trying to call Fonzoli's restaurant."

"I can have the chef prepare anything you like."

"Thank you. I wanted to speak to a person at Fonzoli's named Valmont. Not order food." Although now that she thought about it, pizza sounded good.

"I'll put the call through for you; please stay on the line."

"Sure." Why was making a simple call so difficult? Did her grandparents not trust her with a phone? Was this their way of monitoring who she spoke to?

"h.e.l.lo, Bryn." Valmont's relaxed tone washed over her and she loosened her death grip on the phone.

"Hey. Can we meet somewhere?" she asked.

"Sure, I can pick you up in fifteen minutes."

"I'm at my grandparents' place." And now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure of the directions to the estate. Both times she'd come here, she'd slept in the car. "We may have to ask Rindy to give you directions."

"Don't worry, Fonzoli's has catered dinner parties for your grandparents before. I know the way. It'll take half an hour. Do you want me to bring some lemon ice?"

"You are the best knight ever."

He chuckled. "I'll see you soon."

She hung up and changed into nicer jeans and a blue turtleneck shirt. The mirror above her dresser reflected a girl in serious need of some makeup. So she darkened her lips and eyelashes with Quintessence. Directing her life force through her body to change her coloring seemed second nature now.

Was there anything else she needed to do before Valmont arrived? c.r.a.p. Should she have asked her grandmother's permission before inviting someone over? Should she go knock on her grandmother's door? And then it came to her. She picked up the phone and dialed zero.

"h.e.l.lo, this is Rindy. How can I help you?"

Geez, did this lady read from a script? "Rindy, this is Bryn. I wanted to speak to my grandmother, but wasn't sure if I should call before I go knock on her door."

"I'll call her private line. Please hold."

This place was like a freaking hotel. Private lines and operators. Who lives like this?

"Bryn?" Her grandmother sounded annoyed.

"Sorry if I interrupted something. I wanted to let you know that I called my friend Valmont and he's coming over for a visit."

"Oh." That single syllable spoke volumes. Was it the visit or Valmont that she objected to?

"Do I need to ask before I have friends visit?"

"It would be nice if you made me aware before the fact rather than after."

"Okay." The silence stretched out. "I'll do that next time. Do I need to call the guards to let them know he's coming?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Thank-" Click. Her grandmother hung up before she could get the entire word out.

Don't be mad. Your grandmother is set in her ways. Maybe she should ask for a manual of appropriate behavior. Of course, that might just tick her grandmother off more.

Bryn checked the clock on her dresser. Time to walk down to the entry hall. Would she b.u.mp into her grandfather or Ferrin along the way? Her grandfather probably wouldn't approve of her socializing with the caterer. Ferrin would more than likely make some snide comment. Maybe Valmont would be offended on her behalf. Maybe he'd run Ferrin through with a sword. A life with Jaxon would be much easier if his evil, vindictive father were out of the picture.

Oh. My. G.o.d. Had she just thought what she thought she thought? A life with Jaxon? She shivered and hurried out the door. In the entry hall, a Red dragon stood guarding the front door. In his human form, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like a pro wrestler, just like her dad had been.

Bam. Right in the gut. She clutched at her stomach and turned away.

"Are you all right, Miss?" the guard asked.

No. And she never would be, but her grandmother would want her to stick with the politely accepted answer, so she sucked it up and said what she should. "I'm fine. Thanks."

He glanced around the foyer like he was checking for spies. Once he thought he was in the clear, he said, "Your father, he was a good man."

Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't speak over the lump in her throat. So she nodded.

A knock on the door had the guard turning with purpose.

He glanced back at Bryn. "I'll need you to confirm your friend's ident.i.ty before allowing him to enter."

"Okay."

Her stomach flipped in antic.i.p.ation. Valmont would make everything better, or at least as good as things could be.

The guard swung the door open. Valmont stood there wearing black pants and a white shirt, which was his uniform at Fonzoli's. His dark hair was mussed and his blue eyes held concern. Did he already know what she was about to tell him?

"That's my knight." She walked toward him.

"Can I come in?" he asked the guard in the most respectful tone she'd heard him use toward an authority figure. He must know her grandparents' private guards weren't to be trifled with.

The guard stepped aside. Valmont crossed the room and pulled Bryn into a hug. She inhaled his scent; he smelled like sunshine and leather with a dash of Italian spices. Wrapped in the warmth of his arms, the world seemed like a better place.

"I heard there's been trouble, but I'm not sure what's going on," he whispered.

Bryn looked up at him. As soon as she opened her mouth to explain, to tell him that her parents were gone, the tears would come. She couldn't do that in the foyer of the main hall. "Let me show you my new rooms. We can talk there."

"Rooms?" Valmont said. "As in more than one?"

Bryn rolled her eyes. "I believe it's called a suite. I have a living room and a small library connected to my bedroom. It's pretty cool."

"It's bigger than my cabin, isn't it?"

Bryn stopped walking and thought about it. "Embarra.s.singly enough, I think it is."

Valmont glanced around the hall, checking out the other doors. "What are all these rooms?"

Did he care, or was he trying to occupy her mind? Not that it mattered. "I can find my way to my rooms, a dining room, the foyer, and my grandmother's rooms. Besides that, I have no idea what's where." She leaned in and whispered, "And I've no idea why two people need this much s.p.a.ce."

When they reached her suite, he stood in the living room, shaking his head. "This is amazing."

"It's pretty awesome." She pointed at the paper bag he carried. "Is that lemon ice?"

"As requested." He pointed at the couch. "Should we sit here, or is there a dining room table hiding in your closet?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I just moved in this morning." Her voice wavered.

He pulled her to the couch. "You can tell me when you're ready. Whatever it is, I'm here for you literally and figuratively."

Maybe ripping it off like a bandage would be best. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. She cleared her throat. "My parents are..." Saying it made it more real and a thousand times more painful. "There was a bomb," she choked out. "They're gone."

And then it was like a dam broke open inside her. She was sobbing and Valmont was holding her and making soothing noises that didn't do any good, because how could they? Her parents were dead. She'd never see them again. No more pancakes for breakfast. No more Battleship tournaments with her dad. No more anything, ever again. It was impossible for her brain to accept that her parents had just ceased to exist, and in their place was this giant aching void of sorrow. She sobbed until her throat was raw.

Valmont shifted, and then a wad of napkins appeared in front of her face. "I'm sure there's Kleenex or silk handkerchiefs around here someplace, but for now this is the best I can do."

She managed a smile. "Thanks." The paper napkins were rough against her skin. Her face felt windburned from all the salt in her tears. "I better go splash some water on my face."

Valmont nodded. She looked at him and realized his shirt was wet through. "Sorry about that."

"I'll live." He said the words, and then his smile faltered. "I'm sorry. That-"