Commoner (The Preternaturals, #4) by Ruth Miranda

Author:Ruth Miranda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ruth Miranda
Published: 2017-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

“Il faut qu'on parle,” Raphaël's voice hinted at nothing of what might be going through his head, coming out composed, cool and collected.

Blanche got up from the sofa she had been sitting on, with Rita close to her, holding her hand, while she retold the same story again and again, for Sasha and Rune's privilege. As she stood up, Rita followed, but Raphaël's outstretched hand stopped her.

“En privé,” he added.

Sasha's head cocked in his direction. Despite the cool exterior he presented, she was cognizant of the cadences in his voice, and had noticed the tension hanging in every word. Plus, there was the fact he was now speaking in French, language to which Raphaël resorted only when wanting to keep his conversations private, or when deeply irritated. She nodded towards Adelaide, in a warning, but saw in her eyes the same worry she was feeling.

Blanche sighed and followed Raphaël out of the small drawing room and up the stairs, towards his bedroom, Adelaide hot on their heels. She noticed the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists, and the terse rise of his shoulders, seeming to drown his long neck in the tension he put himself under.

Coming up to the landing, Adelaide hesitated in following them in, deciding on waiting outside the room; she would enter if she thought Raphaël might be getting out of hand. Propping herself against the closed door, Ade strained her ears, sensing Blanche's rapid breathing and her fear rush out in waves. She wondered if the woman was afraid because of Raphaël and his reaction, or for her daughter's well being. Deciding on the last one made it easier, safer for Adelaide’s own self, and the secrets she might be hiding.

Inside the room, Raphaël let his eyes wander round, taking it in. It felt like a lifetime had passed, since he left that place, a lifetime since he had last seen the image of his long dead sister, even if only in his mind's eye. The portrait still hung there, Angélique in all her glory, but Raphaël could now see the taints and flaws, and he no longer felt the pangs of love and guilt he did before.

Looking down at Blanche was much the same. He had trusted her with his life, his sanity, allowing her into his heart, and she had chosen, like every single one before her, to betray that trust, that surrender.

“Raphaël,” she began, jumping up at the chance of explaining herself, and justifying her actions. He held out one hand, demanding silence, and the casualness of his demeanour made her fume inside.

“How could you?” was all he managed to blurt out, throat catching at the unwanted burst of pain firing up his chest.

“It was an accident,” Blanche defended. “I never even thought about using some sort of protection, you always took care of it.”

“So it's my fault, now? That you used me as a stud, like I was used for all those centuries, that you milked me of my seed

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