Page 69 of Werewolves Don't Howl
“Of course not. I brought my knitting.”
He smiled. “Yes, you always have your knitting.”
I sat there with doubts plaguing me as he went through my article. It didn’t take him long, and I didn’t bother getting out my knitting, not when I wanted to see his expression as he read my piece. Then again, he was an elf, and the most emotion he showed was that he raised a silver brow once he was done. “Interesting angle. I’m not sure who benefits from the message that Senator Silverton is secretly a gnome at heart.” His gaze was calculated, cool, as an elf should be, but it made me feel defensive, like my stupid exposé wasn’t up to the standards of real reporters.
I raised my chin. “Well, my mother will like it.”
He smiled slightly. “She’d like anything if she thought there was any chance he’d marry you. You made him look approachable, trustworthy, and genuine. You certainly do have talent if you were able to turn someone like the Senator into that.”
“He’s always been perfectly respectable.”
“And now he’s approachable. No, beyond approachable, absolutely trustworthy, and that’s all you. So that’s what he’s getting out of the situation. It’s an equal trade.”
“You’re very cynical, Mr. Clay.”
“I am, Miss Era. As a personal friend, I feel the need to inform you about the senator’s dramatic backstory.”
I blinked at him. Was he going to tell me that he was secretly the head of the House of Mercy? What then? Would I have to kill him? No, I’d just report him to Cross and Henrick would do it. No, I’d kill him better and faster. Henrick would have too much fun with Clay. He’d never see me coming and wouldn’t feel a thing.
I smiled brightly. “You make it sound so exciting. Do tell.” I gripped my bag and hoped that he wouldn’t. I was bound to tell Cross anything that would put his guild in danger.
“His father is the Lord of the Night Court in elfland. That doesn’t mean much to you, since your father left all his ties with nobility—of which he had very few—when he left. But as heir of the Night Court, our senator has obligations which he cannot escape, no matter how far he runs. He will be bound to a full-blooded noble Elven female and have the next heir. It is ingrained in his blood, in his nature. Your mother may consider the senator an eligible match, but it isn’t possible. Perhaps he himself is unaware of the obligations he can’t escape. They have allowed him his freedom for longer than I would have expected. He may think that he can?—”
I cut him off before I died of embarrassment. “I’m not interested in marrying the senator. Can you imagine me, a senator’s wife? I’m just enjoying the company of a very handsome man while I get a story out of him that will benefit my career. It’s already lasted longer than I expected. I have no regrets, no expectations, and no interest in settling down to be a darling little wife, however adorable I am.”
He laughed and gave me a warm smile that I’d never seen on his Elven face. It made him much more handsome than ninety-eight percent of the men in my world, lighting up his eyes so you could see the green, and giving him a softness that his chiseled features rarely had. “Far more than that, my dear Miss Era. You have your mother’s warmth. It doesn’t seem like much to some, but it brought your father back to life, gave him his sanity, made it possible for him to find happiness in a world that has so much darkness. Combined with your Elven grace, you are irresistible.”
I went very still while I studied my father’s old friend. That was as clear a declaration of interest as elves made. It was much clearer than the usual subtlety, but he must think I was too gnomish to understand elvish manners. He was probably right. I finally broke out in a light laugh. “Mr. Clay, you are too kind. I can’t tell you how much I’ve appreciated you keeping my job secure all these years.” Yes. Work. Let’s focus on work.
He waved a hand dismissively. “You’re good at what you do. If you wanted to run the paper, or a television broadcast network, I would be delighted to help you learn what you need to know.”
Oh. My. Elf. Now that I was the Senator’s mistress, happily selling my body and soul for favors, Mr. Clay was eager to get in line. Could I slap him? No. You don’t slap elves, you’d just cut your hand on their sharp cheekbones. Also, I was pretending to be a worldly reporter who knew how to take what she wanted without any regrets or misgivings. I had so many misgivings. All of them.
Mr. Clay was powerful, in the field I’d chosen, and stunning if you like ageless sculptures of perfection.
“You’re too kind. I’d better get back to work.”
He held out his hand to shake. Again.
I hesitated before I took it in a cool grip of an elf who had no idea how to hold hands.
He covered our hands with his and smiled warmly. “Thank you for coming in. I’m proud of you, Miss Era. I hope you can make it to the zoo masquerade tomorrow. You are the inspiration for it.”
Because I was so wild. Or maybe that was this surreal encounter. I let him usher me out of the office, feeling like I’d been hit by a hurricane.
When I got home, I should have done something useful, but instead I lay on the floor in the living room off the kitchen and played with Lynx. She was getting so leggy. We basically ate snacks together. What a strange conversation. He was an old family friend, but how well could anyone really know someone who had lived hundreds of years? Maybe I should call my father to ask about him. I wouldn’t ever consider dating him. However he looked at me, to me, he’d always be my father’s friend, an aloof elf who I owed gratitude for giving me a job when I was uneducated, traumatized, and frankly, a mess, but definitely not romantic material. And he’d offered to help me climb all the way to the top. As if I hadn’t turned down every opportunity for advancement for the past thirteen years.
“Manny, I’m making a soup with this bone my mom sent home with me. If I don’t make it, she’s going to come here and make it herself. Sorry to invade your kitchen, but it’s better than more gnomes.” I looked around the kitchen, and no sign of the ogre, so I started a soup with the nice enormous bone that would build up my blood. My mother texted me recipes every day, and I had to send her pictures of what I was eating, or she probably really would invade Singsong City, rampant werewolves or not.
I checked Cross’s number while I had my phone out and then texted him before I could change my mind.
Will you be home for dinner tonight?
It took three minutes for him to answer. “I am home. I was in the library,” he said, coming in behind me.
I whirled around and felt all flustered and idiotic for no good reason. Maybe because he was a startlingly handsome elf, looking like moonlight pouring over a field of violets. “Oh. That’s nice. Your exposé is going to come out tonight on tv. I thought you’d like to watch it while eating. It’s a nourishing soup. With a bone. Is that not vegetable-based enough for you?”
He smiled, but it was a cool, aloof, Elven smile. Good. I’d had enough weirdly warm smiles for the day. “The night court eats meat. I trust that your article will be as brilliant as always.”
