Fuck, that was a bloody cock-up. After three hundred years, he fucking knew better. Maybe he wasn’t so different from Alanna. Staying in the boundaries was safer, more comfortable. But whereas she’d been born in captivity, so to speak, he’d been a wild falcon, who’d willingly, for a debt of honor, let the jesses be tied onto his leg, allowed another man to become his Master. A man who could tear through his shields and knew too much about him. A man he sometimes hated almost as much as he . . . didn’t hate him.

Serve Niall as you serve me.

She’d fallen asleep puzzling over that. When she woke in the early afternoon, once again discomfited by how long she’d slept, it was to the sound of . . . well, she wasn’t sure what the sound was, until she rose and discovered Niall chopping wood on a stump in the narrow front yard. Apparently they needed more logs for the woodstove; she remembered him saying something about that on their plane ride, along with the assurance that it was a chore she wouldn’t be asked to do. She was sure she could learn to wield an axe, but then she remembered the blocker. While a human woman could chop wood, a third-marked male servant would make short work of it.

Thinking of the blocker reminded her it was time to take it. She grimaced through the burn of the injection, then showered and dressed. In the bathroom, she found Niall’s shaving gear, toothbrush, other toiletry items. Using a comb, she cleaned his hairbrush. The brown strands wound into the bristles looked like they’d been forming a nest there since the brush was bought. She also picked up the cloth he’d carelessly dropped on the floor and dried the water spots on the sink. After she straightened all the towels and cloths, she swept a critical eye over the bathroom and gave it a nod. Not too clean for two men, but tidy enough for a woman.

Returning to her room, she donned one of the long-sleeved shirts. Niall had opened the screened windows, letting in the cool air as well as the fresh smell of the forest. Though she suspected she might need hiking pants or jeans later, she went ahead and slipped on a thick cotton skirt that swirled around her ankles. Unless their vampire instructed them otherwise, female InhServs rarely wore pants. They were supposed to be accessible to the desires of their vampires at all times, and for women, pants were an obstacle to that. So the skirt felt more comfortable.

Serve him as you serve me . . .

As she went to the kitchen window, she saw Niall stripped down to jeans, each swing of the axe capable of making a female heart do an extra trip at the display of male strength and virility. She was accustomed to noticing sexual appeal, using it to stoke desire on command. But she was trained to notice far more details than that, and what she saw told her Niall was not in a good mood. He was chopping the wood as if he was cleaving an enemy, tossing the pieces into a pile with a bit more aggression than needed.

Given his habits, she was sure there’d be dishes in the sink if he’d had breakfast. So he hadn’t eaten. Pinning up her hair, she started on afternoon breakfast, planning enough if Evan wanted to sample her cooking later tonight or Niall wanted more later. So she started the coffee, found some eggs, a slab of bacon. A biscuit mix quickly became dough and the rolled pieces were put in the oven. A few raw vegetables still surviving in the crisper were chopped up for the omelettes.

The primary job of the chefs at the Council headquarters was preparing delicacies for the vampires. The servants might get the leavings, but for their own nourishment, the InhServs had a small kitchen area to prepare their food. She’d often cooked for the others, as well as visiting Randoms. Because of that, she’d learned one universal truth about men and well-cooked food.

As the biscuits browned in the oven and the coffee percolated, the axe bit into the wood at a slower cadence. A tiny smile touched her lips when the thudding stopped at last, and she heard the well pump. He’d probably don his shirt, making her regret not snatching one last glimpse out the window. She’d also like a closer look at those tattoos in the daylight, as well as what tattoos he might have on his back.

Was it wrong to indulge her own lust that way? She frowned. Acting on it without a vampire’s order was forbidden. But Evan had said . . . She suppressed a sigh. Since last night, she’d come up with so many interpretations of that one statement that all she’d done was confuse herself.

Art in every form is to be appreciated, Alanna. Ogle him as much as you wish. You might even make him blush.

Startled, she knocked the plate of bacon off the counter, barely saving it from the floor. Yesterday, she’d accepted Evan’s voice in her head. But after the break provided by a few hours sleep, her brain had rebooted. The only voice she’d been used to hearing in her head was Stephen’s, and for the past few months, Stephen’s voice brought pain, agony.

It wasn’t Stephen. She settled her heart down to a regular beat. It was Evan. Evan.

Yes. His voice was warm, but she caught something dangerous in his tone, unexpectedly effective. He has no hold on you here, Alanna. We’ll let no harm come to you.

Self-preservation was supposed to be the least of a servant’s concerns, but one didn’t argue with a vampire. Plus, it did make her feel better. Thank you, sir. Would you like me to bring you some breakfast?

Not right now. Still sleeping. Your incessant inner monologue woke me.

She would have blurted out an apology, but she picked up a wry note suggesting he was . . . teasing her?

The minor downside of a female servant, I suppose. Niall’s mind is exceptionally unobtrusive. Like an oak stump.

Niall came through the door then, filling the room and making the floor vibrate with his weight, underscoring Evan’s point so well, she had to bite back a smile.

There you are. I’m going back to sleep. Try to be less chatty in your own head.

She blinked, not sure how she was supposed to accomplish that, but she supposed not thinking about how to accomplish it would be a start. She’d move on to breakfast.

Good girl. You’re getting it. But Alanna? There’s only one way to interpret my command. Niall is your Master, as much as I am.

He was right. That was crystal clear. She didn’t know if it unsettled or relieved her, but the subject himself was providing a distraction. His presence considerably reduced her maneuvering room for cooking, especially when he loomed over her, peering into the skillet. “Omelette?”

“Yes. I put vegetables in it, but there’s also bacon. The biscuits are about to come out.”

“You cook.”

“Of course.” She blinked at him, surprised. “I have extensive culinary skills, to serve the various appetites of my Master and his or her guests, should they prefer not to have their own cooking staff. Or when traveling. That’s one of the reasons I bought the plant book. I thought I could add some local herbs to the food. An alternative to garlic.”

Since he had his arm propped by the stove, she was inside the shelter of his body. Giving him a shy glance, she ducked under his arm to retrieve the pot holder and backed him up with a gentle elbow to get the room to pull out the biscuits. “If you’d like to sit down, I’ve put out a setting for you. I can bring you your food as it’s ready. If you’d like that,” she repeated, in case she sounded like she was issuing orders.

“I’m underfoot,” he guessed.

“Of course not,” she lied staunchly, and now he smiled. Not as easy as his usual grin, but she took heart that she might be able to improve his mood. Saying nothing further, he went to the table and took a seat. Mindful of his reaction yesterday, she’d done nothing more than a simple fold of his napkin. She hadn’t set a place for Evan, knowing he wouldn’t be joining them here in daylight.

“The birds were pretty,” he said gruffly. “If ye want to keep doing that, you should.”

“No, you were right. My skills are better spent toward things that apply to your lifestyle.” She was more than pretty place settings and decorating herself for the pleasure of a vampire. Perhaps her origami skills were useless here, but her cooking wasn’t, if Niall’s appreciative yet impatient glance over his shoulder was any indication.

She brought him his plate, the omelette with melted Gouda cheese emitting a fragrant steam. The rescued bacon was crisp and glistening, and she could tell the basket of fluffy biscuits won his approval when he immediately reached for one of those. As she put a glass of juice next to his plate, she noticed his gaze wandering over her torso, particularly the way her breasts looked beneath the cling of her shirt. She wished he’d reach out and touch her so she could give him pleasure, comfort for whatever was bothering him this morning. What would happen if she reached out and touched him?

Control. Discipline. If she was to serve Niall as she served Evan, that meant at their pleasure, not her own. The sharpness of her own mind-voice was enough to have her withdrawing, but Niall caught her wrist. “Where’s yours?”

“I’ll eat later, after you do.” Even when she cooked for the visiting servants, she tended to stand behind the counter while they ate. An exercise to reinforce her primary directive, a different form of service.

“You’ve had no breakfast yet, have ye?” His grip on her wrist eased but stayed there, fingers straightening to caress her palm.

“No.”

“Then fix yourself a plate.”

She hesitated. When his fingers pressed firmly into her flesh, drawing her eyes back to his face, he added, “That’s what I want, lass. Come eat with me.”

He dropped his hold, letting her retreat to the counter. While she made up her plate, he turned to preparing his own, buttering his biscuit and adding salt to his bacon before tasting it, telling her the man liked copious amounts of salt. Good thing he was a third mark; otherwise, at three hundred, he’d have a blood pressure problem bad enough to make him a medical case study.

After she filled her plate, she returned. Sinking to her knees next to his chair, she balanced it, putting the glass of juice to the side. When she looked up to see if he’d begun eating so she could do the same, he was staring at her.

A flush climbed into her cheeks. “Have I done something wrong?”