“I do not lie.” “You told me I was your Beloved!” It’s difficult to put indignation, betrayal, hurt feelings, and a healthy dollop of menace into a whisper, but I gave it my best shot. I’d quickly discovered that Sebastian’s eyes were a barometer to his mood. Dark midnight gray indicated sexual arousal. The lighter his eyes turned, the less happy he was. Right now they were a pale bluish granite. “You are my Beloved.” “Don’t you dare lighten your eyes at me,” I warned. “You have no right to be angry here. I’m the victim. I’m the one you used.” Noelle, who had been standing in the middle of the hall, moved over to join our whispered conversation. The revenants were busily blockading the gaping hole where the door used to be, while Sally had been sent to double-check that all the windows on the ground floor had been warded against possible imp or demon infiltration. Damian sat on the stairs, his chin in his hands, watching everything with bright, interested eyes.
